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snghnlvr · 1 year ago

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come on baby, don’t say that. / park sunghoon

park sunghoon x fem reader

synopsis : you were curious whether or not your boyfriend was a possessive type so you tested it out.

extra: his part in the baby shark movie lives in my mind 24/7, i hear it everywhere anytime and it’s making me LOSE my damn sanity | the ONE fansign video of op asking questions to sunghoon about dating ggggrrrrrrr | literally last minute drabble i had , it was supposed to be posted for my birthday but studies got in the way .. ew studies…:// | en o’ clock reference⁉️

likes, comments and reposts are very appreciated <3

[below the cut]

curiosity perhaps did kill the cat.

you wore your favorite dress (also sunghoon’s favorite dress), styled your favorite into a bun with two strands on each side of your face, wore makeup to emphasize your face features and wore your favorite ruffled socks to put your loafers on.

you dolled yourself so much just for sunghoon’s attention, but on the bright side you felt pretty all dressed up.

you didn’t know what was purpose of doing this to yourself up when you didn’t have any plans.

one day, bored in your living room of both you and sunghoon’s apartment, you came across a video on your foryou page about possessive behavior in someone’s partner. it made you think about your boyfriend’s behavior; curiosity overwhelming your thoughts. you tried to imagine what your boyfriend will do if these scenarios were to happen.

so, you planned out a script - going to the movie theatre with your male friend, eating with your male friend, etc. ; literally spending a whole day with a male friend. heck, you can’t imagine doing those things with a male other than sunghoon. you don’t even have money in your wallet right now.

you’ve always known sunghoon as a quiet yet clingy type of boyfriend. he wasn’t openly expressive with his clinginess he would be subtle. even with that itself it made your heart pound like crazy. but you wanted to take a step further on how clingy he could get.

you stepped out of the room, already seeing sunghoon lying around in the living room couch with his eyes glued to the tv. his eyes immediately diverted to you, getting your loafers out in front of the door.

“where are you going?” he asked, his eyes scanning to your dressed up figure. you knew he was shamelessly checking you out. it made your heart flutter and somehow boosted up your ego. but you shouldn’t be phased by his attractive face.

he wanted to compliment you but he spoke without thinking. he wonders where your gorgeous self is going especially with that little dress you owned that he loves on your body. he wonders what was the special occasion.

you put on a soft smile while adjusting your shoes. you noticed that sunghoon stood up, eyes still checking you out and wonders how such a dress curves your body so well.

sunghoon had a small smirk with his hands on his pocket, abandoning the pillow on his lap. it flopped next to him.

you smelt sunghoon’s signature scent of musk and a blend of roses. he wore his favorite grey hoodie that was stained with his cologne. it was because you would borrow it.

now that sunghoon was in front of you, he continue to look at you as his arms slowly wrapped around your waist. that’s when you spoke. “mhm just going out.” you spoke sweetly to sunghoon but he kept you against the wall as the door was right next to the both of you but you didn’t comment. you knew he was trapping you.

“with who?” you noticed how sunghoon raised an eyebrow and how his expression slowly changed into a sad one that he wasn’t the person you’re going out with.

“just a friend of mine.” you looked up to sunghoon and noticed how your answer didn’t satisfied him so you pushed it further. “a male friend of mine.” you placed a hand on his chest, lightly playing with the strings of his hoodie.

“excuse me?” sunghoon spoke, slightly amused because usually you would hang out with your female friends.

your heart was starting to exhilarate when his voice octaves dropped. “hanbin? mark? jisung?” he started rambling of the guy friends that you had on the top of his head.

you were surprised at how many he remembered. is that a good thing?

sunghoon noticed your eyes widening so he took a deep breath and placed a soft smile that seemed a bit fake from your perspective.

“don’t go.”

what a contrast.

you almost snickered when you noticed sunghoon’s lips twitching, trying to lee his smile still but his hands wrapped around your waist, wrapped further until his hands reached his elbows. you were cold to him, close enough that your hands on his chest was the only barrier separating you two.

you found it somehow adorable to see him pouting.

you copied him. “taerae and i planned to go out and work work on our project for a while now.” you mentally apologized for using your friend’s name on the spot but you panicked to make something new on top of your head.

“where are you guys going?” you couldn’t handle sunghoon’s stare despite dating him so you looked down towards his buff chest. sometime about his stare sparked jealousy and agitated but he kept his mouth shut.

“we planned to watch a movie theatre together then a cafe and then the library.”

“alone?”

“yeah..”

you swore when you looked up at sunghoon, he was frozen, mouth apart as he was speechless. his eyes started to twitch. he then blinked at you multiple times to see if you were joking.

well, you were. but you kept a serious face on which didn’t show any sort of crackling.

“it sounds more like a date.” you can tell his whiny tone with his words, lips pouting that made you want to pinch his cheeks but you held back.

you shook his head. “why would i have a date with taerae when i can have with you?” you tilted your head, chuckling at his remark. “you’re literally my boyfriend.” you giggled lightly.

sunghoon sighed. “then don’t go. i’ll help you with the project instead, heck i’ll go to taerae instead of you.” his eyes were showing pettiness that you can’t help but lightly giggle. you saw sunghoon’s grumpy expression as he kept you close to him.

you poked at his birth mole under his eye. “boop.” were the words you let out but it didn’t phase sunghoon, keeping his grumpy expression on.

“we don’t even attend the same college hoon.” sunghoon’s eyes soften when you easily roll off his nickname out loud. he rather rolled his eyes instead.

“i have to go soon,” you looked at the clock behind sunghoon’s figure. it was 2pm. you were surprised your acting has gone this far and you’re continuing. you thought it was fun to make your boyfriend jealous.

“hoon, let go of me.” your hands flew to his triceps, surprised at how his muscle flexed against your touch. you lightly touched his muscle which broke sunghoon’s grumpy expression again.

you looked at him with an eyebrow raise, hoping he would be persuaded to let you go but he shook his head like a kid.

“come on baby, don’t say that.”

your heart beat started pounding like crazy. you were astonished at the unexpected sentence. you suddenly stared at sunghoon, how a strand of hair was covering his eye so you unconsciously moved it behind his ear, eyes watching your actions. sunghoon stared at your lips, stained with your red lipstick.

“taerae can wait another day.” sunghoon started rubbing your back with his hands, making you frozen and loosing your train of thoughts.

yeah forget taerae.

“it would be amazing to show him how beautiful my girlfriend is but i want you to myself right now baby.” sunghoon started to lean closer, his hand cupping your jaw and slowly easing your cheek with his soft fingers.

you closed your eyes and leaned against his relaxing touch. “you sound possessive park.” you were satisfied with your act, chuckling slightly at how amused you are.

sunghoon giggled as well, his deep giggle erupting in him as you felt him leaning more into you. “mhmm maybe?” he shrugged with a smile.

you opened your eyes and see sunghoon staring at you with love and affection. you can’t help but to plant a lot of kisses to his lips. you saw sunghoon staring at your lips and you predicted what was gonna happen next.

“mhmm yeah.” you smiled mischievously at sunghoon, removing his arms from your waist and turned around towards the door which showed your back to him.

maybe you’re not done yet.

but before you can open the door, sunghoon wrapped his arms once again which prevented you from not moving. your hands reached to the cold door handle but didn’t touch. his hands gripped your hips which indicated a new side of your boyfriend, park sunghoon.

sunghoon’s lips pecked your neck. “not on my watch.” his hot breath contrasted your cold skin, tickling you.

your heart paused at his actions.

you felt your boyfriend’s chest against your back, giving you instant warmth to your cold, clammy skin. his hug was very comforting and at this point you gave up with your little skit.

“possessive and back hugging me? how romantic.” you chuckled. you felt a sharp pain in the side of your neck, “ow!” you shouted in shock when it was sunghoon’s playful behavior of showing his love. you knew sunghoon had fangs and he unfortunately is abusing that characteristic of his by biting you. you rather found it his fangs adoring yet a bit hot that your boyfriend looked like an actual vampire.

you felt sunghoon’s tongue’s slowly soothing that area when he licked your pain away; like a cat. you smiled when he hugged you tighter as his face was dug into your neck as if you’ll disappear.

sunghoon abruptly stopped hugging you but rather grabbed your hand, dragging you across the hallway towards the bed that both of you live in, filled with smiles and flustered cheeks.

thank you for reading<3 hope you enjoyed!

#enha imagines #enha scenarios #enha smau #enha x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen drabbles #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen x female reader #sunghoon drabbles #park sunghoon fluff #sunghoon oneshot #sunghoon drabble #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon #sunghoon #enhypen

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visibleclosedeyes · 3 months ago

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Gap in my heart (Literally)

pairing: Mr. Gap x reader

“Hello”

While you prepare to work in your bedroom–doing your makeup and hair, putting on your uniform–ready for the day ahead, a chilling but familiar voice calls you.

“Mr. Gap? Uh. Me not play,” You said without turning your head toward the voice. Since the day you managed to get out of that Otherworld, Mr.Gap has consistently shown up in your space in the gap in the wall, in different containers, and so forth. At this point, you kinda have a domestic relationship together. Boyfriend? You wouldn’t go that far, but something is there.

“Disappointed” Mr. Gap narrowed his eyes before asking another question

“Where go?”

“Same place every day, Mr. Gap. Working. uh–Me work, same work.”

“Why?” He asks, eyes still narrowed–displaying an unreadable expression that you guess to be some kind of discontentment. It surprised you really–Mr. Gap isn’t a high-maintenance type and he never asked you these questions before. What changed?

“Uh…Work hunger gone,”

“Work stop hunger?” He seems interested now.

“Not exactly. Work gives things, and things get food.” You try again to explain to Mr. Gap the concept of monetary exchange and bill to the best of your ability.

“....not understand, residents don’t need work. Why work?”

“Humans need work, me human…Mr. Gap, why curious now?” You ask a question of your own.

“Me bored, Stay,”

“Can’t. Need work,”

“Disappointed” He responds, the conversation sounds like it goes back to the very beginning.

“Give finger?”

“No,”

“Disappointed” He repeats yet again before disappearing.

Working is hard. Living in the human world is hard. You know this already but it seems like every day her co-workers really remind her of that fact. Today is just another day of demoralizing work days. Getting yelled at by your boss because of your co-worker's mistake is not fun. In the parking lot, you are sitting there with a cigarette between your fingers contemplating whether or not to murder your co-worker, literally speaking. Suddenly between the gap in the wall opposite to you, a familiar pair of eyes pop up.

“Hello”

“Mr. Gap??! How did you..? Oh right, you can show up in any gap,”

“Human trouble?”

“Its nothing, just hard day at work,”

“Me solve problem, give me finger,”

“What? No! Not give finger,”

“Boring. Goodbye,”

Almost every day was the same old same old—your co-worker is an annoying asshole who purposefully caused issues just so he could blame it on you.

“Where are the documents the boss asked you to do?” Speaks of the devil… the most annoying face among the co-workers in this shitshow of a company has shown up like a fucking ghost the moment she starts thinking about her job

“What? What documents?” She answers truthfully. What fucking documents? And why is she hearing this just now?

“Seriously, the boss wants you to be the one to do it. you’re seriously irresponsible. Why did they even hire you?” He said with such a fake shocked expression on his face. Wait, so the boss told him…

"Boss told you this and you never told me?” she asked him in disbelief

"You never ask me to tell you, you should have been more active,” He snickers with a smug smile. Oh, this irritating fucker.

2 months and 1 week. She has sworn off killing people for exactly two months. Like a proud ex-addict, she wears that pride quietly on her mind, unable to announce how prideful she is for not killing some random pedestrians who show up in an abandoned apartment. She wants to keep it that way, but this man seems to be testing her patience. She is going to lose it and kill this guy on his way home.

"There is still time left. You can take responsibility and be active for once. Give me a call once you are finished!”

your palms curl into a fist full of hate and rage–this man has no idea who he is up against. She fantasizes about the different ways she would go about killing him. Her regular method of a crowbar to the head would be the safest route but this guy is a piece of shit to her so far and she wants to do something special for him.

No, she doesn't want to kill these days. Hunting and killing seems to be a hobby she lost interest in a while ago. Now, she simply wishes for a more simple life after all those lives she proudly took.

(not finish)

One day, when she was working as per usual–she hears the sound of that asshole screaming from the restroom

"I swear! I saw it there! a pair of creepy eyes between the crack in the wall inside the male restroom!”

"some pervert looking into the male toilet?”

"No! I…I don't think it's human–when I saw it, it just disappeared into thin air!”

"I think you should go see a doctor”

“Yeah, are you I'll or something? Did you hear a voice in your head too?”

“S–shut up! Stop mocking me! I fucking saw it, Ok?!”

It seems like vacation comes to visit you early this year as she hears one of the best but most shocking of all week. Her asshole co-worker has decided to quit, it also seems like he has been scared shitless and borderline losing his mind at something that most people don't seem to understand. Many think that he cracked under constant pressure but she has a better idea of what might have happened. She didn’t think to ask of him at this current time but it seemed like he could read her mind somehow when she found him manifesting in her bag, a pair of gleeful, teasing eyes with an otherworldly smile somehow made her heart skip beats.

“Mr.Gap!”

“Hello. Me good resident.”

“I heard about the haunting spirit between the wall’s gap in the male bathroom—did you do it? The guy who tormented me quit”

“Me solve problems, me good resident,”

“Yeah, that was a good one. Good, thank you”

“Give good resident finger?”

“No”

“Disappointed”

#homicipher fanfiction #homicipher #mr.gap x reader #mr. gap #homicipher x mc #homicipher x reader #i swear next fic will be smut #mr. gap x reader

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solelifauna · 4 months ago

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Definitely NOT Invincible (Yandere Invincible & Reader)

(Y/n) Grayson, daughter of one of the greatest heroes, learns just how NOT invincible she is. Thrown back in time after her death, she must warn the Guardians of the Globe of the oncoming slaughter while she also battles her own monsters (both figuratively and literally). However, her father and brother begin to gain interest in her strange behavior, something (y/n) could rather do without.

(Y/n) Grayson, the youngest member of the Grayson family, born to Nolan and Debbie Grayson, with your older brother, Mark, only three years your senior. Life growing up was idyllic in many ways—you had a loving father, mother, and brother who, at least for the first few years of your life, seemed completely normal. But you always knew something was different about your family, especially about your father and brother.

From an early age, you noticed how often your father would leave at odd hours, saying he was "called into work." When Mark turned 10, he and your dad started spending more time together, and they began excluding you from their bonding sessions. You were curious, but it wasn’t until your parents finally sat you down that you learned the truth: your father was Omni-Man, a powerful alien sent to protect Earth, and your brother had just started developing powers like his.

Excited by the revelation, you had a flood of questions—what it felt like to fly, whether you'd get powers, and what space was like. Though your father answered your questions kindly, the growing divide between you and your family was undeniable. Mark, once your geeky, lovable older brother, started to change. By the time you were 12 and he was 15, that change became frightening.

As Mark's powers grew stronger, so did his sense of superiority. He began referring to others as "humans" in a dismissive tone, something that deeply unsettled you. He no longer saw himself as part of the same species, despite being half-human. While he still had moments of warmth and humor with your family, outside of the home, Mark was becoming someone else—cold, calculating, and even cruel.

He rose in popularity at school thanks to his new powers, good looks, and charisma. He became the star athlete, using his power to brutalize opponents on the field, often injuring them far beyond what was acceptable, and then charming others to get out of trouble. One day, he came home covered in blood after beating a kid so badly that the other boy was left mangled and broken. Mark’s behavior was alarming, but what terrified you most was that your father approved of it. Omni-Man encouraged Mark’s aggressive dominance, much to your mother’s distress and your growing fear.

While Mark and your father’s relationship grew stronger, you felt more and more left out. Your own 10th birthday had passed, and your powers had yet to manifest. Nolan began spending less time with you, focusing on Mark's training, leaving you chasing the bond you once had with him. Debbie tried to bridge the gap, but you couldn’t help feeling the loss of both your father’s and brother’s attention.

The real turning point came when you were 12. One day after school, you were hanging out with your friends Hallie, Connor, and Weston in the reclusive meadow near your school. It was a peaceful, secluded spot until you were suddenly attacked by a strange creature—something none of you had ever seen before. It was monstrous, something straight out of the Dungeons & Dragons games you played. You barely managed to kill it, naming it a "Demogorgon" after the game. The four of you hid the body, terrified and confused.

You didn’t know what to tell your parents, but the scratches and bruises covering you were impossible to hide. Your father didn’t have time to deal with what seemed like childish nonsense, and the local law enforcement was baffled by the sudden attacks happening in your area. The creature you killed wasn’t a one-time event; strange attacks began occurring more frequently, leaving the community on edge. Still, your father was too occupied with his work for the government, and Mark was too wrapped up in his own world to help.

As time passed, it became painfully clear that your father was growing distant. You idolized him, but without powers of your own, it seemed like you were losing him. Mark, meanwhile, reveled in his strength, and with your father’s approval, his behavior became more dangerous and reckless. He started using his powers in more violent ways, and the line between heroism and cruelty began to blur for him. You watched your once-loving family dynamic twist into something darker.

Despite this, you chased after them both, desperate to stay close to the people you loved. You begged to join their training sessions, hoping that maybe your powers would eventually show. Yet, with each passing day, you felt the weight of their growing alienation. Mark was becoming someone you barely recognized—a far cry from the nerdy older brother who used to sneak you extra cookies at night and argue about comic book trivia.

Now, you and your friends are facing a looming threat from these mysterious creatures. The attacks are increasing, and no one seems able to stop them—not your father, not Mark, and not the authorities. As the danger mounts, you realize that you and your friends are the only ones who know the truth about the creatures. You’ll have to rely on each other to survive and solve the mystery behind these attacks.

Now at 15, your life had already turned into a living nightmare, but that year? That year, everything truly fell apart. You’d made it to high school, but the past three years had felt like an eternity. Your father was still physically there, but the emotional distance between you two had grown insurmountable. When he did spend time with you, it felt more like an obligation than a genuine connection. You weren’t stupid—you could see it in his eyes. He’d written you off the moment it became clear you didn’t have powers. To him, you were just another weak human, barely worth his time.

Mark wasn’t much better. He oscillated between two extremes: sometimes he was distant, barely acknowledging your existence at home or school. Other times, you’d catch glimpses of your old brother, the one who’d stay up late with you, watching cheesy movies and tucking you in when you fell asleep. Those rare moments of warmth became your lifeline. You clung to them desperately, as if each one could push back the growing darkness in your family.

But then there was the other thing—the real problem. The Demogorgon situation. What had started as a single encounter had become a full-on invasion. No one else seemed capable of dealing with it. Not your dad, not Mark, not the heroes the world adored. So you and your friends had decided to do it yourselves.

At first, it seemed impossible to hide the cuts, bruises, and sprains from fighting the monsters. But with your mom working full time and your father and brother too wrapped up in their own twisted lives to care, no one really noticed. You didn’t blame your mom—she was drowning in her own problems, trying to keep the family together despite everything.

You were fortunate enough to meet Haymitch—a rugged, grizzled man who’d been hunting the creatures for longer than you could imagine. He tried to tell you to back off, to leave it to the adults. But of course, you didn’t listen. You and your friends had been through too much, seen too much. In your stubborn teenage way, you refused to step aside, leaving him no choice but to train you. Over time, he became something of a mentor and a father figure, filling the void that your real father had left behind.

But that year? That year, the world came crashing down.

It started with the Guardians of the Globe. They were the strongest superhero team on the planet, and they were slaughtered—every last one of them. Except for your father. At first, the news rocked the world. Omni-Man was hailed as the tragic survivor, the hero who narrowly escaped death. But you knew better. Something felt wrong about the whole thing. Your gut told you there was more to the story, but you couldn’t imagine the scope of the horror that was to come.

Soon after, the truth emerged.

Your father didn’t come to Earth to protect it—he came to conquer it. And Mark, your once-nerdy, sometimes-kind brother, had fallen right in line with him. Together, they unleashed chaos on the planet. They pillaged cities, tearing through anyone who stood in their way. Mark, now going by the name Invincible, seemed to take after your father in the worst possible ways. The sweet boy who used to protect you from bullies was now a monster, crushing anyone—heroes, civilians, soldiers—who dared oppose him.

The world was plunged into ruin.

You and your friends ran, barely escaping the destruction. You thought maybe your father would have taken you, but no. You weren’t a Viltrumite. You weren’t powerful. You were just… nothing to him. Weak. Disposable. He had already whisked your mom away to a “safe location”—where, you didn’t know—but you were left behind. Haymitch stayed with you, leading your ragtag group as you all tried to survive in a world turned upside down.

You’d never felt so betrayed, so alone.

But even in the wreckage of your life, there was a flicker of hope. You had your friends, and you had Haymitch. And most importantly, you had a burning desire to stop your father and brother. Even if you didn’t have their powers, even if you didn’t have Viltrumite strength, you had something they didn’t—humanity.

And you were going to fight back.

Months passed, and the world’s governments were in tatters. Omni-Man and Invincible’s conquest was nearly complete. Entire cities lay in ruins, and any resistance from the human military or remaining superheroes was swiftly crushed. Yet, even amid the chaos, pockets of resistance formed. Small groups of survivors, including former heroes, started to organize, desperate to reclaim their planet.

You and your friends became part of that underground movement, thanks to Haymitch’s connections. He was no stranger to fighting overwhelming odds, and with his help, you quickly became proficient in guerrilla tactics. You might not have powers, but you had your wits, and you knew how to strike fast and hard, using the terrain and the enemy’s overconfidence against them.

Every day was a struggle, a fight for survival. You missed your mom, wondering if she was safe or if she even knew what was happening. As for your father… well, you weren’t sure what you felt anymore. Love? Hatred? Betrayal? It was all tangled up in a knot too painful to untangle.

And Mark. God, what had happened to him? Was he too far gone, or was there still a part of him that remembered what it meant to be human? The Mark you once knew wouldn’t have done this. But now, the lines were blurred. You didn’t know if he could be saved, or if he was beyond redemption.

The day started out like any other grim scavenging run. You, Hallie, Connor, Weston, and Haymitch had been searching for rations—anything to keep your group alive. The world had become a brutal place, where food and supplies were scarce, and desperation drove people to violence. It was only a matter of time before you crossed paths with another group, and when you did, tension rose immediately.

The air was thick with the potential for bloodshed. Hands hovered near weapons, and the slightest wrong move could trigger a firefight. But as the seconds ticked by, you realized that these weren’t just scavengers—they were survivors, just like you. What’s more, they were part of something bigger. The remnants of humanity’s greatest defenders had gathered in secret, forming a larger resistance led by the surviving heroes who had managed to evade the massacre Omni-Man and Invincible left in their wake.

After a tense exchange, they extended an offer: come with them. They said kids shouldn’t be out here, fighting for their lives like this. It took your group time to weigh the options, but the decision was unanimous—you’d all go. You’d join the resistance and help however you could.

Those weeks spent with the resistance were the best you’d had since the world fell apart. There was food, shelter, and—most importantly—hope. You trained alongside the heroes, working with them to organize missions, raid supply caches, and defend what little remained of civilization. For a while, you dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, you’d have a chance to fight back against the Viltrumite tyrants.

But in the back of your mind, you dreaded the inevitable. Every night, the fear gnawed at you—Omni-Man and Invincible would find this place. They always did. And when they did, there would be no mercy. No escape.

That day came sooner than you expected.

You were talking with another resistance member when the alarms blared. Panic rippled through the compound as the distant sound of gunfire echoed closer and closer. Then, the ground shook beneath your feet as the roof was torn open with monstrous strength. Invincible descended into the fray, a twisted grin plastered on his blood-splattered face. Omni-Man followed, cold and detached as ever, watching the carnage unfold like it was just another day.

The heroes fought valiantly, but one by one, they fell. Invincible tore through them with savage glee, while Omni-Man dealt crushing blows with deadly precision. It was a massacre.

You were frozen in place, too terrified to move, when you heard a booming voice cut through the chaos—your father’s voice. "To the rest of you," he called out over the battle, "you will die today. There’s no point in fighting." His words sent a chill through your bones.

Everything happened so fast. You tried to run, but before you could escape, a powerful hand grabbed the back of your shirt and lifted you effortlessly into the air. The breath was knocked out of your lungs as you were spun around to face the monster holding you.

It was your father. Omni-Man.

Your mind reeled as you looked at his face, stained with blood—an expression of cold indifference as he gazed down at you. You wanted to scream, to beg, to ask him why, but the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was stare at the man who once cradled you in his arms, who used to play tea party with you, who had been your hero.

But now? Now, he barely recognized you as his daughter.

You struggled, kicking and thrashing, but it was useless. His grip was iron. His gaze pierced through you like you were nothing. Then he spoke, his voice calm and emotionless.

"It really is a shame you turned out like this. So weak."

The words hit you harder than any physical blow could. Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked into his face, searching for any sign of the man you once loved. But there was nothing.

He tilted his head slightly, almost as if considering his next move. Then, his large hand enveloped your head, cradling it—just like he used to when you were little—before he squeezed.

The pain was blinding. It was as if your skull had exploded under the pressure. You couldn’t scream, couldn’t think. Everything went dark.

You were dead.

Your father killed you.

You didn’t even get to graduate high school. You didn’t get to have your first crush. You were dead.

But then, you started to feel.

You were supposed to be dead. The pain should have been gone. Darkness should have consumed you. But you could feel again.

You violently jerked awake, gasping for air, your heart pounding in your chest like it was about to burst. Your mind scrambled to make sense of what was happening.

You should be dead. Your father crushed your skull.

Your hands frantically touched your face, your head, everything. You were whole. You were alive.

Your heart raced, your breathing ragged as you clutched your chest, desperately trying to calm the frantic beating. You forced yourself to focus, but only one thought kept swirling around in your mind:

‘How the fuck am I still alive?’

Last you remembered, your fathe—Omni-Man—was crushing your skull in, revealing just how much of a useless, weak, waste of Viltrumite DNA he thought you were. Then... nothing.

That’s when you noticed your surroundings.

Wait– this wasn’t the battlefield or a bunker. This was your bedroom. The walls were familiar, decorated with posters of bands you loved when things were still normal. The faded rug beneath your feet had that same worn-out spot where you always paced while talking on the phone with your friends.

But this wasn’t possible. You watched your house get destroyed when Invincible and Omni-Man tore through your neighborhood. You watched it crumble along with everything else. You scrambled to your feet, heart racing again as your mind tried to make sense of it all. That’s when you stopped dead in front of your mirror.

Your reflection stared back at you, wide-eyed and pale, but something was off. Way off. Your scars. The ones you had earned during your time in the resistance, the ones that covered your face, arms, and body from fighting to survive—they were gone. Not all of them—no, the scars from your battles with the Demogorgons were still there, thin lines across your skin like faint echoes of the hell you’d been through. But the deeper, newer scars from the resistance, from facing Omni-Man and Invincible’s destruction? They were gone.

Your breath caught in your throat as your mind raced to make sense of this.

Wait a minute.

Something clicked, a horrifying realization dawning on you. You spun around, desperately searching for your phone. After a frantic few seconds of tearing through your sheets, you finally found it, buried under your blanket. Hands shaking, you powered it on, staring intently at the screen as the date loaded.

October 13th, 20XX.

Four months before the Guardians of the Globe were slaughtered. Five months before the world would fall to ruin.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, the word escaping in a half-choked whisper.

Your bitch ass time traveled.

#neglected reader #platonic yandere #yandere invincible #yandere omniman #yandere mark grayson #yandere nolan grayson #debbie grayson #mark grayson #nolan grayson #omni man #invincible x reader #invincible

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cybrasigilism · 1 month ago

Note

Can you do nsfw alphabet w nam-gyu? 🤭

NSFW ALPHABET with Player 124 (Nam-gyu)

warning: smut and all things of the like, the usual | not proofread | lowercase intended | these are my headcanons for this character, please be respectful even if my opinions on the character differs from your own

character: nam-gyu (player 124)

A/N: since i have another nam-gyu request lined up and cooking in my drafts i figured this would be a great way to get comfy in writing for him. it’s nice to see some player 124 fans up in the fandom especially since he shouldn’t be getting hate for the same shit thanos was also doing (yes i know he did kill se-mi and he did lose some credit with me for that, but i fear i saw that one coming a mile away). also, THANK YOU GUYS FOR 100 FOLLOWERS? i’m genuinely blown away by the sheer amount of support y’all have given me and I’m eternally grateful :’)

MDNI! 18+ content under the cut, reader’s discretion is advised

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A= Aftercare what they’re like after sex

↳ based on how clingy he is with his friends? yeah, he’s gonna be down for a cuddle post-sex. if it’s a one and done thing though, don’t expect much in the regards of after care. at most he might offer you a smoke but he’s only super affectionate if you guys are in a relationship

B= Body part their favourite body part of theirs + their partners

↳ his and your favourite part of his body is his hands, without a doubt. his favourite part of his partner? hands down we’ve got ourselves another ass man, and who’s surprised?

C= Cum anything to do with cum, really

↳ bites his lip when he gets close (just gonna put this here and run off)

D= Dirty Secret a dirty secret of theirs

↳ really, and i mean really, loves how you look with his hands around your neck

E= Experience how experienced are they? do they know what their doing, etc.

↳ i get the impression that he’s fairly experienced, and he does know what he’s doing in the regards of rougher sex. however he does need guidance when it comes to more intimate, gentler sex

F= Favourite Position this one speaks for itself

↳ any position where you’re riding him is his favourite. he loves being able to feel you up and take as much control as he feels like, while still letting you do most of the work.

G= Goofy are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous, etc.

↳ regardless of whether he’s on top or not, he will be mocking you. it’s all out of love of course, but sometimes that can be called into question

I= Intimate how are they in the moment, the romantic aspect?

↳ it really takes a while for him to warm up to gentler fucking, especially since he’s so used to rough + sloppy one night stands. it’s always jarring to see him get vulnerable with you though

J= Jack off masturbation headcanons

↳ talks you through touching yourself OH MY GOD THIS DAMN WIND AGAIN SOMEONE SHUT THE WINDOWS-

L= Location their favourite place to do the do

↳ semi-public sex turns him on, need i say more?

M= Motivation what turns them on, gets them going?

↳ total cliche, but seeing you in revealing outfits totally gets him aroused. if you’re wearing something that hugs your ass just right, yeah you won’t be wearing it for much longer

N= No something they won’t do

↳ i don’t feel like there’s a lot this guy wouldn’t do, but if anything it’s probably pegging

O= Oral their preference on giving or receiving oral, how skilled are they, etc.

↳ couldn’t care less if he’s eating you out or if you’re sucking his dick, he’s always down for oral sex. hell, he’s probably into doing 69 but that’s for him to know, and for you to find out

P= Pace are they fast + rough? slow + sensual? etc.

↳ he’s typically going to be pretty rough, he’ll be gentle somewhat at the start if you specify that you’re a virgin but trust that the gentle act will cease quite soon into the fucking™️

Q= Quickie their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.

↳ he absolutely loves quickies, there’s something about that adrenaline kick that he can’t get enough of

R= Risk are they game to experiment? how do they feel about risk?

↳ if any one of the squid game characters is down to experiment with risk, it’s nam-gyu. if he’s willing to take crazy unknown drugs from thanos in the games, he’s willing to experiment in bed

S= Stamina how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last? etc.

↳ is it the drugs? is it his experience? god knows. but whatever it is, his stamina is pretty crazy. he will usually outlast you in the matter of rounds, but that might also be because of how thankless he is on your pussy

T= Toys do they own any toys? do they use them on themselves or their partner?

↳ i’m not sure he’d be the kind of guy to own crazy toys, definitely owns a couple fleshlights, and he will use vibrators on you if you bring them

U= Unfair how much they like to tease/be teased

↳ lets not kid ourselves here. he is the king of mean teasing, he’ll tease you the whole time if he feels like you deserve it

V= Volume how loud they are, what sounds they make etc.

↳ definitely not much of a moaner, more so grunts and what have you especially if he’s in control. he’ll call you his “personal fucktoy”. something i could totally see him saying while he’s fucking you is “fuck, ‘so tight for me. nice to see what a pathetic little slut you are.”

W= Wildcard a random headcanon for the character

↳ really good with his hands. he will tease your clit if he’s able

X= X-ray what’s going on under those clothes?

↳ is he super jacked? no. does he have a fair amount of muscle on him? yes absolutely. for size, he’s easily 6” hard

Y= Yearning how high is their sex drive?

↳ his sex drive is almost concerning. point blank

Z= Zzz how fast they fall asleep after

↳ don’t expect him to wait up for you. if he’s super worn out he’s heading off to snooze-ville before you do

══════════════════

thanks for the request! i’ve been meaning to write for nam-gyu especially since he does not get enough recognition in the fandom :)

as always, any advice/constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing is appreciated and requested! have a gorgeous day all 💋

tags: @gabbystinks

#squid game #squid game 2 #squid game smut #fanfiction #squid game x reader #x reader fanfiction #alphabet #player 124 #x reader smut

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gotta-winwin · 2 months ago

Text

childhoodbestie!chan x reader

a/n: putting an angst warning + spoiler here right now so be warned ❗dino just gives off downbad!childhoodbesties! vibes sooo hard + a shameless parallel to the beloved laurie from little women. my love you will always be famous.

childhoodbestie!chan who’s been following you around like some gremlin since birth. It helped that your two families lived awfully close together, leading to you bumping into Chan every time you went out.

childhoodbestie!chan who has been in your class at school from preschool all the way to your senior year of high school. some people mistake the two of you for twins and teachers have long since been used to the fact that the two of you came as a duo. It’s not uncommon for you to be asked “where’s chan?” whenever he wasn’t right next to you - as if you’re somehow supposed to know where he wandered off to. (you usually do)

childhoodbestie!chan, who has been copying off your homework since homework was required. It’s gotten to the point where he doesn’t even need to ask, shamelessly copying your work from the other side of the desk. He’s mastered the art of reading upside down just to copy off of you easier.

childhoodbestie!chan, who shares all his food with you without complaint. It’s second nature, how he unconsciously offers you anything he’s eating, not even pausing through whatever anecdote he was ranting to you about.

childhoodbestie!chan, whose friends are naturally your friends. You don’t really remember when he got adopted into a massive friend group of 12 other boys, but hanging out with them became natural and you integrated into the group as a vital member.

childhoodbestie!chan who still cries into your shoulder every time someone breaks his heart. His childlike innocence and sweetness has not changed despite the constant mishaps with love, and neither has his instincts to run to you every time he needed a solution - or a hug.

childhoodbestie!chan who ignores how he’s loved you since he first learned how to ride a bike. He pretends he doesn’t remember the way you teased him for not knowing how, racing past him in the purple bike his parents had given you for your birthday. He ignores the fact that he’s been in love with you since you were both six.

childhoodbestie!chan, who leaves his house no matter what ungodly hour it may be to go pick you up. He never questions why you need a lift, never mentions the puffy eyes and pouting lips you sport as you shuffle into his car. He knows you’re both still young and stupid and figuring things out - he’s fine waiting, waiting for the day you really see him.

childhoodbestie!chan, who knows you still see him as the same little boy who you had to defend on the playground. No matter how hard he tries to remind you that he’s grown - fending off jerks for you at the bar, loudly bragging about his sexcapdes to remind you he’s a full grown man (albeit not his brightest move), even carrying all your luggages up the stairs in one go - he knows it’s not enough.

childhoodbestie!chan, who has a cute story behind every gift he’s ever gotten you. Whether it was for your birthday or christmas or even valentines (he was your valentine one year for fun and he still cherishes that moment), he has a little backstory and anecdote for why he got you it.

childhoodbestie!chan, who knows your likes and dislikes by heart. It’s gotten to the point where his friends find it a bit concerning, when he will randomly point at something and go “oh, Y/N loves that” or “Y/N would have killed to see that.” His friends know his heart is cracking a little each time he brings you up so casually, knowing it’ll never be in a you talk about your girlfriend all the time type of way.

childhoodbestie!chan who watches as you fall in love with someone else.

childhoodbestie!chan who can only listen and watch as someone else treats you right, feeling happy that you’re happy yet still feeling a little slighted. He can’t help but admit to himself that maybe he actually thought you’d fall in love with him one day.

childhoodbestie!chan who’s the only male bridesmaid at your wedding. He makes sure the day goes perfectly, despite feeling like he wants to die in the process.

childhoodbestie!chan, who admits to jeonghan one night half-drunk and through tears that he could've sworn you'd love him eventually. that 20 years was enough to love him. right?

childhoodbestie!chan, who knows childhood bestie is all he’ll ever be.

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lazerswordweilder · 8 months ago

Text

The Justice League playing fuck, marry, kill, but you can’t play fuck, marry, kill, without Gothams Most Eligible Bachelor coming up at least once, so someone mentions him and Batman decides he does not need to know what his colleagues would do to his civilian identity and he stands up to leave

But Flash (trying to joke around) says “What are you friends or something?” and Batman doesn’t pick up on the joke because he’s halfway between revealing his identity or never showing his face in front of the Justice League ever again and so he just says “Sure that… yeah friends! Friends is good.” and he walks out like he’s trying really hard not to run and picks up a bottle of whatever’s strongest and as Batman leaves and he starts drink it without even pausing to breathe.

So Flash says “Holy shit did Batman go through a bad breakup with Bruce Wayne?!?!” and everyone starts arguing over whether they’re still dating or if they broke up and no one pauses to think that maybe they were never dating in the first place so they accept Batman x Bruce Wayne as fact.

The next time Batman has to meet the Justice League he’s fully prepared to never acknowledge anything happened but now there are three sides, one side thinks that they’re still dating, one side thinks they broke up because of Bruce (for varying reasons though), and the other side thinks they broke up because of Batman (again for varying reasons).

And so every single hero is trying to get Batman to admit/tell everyone else that their side was right and he’s sitting here questioning his every choice as some of his closest friends are trying to get him to tell them he was/is in a relationship with himself and how it ended.

(It’s also not only trying to figure out what happened, they want to know why Batman did whatever caused them to break up, what Bruce Wayne did to Batman, or hows it’s like to be dating one of the richest men alive)

This ends in one of two ways, the short way and the long way. In the short way he just pulls off his mask in the middle of a meeting to reveal that he is Bruce Wayne, he’s about five more comments away from a breakdown.

In the long way he runs back to Gotham and goes out of his way to never EVER have to see another hero ever again and so Superman chews everybody out because they obviously made him uncomfortable and it was none of their business, and he keeps trying to find Batman and Batman uses every skill he’s ever learnt to hide from Superman.

The media is in shambles trying to figure out what caused this, has the Justice League gone rouge and Batman is the only sane member left? Is it because he doesn’t have powers? Is Superman on the Justice Leagues side or Batmans? Was there an attack that revealed a secret? The only up side to the speculation was that no one paused twice when Bruce Wayne jumped out of a window after an attack at Lex Luthors gala because Superman was coming.

Eventually the world is going to end or something if Batman doesn’t help and he swoops in just in the nick of time and the minute it’s over he runs like his life depends on it but someone catches him or he’s to injured to get far or whatever and everyone is only not bothering him because Superman is glaring at them, DARING them to mention it and upset Batman.

And Batman just sits there for a long seconds, and pulls off his mask.

It’s absolute chaos. Everyones minds are breaking, Batman looks like he’s about to cry, J’onn is laughing so hard he can’t stand, the noise is so loud and all the heroes are freaking out so much that any nearby civilians are wondering if they didn’t manage to save the world after all.

Throughout all of this J’onn (the mind reader) knows his identity and is both comforting Batman and trying not to start laughing at everyone else.

#lazerswordweilder writes #batman #could be superbat #superbat

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deakyjoe · 1 year ago

Text

Every Breath You Take

Pairing: Michael Myers x Reader (afab but no pronouns used I don’t think)

Category: stalker romance (??), smut (!!)

Summary: It shouldn’t exhilarate you so much knowing a serial killer was stalking you. But you just can’t help yourself.

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it), vaginal fingering, dry humping, biting, licking, creampie, overstimulation, motorboating, pain as pleasure, slight voyeurism/exhibitionism, choking, scent kink, multiple orgasms, nipple play, over the clothes handjob, under the clothes handjob, slight dubcon (only because Michael doesn’t talk but I tried to make it as clear as possible that they just want to fuck each other), stalking, mentions of injuries and blood, mentions of murder, breaking and entering, morally questionable reader, mask is on and off, lights stay off during sex, virgin Michael, a little dark I guess (??)

Word count: 6.4k

A/N: For those who love masked men (aka me). For those who want to fuck slashers (aka me). For those who love the quiet type (aka me). For those who love a tall man (aka me). For those who love a strong man (aka me). I wrote this for me basically. I don’t think there’s much of an audience for Michael Myers fics within my followers but hopefully it reaches the right side of Tumblr :)

Consider buying me a coffee :)

It was probably disgusting how much it excited you knowing he watched you every day.

He'd stand in your back yard each night, totally still, and just look through your windows for hours. And then, when he was satisfied you assumed, he'd leave. But he always came right back the next day at the same time.

When you'd first noticed him, you'd been terrified. Naturally. You knew exactly who he was, you watched the news and heard stories. And the white mask and blue coveralls were unmistakable. You'd seen him through your window and locked all of the doors immediately. Then you waited. Patiently.

You didn't know what you were waiting for. Him to kill you... or to defend yourself. Your chances of survival were slim, he was inhumanly strong from what you'd heard. But you clutched a knife in your hand nonetheless, mirroring him in a strange way, in case you did suddenly have to fight him off.

Luckily, it never came down to that dilemma as he left a couple of hours later without even a step closer to your back door. You blinked and he was gone.

He came back the next night and did the same thing. And then the next night. And the next. And the next. Until it became a ritual.

You went about your evening and he watched. You always wondered whether he watched you during the day as well but you'd never noticed him. You also wondered what it was about you that didn't make him murder you straight away.

You were older than his usual victims, sure. And he supposedly liked to commit most of his crimes whilst his victims were in the middle of sexual acts and you didn't tend to have many visitors over. But then what was making him fixate on you?

You just couldn't figure it out.

It got to a point where you were less scared of him and more intrigued. Having him stand and stare was getting boring, you wanted to know why. No. You craved knowing why. But you couldn't ask him. You'd heard he wasn't fond of talking.

So what were you supposed to do? Just let it carry on? That was your only choice.

But things changed one evening.

When he appeared something didn't seem quite right. For one, he was seven minutes later than usual. And his left shoulder slumped forward with all of his weight placed onto his right leg.

He was injured.

And you couldn't help but feel bad for him.

So, like an insane person, you unlocked your door and opened it for him.

As you stood in the doorway staring at him, you noticed him straighten up. As if he were surprised. But you knew the man didn't show emotions, much less any that would display him being caught off guard in any way. So you put it down as your imagination or a trick of the moonlight.

But you left your door open. An invitation. Like he needed one of those.

He didn't move so you left the doorway and went to retrieve your first aid kit from the cabinet above the sink. And by the time you'd found it and turned back around, Michael Myers was standing about a foot into your kitchen.

You stared at him for a second, unsure of the emotions turning in your stomach. "Close the door. It's cold outside."

You really didn't know if you could afford to be giving him orders but considering he hadn't murdered you in the months he'd been watching you, you thought that you were probably safe until you'd at least bandaged up whatever wounds hid beneath the blue jumpsuit.

Not sticking around to see if he did it, you walked to your lounge and put a lamp on. His footsteps were silent so you kept an eye on the archway where he'd emerge from the kitchen. Which he did a few seconds later.

"Sit on the couch."

Surprisingly, he did as he was told. But you thought you might be pushing your luck so you stopped telling him to do things.

As he sat down, not relaxed in the slightest with the best posture you'd ever seen, you realised that getting a wounded man to sit on your nice furniture was probably a bad idea. What if he got blood everywhere? Too late now. You weren't going to ask him to move.

You moved towards him slowly, trying not to spook him. He still had a knife clutched in his hand after all. It was bloodstained. You ignored it.

Michael watched you closely, his head didn't move but you could feel his gaze through the dark eyeholes of the mask. It didn't escape your notice that he was still extremely tall even when sat down.

"What's hurt?"

It was a stupid question, you could see where blood was seeping through his clothes and the slashes in the fabric was clear. But given your very recent history of poor choices, an obvious question seemed like the least of your worries.

He didn't respond anyway. No finger point, no head tilt, no shrug. Not a single inch of his body moved apart from his chest from his breathing. If you couldn't see his inhales and exhales then you'd think he was some sort of dummy or mannequin.

"Have you got a shirt on underneath the jumpsuit?"

Why were you still asking questions?

He still said nothing, which you expected, but he did raise a hand to pop the first couple buttons open to reveal a grey t-shirt under the blue coveralls.

You sighed and nodded. "Um, you're going to need to- to undo a few more buttons. So I can get to your shoulder."

The blood stain was getting bigger and staining his clothes a deep purple.

He tilted his head to the side at you, the most emotion he'd shown so far. But he did as he was told again and then pushed the suit down his arms so it lowered to his waist. You didn't fail to notice how the grey t-shirt clung to him nicely, maybe a size or two too small, and displayed every inch of rippling muscle that covered him. Explained his inhuman strength.

You took a few supplies from the kit and started cleaning up the injury on his shoulder, careful to avoid staring at how his sleeve stretched against his bicep.

When you noticed him staring at you from the corner of your eye, you cleared your throat and pulled away again to distract yourself with looking for other injuries. Which was a fine idea until you realised that blood was dripping from beneath the rubber that adorned his face.

You went to lift the edge of the mask, no intention of taking it off, but his large hands gripped your wrists before you even had the chance. The knife was suddenly forgotten on the cushion of the couch.

You gasped in pain, his hold was tight, but didn't pull away. Trying your hardest to meet his eyes as best you could, you attempted to explain. "I'm not going to take it off but I need to get to your neck. You're bleeding. Lift the mask to your chin and hold it there so I can clean your neck."

There were a few tense moments of heavy breathing from him before he let go and did as you said. He was too agreeable, very out of character from all of the stories you'd heard about him. Were people wrong? Or was he acting differently than usual? How were you supposed to know?

You shook the thoughts from your head and got on with cleaning him up. You couldn't find the source of the blood so assumed it must've been coming from higher up on his face. But you weren't going to ask him to lift the mask anymore. You were a risk taker, if the night was any indication of that, but you didn't have a death wish. Mostly.

"Done." You mumbled and stepped back a few paces, looking down to clean away all of your supplies.

By the time you looked up he was standing again fully clothed.

"You going to kill me now finally?" There was a hint of laughter in your voice. If he did you wouldn't blame him. You probably deserved it after inviting a serial killer into your home and treating him like his own personal nurse.

He didn't respond, just turned and left the room. And by the time you got to the kitchen to follow him out, he was gone and the back door was shut and locked like he'd never even been there.

"See you tomorrow night then." You grumbled to yourself, assuming he'd return as he usually did.

And he did.

Uninjured this time. To your relief and, honestly, slight disappointment. There was really something very wrong with you.

But the routine returned to normal. Michael Myers would appear in your back yard every night at the same time and watch you for hours with no sign of even attempting to enter your house to murder you. And he'd leave when he was done watching whatever he sought out from you.

The initial thrill you'd had knowing he liked watching you had disappeared quickly after you'd realised there was less danger than you'd expected. And the fact that you could get so much closer to him was more exciting than anything else.

The idea of him being inside your house again played on your mind constantly, rolling around in there as regularly as a forbidden fantasy. And maybe it was. But surely you weren't fantasising about Michael Myers... right?

Perhaps the memory of his muscles and his height, just his sheer size even, plagued your brain way more often than was considered normal. The thought that he could probably just snap you in two with his large hands and impossible strength if he chose to, how easy it would be for him to break in and end your life on his will. But he chose not to.

That set your nerves alight.

So you turned your nights into a staring contest.

He'd stand in your back yard and stare into your window. You'd stand in your kitchen and stare out of your window.

And you slowly got more daring. You began to retire to bed earlier, going upstairs to your bedroom and changing right in his direct view. It was one of the few times he moved, tilting his head up slightly to see you better through the mask.

You didn't give him a full show, knowing it probably wasn't what he wanted. He liked to kill "promiscuous" people after all. But it was enough to give him an idea, a way to tease him. It was entertaining for you at least, even if he wasn't bothered.

But then one night when you noticed that he was a few feet closer to your house, you realised it was probably working.

He was tempted.

Whether it was to kill you or to do something else, you weren't sure. But you were exhilarated either way.

When he returned obviously injured again a few nights later, you sighed to yourself in annoyance. Yes, you were excited he'd be in your house again. But out of need, not want. You still unlocked your door and left it open for him as you waited in the lounge nevertheless.

When he emerged from the dark archway between your kitchen and your lounge, you looked him up and down. His stance was better than last time but he was covered in more blood. You deduced that it probably wasn't his.

"Sit." You whispered hoarsely. "Please."

Like manners were going to affect whether he killed you or not.

It went pretty much the same as the time before, cleaning the blood from him as best you could and bandaging up what was easy to access. He didn't flinch or wince, not even at the stuff that made your toes curl just from touching.

It wasn't until you were just finishing off spreading some antibacterial lotion on a gash on his thigh that you noticed he was breathing heavier than usual. You looked up at him and frowned, confused. But when he gave you no indication as to why he was suddenly almost hyperventilating, you shrugged it off and reached for a band-aid. As you glanced towards the wound to get an idea of the size you'd need for it, you realised what was wrong.

"Oh."

He was hard.

"Oh."

The prominent bulge in his crotch wasn't shy in showing you that it was there. He was big, to say at the very least.

Your mouth opened and closed a couple of times before you settled on a reassurance. "It's okay. This happens. Especially when someone is touching you a lot."

You figured this was the most he'd been touched in over a decade.

"I'll just uh..." You stood up to step away from him but he launched his arm forward to grab you by the wrist, not letting you go any further.

"Michael..."

He answered you by tugging your body into his lap, legs straddling either side of his thighs. You made sure not to settle your weight onto him, very conscious of what that could lead to.

But he had other ideas.

He planted both of his large hands on either side of your waist and pushed you to sit fully against him. And there was a lot to sit against.

You bit your tongue to prevent any noise coming out. What now? What did he expect?

His breathing was shaky as he surveyed you through the small eyeholes of his mask, hands hovering over your sides for a second.

You couldn't deny that this position, this close proximity, was turning you on. Especially feeling how hard he was pushed up against you.

He seemed to decide what he wanted to do next as his fists gripped the fabric of your pyjama shirt, suddenly tearing it open so buttons flew everywhere and then ripping it off of you and tossing it to a darkened corner of the room. His hands didn't hesitate it exploring the new uncovered areas of skin, his rough callouses against your soft flesh. He was clearly enjoying this new adventure as he appeared to grow impossibly harder beneath you. Lots of him was impossible.

The clasp he had on your breasts was almost painful but your eyes rolled back in pleasure nevertheless. You liked that he was manhandling you, the strength you'd been fantasising about since day one finally being used on you.

His hands slid down your sides until they met your hips, fingers digging in and pulling them against his. A choked moan escaped your mouth drowning out the sound of his own grunt. When Michael decided that he seemed to like that, he did it again. Rougher this time. And quicker. Then he set a pace doing it over and over again. Your hands flew to his shoulders to give yourself something to hold onto, some grounding. Because this was more than you could handle.

How could something so simple feel so good?

The feeling of his coveralls rubbing against you through the thin material of your sleep shorts was heavenly. That, mixed with his hardness pushing against you in all the right place meant you were in pure ecstasy.

The uncontrollable noises leaving you would've been embarrassing if it weren't for the fact that this was the best you'd ever felt. And you hadn't even had sex. Yet.

Barely a sound left Michael, just the occasional short groan to go along with his heavy breathing.

You couldn't quite tell where he was looking until his head suddenly snapped down and his eyes clearly fixated on where your breasts were bouncing with the rapid movement of the two of you rocking against each other. A slightly louder noise left him then.

There was no rest for you, even if your legs did grow tired and you ran out of breath because he wouldn't let you stop moving. You knew you were probably creating a wet patch on his clothes and that would only grow bigger when he finally came. You were surprised he was lasting this long to be honest. For someone who had been locked up most of his life and hadn't had any sexual experience, he had some stamina in him. But maybe he wasn't a virgin. Was your assumption wrong?

You didn't get time to dwell on it as his arm suddenly locked around your waist and he stopped the two of you. Looking down at him, he was almost the perfect picture of composure. Just some heavy breathing indicated what the two of you had been up to. You couldn't imagine you looked quite as calm.

The arm around you stiffened as he titled the two of you to the side.

"What are you doi- woah." The room was plunged into darkness as he switched the lamp off and then pulled you tight against him again. "Why did you- oh."

Your unfinished question was answered with the sound of rubber hitting the floor penetrating your ears and the feeling of Michael's breath against your skin. You didn't get the chance to question him further as to why he did that as he immediately buried his face in the valley of your breasts and rocked your hips against his to get the friction going again, his free hand rubbing up and down your thigh as the two of you moved.

You bit your bottom lip, extremely happy that he hadn't decided to just stop and leave, that this was still going. The happiness only extended when he licked a drop of sweat off of your skin and you almost screamed. But you couldn't imagine if was the kind of screaming he was used to so you bit your tongue.

Trying to adjust to the sudden absence of light by blinking, but having little success, you looked down to where you imagined Michael's head would be. You saw nothing. Naturally, the only solution to that was to move your hands up his shoulders, up his neck and into his hair. As you curled your fingers into the locks, you were pleasantly surprised to find how soft it was.

You would've smiled or giggled to yourself if he hadn't chosen that exact moment to bite into your collarbone and thrust up underneath you. Your response of tugging on his hair seemed to go down well as he did it again.

"Fuck." You whined against the top of his head, eyes scrunching shut.

That caught Michael's attention, his head pulling back and his free hand abandoning your thigh to wrap around the front of your neck, squeezing slightly when situated there.

You knew what he was doing. Mixing what he usually found pleasurable with this new experience. You wondered whether it was getting him off even more. If the way he was practically throbbing beneath you was any indication, then yes.

This added element of danger sent a shiver down your spine and an intense pulse to your core, making you rock against him without any prompting from him at all. You could still breathe but you knew he could stop that at any second if he chose to.

A breathless moan rumbled from the back of your throat as he squeezed your neck tighter, the arm locked around your waist pushing you against him even harder.

You were so close. So, so close. You chased your high like it was running away from you, rubbing yourself against him as roughly as you could. But there was no need.

Because when Michael leaned forward again to lick a long strip up from your left breast to your neck and then bit you, hard, it was like you saw the pearly gates of heaven. Or the fiery descent to hell.

Your orgasm crashed over you in hot waves as you collapsed against him, forcing his body to hit the back of the couch as your forehead met his and you gasped into his mouth, lips almost grazing but not quite meeting. Your grasp on his hair was tight, tugging on the roots like they were your lifeline. Your naked chest pressed against his clothed one, and that combined with the slight pain of the hair pulling was enough for Michael to come underneath you.

You could feel him twitching against you, only making you shudder against him more, as the wet patch on his jumpsuit grew as you predicted. The quietest extended groan left his mouth as he tensed beneath you, arms locking around you. His hips bucked up against yours a few times weakly before he grew limp.

You rested for a moment, trying to gain some strength back in your shaking legs, before you pushed off of him and stood up. Feeling around in the air for the lamp, you covered your eyes before switching it back on.

"Find your mask and put it back on." You instructed, waiting a moment for him to do so.

He didn't make any noise as he moved, as usual, and the only indication you had that he was done was the looming feeling of his presence in front of you and the sound of his exhales rattling the rubber that adorned him.

You uncovered your eyes and squinted against the sudden light, looking up to find Michael almost chest to chest with you. Well, head to chest. He was very tall after all.

Your gaze flickered down to his left hand which was slightly extended towards you. He was holding your pyjama shirt. The one he'd ruined by ripping all of the buttons off.

"Oh, thanks." You took it from him and put it back on, holding it together at the front by crossing your arms against your chest.

Probably a bad idea considering this position made the top gape open and your breasts push together to create an exaggerated cleavage. Michael didn't seem to mind as he lifted his right hand and traced a finger across the swell of your breasts for a moment before dropping his arm back to his side again.

You dropped your eyes away in embarrassment, and slight arousal, and noticed the mess the two of you had made on his blue jumpsuit.

"You're gonna want to wash that." You said, meekly gesturing towards it. You couldn't deny that seeing the stains that you'd made together was making your skin feel hot again.

He didn't even look to see what you were talking about, just continued to stare at you through his mask.

You tried to come up with something to say but nothing sprung to mind. What were you supposed to say to a serial killer that you'd just dry humped and orgasmed on top of?

It seemed like you didn't need to come up with a one-sided conversation starter though as he suddenly turned on his heel and left the room. You hesitated before following him. Stupid really since you couldn't even keep up with him at the best of times, especially not now on weak legs.

And, as usual, by the time you'd reached the kitchen he was gone and the door was locked.

He continued to return every night as normal but didn't enter your house again. No injuries seemed to be inflicted upon him for a while. You were beginning to get bored. Sighing every time he left with no hint of coming inside again.

Which is why a few days later you were very shocked by his out of character behaviour.

You woke up cold, your blankets stripped from your bed and the feeling of someone watching you sinking a chilling freeze into your bones. It was soon clear why you felt that way.

His silhouette was partially outlined by the moonlight coming through your bedroom window as he stood over you.

You shot up in bed, giving yourself a head rush. "Michael, what the fu-" You were cut off as he grasped the hand that was reaching for your bedside lamp. "No light? Why?"

He answered your question by pressing something rubber into your palm. His mask.

"Oh. Okay..." You frowned to yourself as you dropped the mask on your nightstand. What was he expecting you to do if he was injured but you couldn't see him? "I can't clean your wounds if it's dark."

It was too dark to see his face but the natural light from outside was enough to see him shake his head no. He wasn't injured. What did he need then?

"Then what? Why are you here? At this time?" You were still slightly dazed from just waking up, trying to shake some coherent thought into your head. What was the time? He'd already been and gone earlier that evening. How had he gotten in? You were sure you'd locked the door? Maybe that made no difference?

His breathing was heavy, shoulders moving up and down with his laboured inhales and exhales.

His grip on your wrist hadn't loosened as he pulled your hand towards him, resting it on his abdomen and then slowly dragging down and down and-

"Oh."

He was hard.

Very hard.

"You want me to-"

You'd guessed by this point that he probably hated hearing you talk as he was always cutting you off. This time by pushing on your shoulders so you fell flat on your back and bounced on the mattress. And then he was on top of you in mere fractions of a second.

He was smothering.

His mere presence was enough to stop your breath in your throat and having him be this close, having all of his weight pressed against you this way, practically stole the oxygen from your bloodstream.

His breath was hot on your face, his nose barely grazing against yours before he moved to trace it along your hairline and then down your neck where he inhaled deeply, groaning lowly at your scent.

You reached up to touch him but he was too fast, clasping both of your wrists in one hand and pinning them above your head.

"This doesn't work if I can't touch you." You mumbled frustratedly, more to yourself than to him.

It wasn't strictly true but what did he know? Last time he hadn't used any real technique, just done whatever felt best for him which luckily also felt good for you. He'd used the mere skill brought to him by innate exploration. Maybe this time he'd be more purposeful with you.

Unlikely.

The statement you'd made seemed to have some sort of influence on him though as he slowly let go of your wrists and let you dig one into his hair, where you gently pulled on it, and let the other drift to undo the top buttons of his coveralls. You popped them open cautiously, one by one, until your nails stroked the material of his grey undershirt. You assumed it was grey as usual.

Your fingers wandered to the neckline where you swooped the index to get a feel of his skin. He froze above you but didn't stop you.

"I'm going to undo more. Just stop me if you want. But gently." You clarified, not wanting bruised wrists in the morning which was guaranteed if he grabbed them with his vice-like grip again.

Each button fell open easily, like they were dying to be free from their clasps, and Michael didn't stop you once. And when the last one was undone, he leant back slightly on his knees to let you push the jumpsuit down so it bunched around his waist just like the first time he'd been in your house.

You took the opportunity to let your hands roam the muscles you'd been admiring since the first time you'd seen him up close. They were solid. He was solid.

He crowded over you again, breathing getting more rapid the more you touched him. He let out a soft sound when your hands reached his crotch, palming him over his clothes.

"Take them off and I can touch you more." You offered, attempting to sound sultry but sure you just sounded desperate instead.

He hesitated but did as you said, standing up to push the jumpsuit further down his legs but still not taking it off completely. Then he was on top of you again, pushing your hand against him before you even had the chance to realise he was so close again. You squeezed him through his underwear and he bucked his hips against your palm.

You did that for a while, moving your hand up and down the outline of him through the material and ignoring the ache between your own legs. Getting him riled up was a lot of fun, especially when he let noises slip every now and again. You just wished you could see the reactions on his face. Did he bite his lip? Did he screw his eyes shut? Was his jaw dropped open? You guessed you'd never know.

While those thoughts plagued your mind, it seemed Michael had changed his. And what was happening wasn't good enough for him anymore. So he slapped your hand away suddenly. Before you could even begin to utter a sentence, he ripped your pyjama shirt open.

Great, another one ruined.

His hands shot to your chest, away from where they'd been resting either side of your head previously, and he started to knead the flesh. Your back arched, pushing your chest closer to his and making your nipples rub against the fabric of his t-shirt. Michael must've figured out that the stimulation was good based on the gasp you let out as he moved his attention to your nipples, flicking and tweaking them with his fingers.

He didn't seem hesitant at all in what he was doing but it was also clear he wasn't experienced either. There was no rhythm to his touches, he just did whatever felt right. And that worked for you.

You grew extremely wet when he started grinding himself against your core from instinct alone. You wanted more, craved more, needed more.

Your hands flew to the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down a few inches to pull him free. You knew he was big but having the real thing in your hand, no clothing barriers at all, was a whole other story.

You could hear his teeth clicking shut when you started to stroke him, skin on skin, spreading his pre-cum up and down his length.

"Fuck, Michael. Jesus." You garbled, head wild with lust and nothing else. "Need you inside me."

He stopped moving at that, hands falling away from your chest and hips no longer bucking to pump himself into your palm.

Maybe he really was clueless.

"You know? Inside me?" You reached around to find one of his hands, pushing it down the waistband of your sleep shorts until his fingers met your wetness.

He wasn't even doing anything but the sensation alone of him touching you made you shiver. That was until he seemed to understand what he was feeling. His head tilted to the side, just about visible in the moonlight, as he let his fingers explore. As he grazed your clit, you squeaked quietly. He seemed to like that so he did it a couple more times, just to illicit a reaction out of you. But he got bored quickly and kept on feeling.

When he reached the source of the wetness, he pushed a finger in. You moaned. Loudly. He liked that a lot more, so pulled out the finger and reinserted with a second one joining in. Your eyes rolled back at this. And the sounds you made reached a new decibel. Michael did the same thing again and again, pumping his fingers just to feel you clench around him.

When he eventually pulled his fingers free, you whined in protest before the sounds of him sucking the taste of you off of his skin hit you. And you decided that maybe the loss of contact was okay if that's what he was going to do instead.

When he was satisfied with that, Michael tore your shorts off of you completely and tossed them over his shoulder somewhere. Then his underwear was pushed further down and he was spreading your legs apart, as far as they would go.

Your heart rate picked up further than it was already running, probably entering dangerous territory. But you didn't care. It was finally about to happen.

Michael crawled over you, shadowed face hanging above yours. You just nodded at him, wondering whether he was able to see you do it. Either way, he seemed to get the message that you really really wanted to do this. So, with a hand on one of your thighs to hold you in place, and the other on his cock to guide him, he pushed into you.

At that moment you decided that you were definitely seeing the devil in the afterlife.

But it was worth it for this.

He stretched you open perfectly, gliding in with ease considering how wet you already were. But that was nothing in comparison to how you felt hearing him letting out what could only be described as a mixture between a whimper and a pleasured groan against your ear.

If never hearing him talk meant that the noises he let out during sex made you tingle, then you'd take his silence any day.

The hand on your thigh moved to curl your leg around his waist, changing the angle so he moved into you deeper. And the other rested against your head to keep him propped up. Yours scraped down his back in ecstasy, probably leaving nail marks along the plains of his skin. You were sure he wouldn't mind, he'd had worse injuries.

He stayed still once he'd entered you, stiff but breathing heavily.

"Move, Michael." You whispered. "Please move."

And when he pulled out and slammed back in again, you were positive you could see the grim reaper knocking at your door ready to whisk you away to the tortuous pits of hell.

All you knew is that you certainly weren't seeing heaven after this.

Michael grunted, head hanging so his soft hair tickled against your skin. But he seemed to get the idea as he pumped in and out of you at a ruthless pace. Skin slapped together, your chests rubbing against one another as you bounced up and down the surface of the bed, which shuffled along the floor with every thrust.

You'd never known sex to be so loud. Maybe you'd just never had sex as good as this. Because the roaring of blood in your ears definitely wasn't helping.

You couldn't help the sounds that were escaping your parted lips, thankful that your neighbours' houses weren't close enough to hear you. Your other leg moved to wrap around Michael's waist, tugging him closer to you and locking him in place. You need him to be as close as possible, to be as deep inside you as possible.

The hand on your thigh dug in deep, certainly leaving bruises, before trailing up the length of your body and wrapping around the front of your neck. He pushed down this time, squeezing slightly to cut off your airway just a little. It excited you more than anything and made you clench around him.

That seemed unexpected to Michael as he faltered slightly before pounding into you harder than before, having absolutely no mercy on your body. You only clenched harder.

His pattern began to fumble, thrusts become more forceful but less regular. He was getting close. And you weren't far off either. You let one of your hands fall from his back and placed it between the two of you, starting to rub your clit. He took notice of this and pushed your hand away to replace it with his own, letting oxygen rush back into your lungs again.

The head rush combined with the pressure on your clit tipped you over the edge into oblivion. You choked out a muffled scream as your orgasm ripped through your body, tears falling from the corners of your eyes.

But Michael didn't let up for a second. This just seemed to give him a new wave of energy as his pace picked up rubbing tight circles on your clit and slamming into you with no forgiveness.

You approached the edge rapidly again, the raw feeling over overstimulation pushing you closer and closer. His sweat dripped onto you, creating a sheen that let your bodies slide against each other in erotic heat. You could feel every inch of him either against you or inside of you. And that thought made you come again. This time the scream was less muffled.

The feeling of you clenching around him again like a vice had Michael finally hitting his peak too, his face buried into the crook of your neck as he pumped you full of his cum. If you weren't so spent already, that would've made for three orgasms.

He bit down on the skin of your shoulder to prevent any noises coming out too loud, but he couldn't mask all of them. He twitched inside of you as he gave a few last lazy bucks of his hips before he pulled out completely, standing up and looking down at you.

You really wondered how good his vision must be in this light for him to be able to see you. Or maybe he couldn't. Maybe he was faking it.

Either way you didn't care, too exhausted suddenly to really think about it. You began to drift to sleep, desperately trying to keep your eyes open to see what he'd do next. You vaguely remembered seeing him get dressed again. But you don't remember him leaving. Or moving you to rest your head back on your pillow. Or him pulling your blankets over you again.

Maybe he didn't do any of that. Maybe you did in your sleepy state.

It didn't matter. He was still gone before you even had the chance to register what happened.

But you were pleased when the next night, you glanced out of your kitchen window and found him stood there as usual, watching you. From now on, you were just going to leave your door unlocked to make it easier for him.

A/N: To celebrate my Halloween, I watched Halloween (1978) home alone whilst my housemates all went to a party. It inspired me to write this.

#michael myers #michael myers x reader #michael myers x you #halloween #halloween 1978 #slashers #slasher #michael myers fic #michael myers fanfiction #michael myers smut #slasher fic #slasher x reading #slasher x you #ej’s fics #ej’s writing #deakyjoe’s fics #deakyjoe’s writing

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queer-brainrot · 3 months ago

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ok so here's the thing about jercy. they're like an onion, they have layers

they are totally boyfriends that call each other dude and bro all the fucking time, they tease each other and joke around, they get into dumb competitions with each other and their banter is top notch

but they're also. all over each other. and not like in a making out in front of everyone kind of way but like you can't tell me jason isn't touch-starved and i just know that his sweet, empathetic, emotionally intelligent percy is going to pick up on that. so Percy is always touching Jason, an arm over his shoulder or resting his hand on the small of his back or holding hands while they patrol with their swords in their dominant hands. jason probably doesn't realize how badly he needs it until he gets it and then he doesn't know how to ask for it but percy delivers anyways. eventually jason works his way up to using his words and even initiating the contact he craves all by himself

bottom line they are soft for each other, as leaders of their camps it's hard for them to let their guard down but with each other they can because they know the other just gets it and they feel safe. you don't think jason absolutely breaks down crying on percy's chest after meeting sally and comparing it to his own mother, while percy holds him through it and reassures him that sally is his family too? you don't think jason will stay up all night holding percy when the nightmares get to be too much? i think these two are able to open up much more to each other than anyone else. they're both the big spoon, they're both the little spoon, they each need it sometimes ok

but just because they're soft and in love does not mean they don't go hard on each other in training, they fight in the arena without holding back. they're still super competitive with one another whether it's sword fighting, demigod abilities, or dumb stuff (including but not limited to flirting and making the other blush). they know the other can take it

but oh my gods if one of them gets hurt? they are so fucking protective. between percy 'loyalty is my fatal flaw' jackson and jason 'raised by wolves' grace they would do anything, go absolutely feral, to keep the the other safe from any threat, real or perceived, because they're so precious to one another. these traits probably also lead into some possessiveness but like they're into it and i promise it's not in a toxic way it's just very low-key they know they don't like "own" each other alright

so like yeah they can be pushing each other around bro-ing out almost looking like they're just friends, or you can question how they can look ready to kill each other when they spar, but you gotta look for the subtle things. look in their eyes, they can't keep the absolute love and adoration out of their eyes. and remember, as touchy as they are when they're relaxing around camp, you will never see what they're like when it's just themselves (hint it's a complete mashup of bro shit and soft love and passion), and if you try getting too close to either boyfriend they will both instantly shut you down

#jercy #jercy hc #jercy headcanon #percy jackson/jason grace #percy jackson #jason grace #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #pjo #this has been in my drafts for months #i dont know where i was going with this #so im just posting it #hope it makes sense #probably doesnt #the brainrot is brainrotting

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alittlebitofloveliness · 2 months ago

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This might be a hot take but I’m fully convinced that if Ponyboy got injured in the church fire and died in Johnny’s place, that Johnny would still die because he’d be the member of the gang that wouldn’t be able to handle it

I used to think it would be Darry or Soda- and sure, they’d be absolutely devastated. They’d never be the same. But the Curtis boys know loss, they lost both their parents at once and not only survived but bounced back in a relatively short period of time. Losing Pony would be worse and it would take them far longer to move past it, but Soda and Darry have each other and they would survive it.

Johnny though, Johnny couldn’t.

We know what Johnny and Pony mean to one another. Whether you read them as platonic or romantic or a secret third thing there is no denying they are each others person, unquestioningly and irrevocably. We see in the book how depressed Ponyboy is after Johnny’s death, delusional and then nearly catatonic with grief, and he has his brothers and the remainder of the gang watching over him like a hawk. Their support and presence is absolutely constant for a reason, even if Ponyboy’s suicide watch is largely subtextual and glossed over in a few short paragraphs.

Johnny doesn’t have brothers. He has the gang, that are family in all but blood, but Johnny has spent his life looking out for himself. He sleeps in the lot or couch surfs because no one else is going to find a spot for him, and because his own house isn’t safe. But Johnny is depressed. Ponyboy mentions how the greaser lifestyle and his parents’ warring is ‘killing Johnny’ rather than turning him cold and mean. Ponyboy also mentions that the gang is the only thing keeping Johnny from running away from Tulsa altogether, while Johnny literally voices his suicidal thoughts to Pony in the lot. Point is, Johnny’s mental state was already precarious before the events of the novel. Had he, Pony, and Dally all lived through the story Johnny would still struggle tremendously, probably even more than before. If Pony had died Johnny probably still would not have lived to the end of the book.

Johnny is incredibly protective of Ponyboy (even if Pony doesn’t realize it). Throughout the book we see him take charge whenever Ponyboy falls to pieces, comfort him when Ponyboy is feeling embarasssed after meeting Cherry, let Pony sleep on his legs even when Pony put them to sleep and they had to jump off a train. He was ready to run away with Pony no questions asked. He buys Pony a book and cigarettes when they’re on the run and don’t have a ton of money just to make the whole thing easier for Pony mentally. He literally stabs Bob to death for Pony. So imagine what would happen if Johnny went into that church with Pony and was unable to save him? If they were in that inferno and he saw the beam crash down and helped Dallas drag Pony’s limp body out and it still wasn’t enough? What do you think happens to an already seriously depressed kid when his person- the one person who always understood him without him having to say a word, a boy who was so naive, yet so wise and so desperately kind- dies? What do you think happens when Johnny can’t save the one person he desperately wanted to protect?

It’s simple. Johnny pulls a Dally, and Johnny dies. And then Dally dies too, because he can’t live without Johnny (if it had JUST been Pony who died, Dallas would survive. Dallas cared about Pony- I firmly believe that, but Pony’s death would not affect Dally the same way Johnny’s did. It wouldn’t affect him any LESS but it would affect him DIFFERENTLY- and would not result in his suicide for a myriad of reasons that deserve a whole post of their own.)

But yeah. Had Pony died from the church fire I think Johnny would have died too, and The Outsiders would end with four dead kids instead of three. It is a horrible, inevitable, preventable tragedy, and no matter what variable is changed it will always be a horrible, inevitable, preventable tragedy.

#The outsiders #johnny cade #ponyboy curtis #dallas winston #darry curtis #sodapop curtis

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cheriecelestial · 27 days ago

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Jacob Black’s Self Saving System Pt.II

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ crack. swearing. not proofread.

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ So here’s part 2. I’m aware it’s a bit more than overdue but FCKING FINALLY. literally so proud for completing it cuz like take that depression. Also it’s kinda short so sorry abt that. Anyways Comment, Reblog and Like（╹◡╹）♡

part 1

Jacob was abruptly pulled from the gentle embrace of sleep by the simultaneous blaring of his alarm and the persistent ringing of the system. It was an unmistakable sign that the day was about to begin, whether he was ready for it or not—a day full of promise, or so it seemed.

“Just five more minutes,” he grumbled to the system, burying his head deeper into the pillows, not remembering the fact that the system’s voice was inside his head. Covering his ears wouldn’t do anything to muffle the annoying mechanical sound.

[Congratulations ! You have unlocked a beginner’s quest.]

[ ➤ 「Accept」]

[ 「Reject」]

The message hovered in him, waiting for his response, completely indifferent to his desire for a few more minutes of peace.

Jacob’s ears perked up the moment he caught the word “quest.” His curiosity piqued; he peeked out from under his pillow at the blue window that had materialized before him. “What kind of quest ?” he questioned. Huh, this is more user-friendly than I expected, he thought.

[Further details will be provided upon accepting the quest.]

A beginner’s quest was usually something straightforward and low risk. Besides, Twilight was generally a safe story to be transmigrated into—Stephanie Meyer hadn’t exactly shown much nerve in killing off characters, unless they were villains. And it wasn't like he was diving headfirst into some cutthroat world where danger lurked around every corner. Thank the heavens he wasn’t a Hunger Games hater.

Jacob weighed his options, his finger hovering over the “Accept” button. A beginner's quest in seemed like the perfect way to ease into this new reality. But then reading about it was one thing but actually experiencing it was another. Jacob still had lot of learning to do regarding his surroundings. After all, it was still too early and the thought of getting involved in anything, even if it was “low risk” felt exhausting.

“Nah, I’ll pass,” he muttered, reaching out to reject the quest.

[This option is unavailable. Your user level too low.]

“Then why even offer that option ?!” Jacob hissed at the system. A blank screen appeared as if the system was about to respond, but Jacob cut it off, “That was rhetorical. Keep that shit to yourself. Does this thing have a Google review rating system ? Because I’ve got a few things to say.”

The system remained silent, apparently taking his words too literally. In all fairness, based on his experiences with the system so far, it felt almost too generous for it to acknowledge his rejection without a fight. Even while clicking, he half-expected some resistance from the system, maybe a guilt-trip message or a reminder that beginner’s quests were important for progress.

Unlike those rare morning people who leap out of bed fresh and ready to conquer the day with a smile, Jacob, like any normal person, rolled out of bed with a groan and a string of unintelligible curses. And by “rolled out of bed”, it meant he literally tumbled off the mattress, hitting the floor with a thud, tangled in his sheets and struggling to get up.

This was his usual morning routine, occasionally accompanied by sobbing into his pillow about how he can’t do this anymore. But, oh well, a quest is a quest.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror, confirming that he was still Jacob and that this was all very real. Jason had never had long hair, nor had he ever tried to grow it out, but Jacob’s long locks were starting to give him ideas. He picked up a comb from the vanity, parted his hair down the middle and then grabbed an umbrella leaning against the side.

“Fate is not to be taken lightly, Cloud,” he declared, flourishing the umbrella as if it were the mighty Masamune itself, his tone grand and serious—completely unaware that his father was watching from the hallway.

“Son are you planning to duel the weather or is this just a new morning routine ?” his father finally asked, breaking the silence trying his hardest to hold back his laughter at his son channeling his inner swordsman.

Jacob froze, the illusion shattering as he realized he wasn’t alone. He slowly turned to face his dad, feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“Uh, just… practicing,” Jacob stammered, lowering the umbrella. His father chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, brush your teeth and come down for breakfast. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, even for master swordsman. And maybe next time, close the door.”

[Mild OOC]

“Go fuck yourself.”

Jacob sighed as his father wheeled his wheelchair away, leaving the door slightly ajar. He set the umbrella back in its place and stared at his reflection once more.

“You are a fucking dumbass,” he muttered to himself, gripping the sides of the vanity and jabbing a finger at his reflection. Positive self-talks were necessary for good mental health. Jacob for one never missed it a day of his life, though his choice of words always stayed limited.

He picked up his toothbrush and started brushing. “And what about the quest ?” he asked through a mouthful of toothpaste.

[Further details will be provided in due time.]

Jacob rolled his eyes at the system’s vague response. “Of course they will,” he muttered, spitting into the sink and rinsing his mouth. For something that was supposed to be mechanical and emotionless, the system sure seemed to have a vendetta against him.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, the aroma of breakfast wafted up the stairs, reminding him of the real world outside his head. Jacob headed downstairs, the wooden floor creaking beneath his feet. His father was already at the table, engrossed in the morning paper with a cup of coffee by his side.

“Morning,” Jacob said as he sat down, reaching for the toast acting all Jacob Black rugged werewolf alpha-to-be stud-y.

His father glanced up with a small smile. “Morning. Planning any more sword-fighting today?”

Jacob gave an awkward smile as he spread butter on his toast, a crack appearing in his facade, “Not unless I get ambushed in the living room.”

His father chuckled softly before returning to his paper. Jacob took a bite of his toast, trying to focus on the routine of breakfast, but his mind kept drifting back to the mysterious quest. The system had promised more details, but the anticipation of what was to come was already making him anxious.

“So, son, you might remember that Bella’s coming to town tomorrow—” his father began, folding his newspaper and setting it aside. As he spoke, a blue exclamation mark appeared above his head. Jacob internally rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You turned my dad into a quest-giving NPC? That’s foul, even for you.”

[Initializing quest]

“So, I thought you could fix up the old truck as a welcome gift for her,” his father concluded.

[Quest Accepted: Welcome to Forks!]

[Objective: Prepare a welcome present for Bella Swan.]

[Reward: Unlocking Skill Interface and +20 B points]

“So, my mission is to fix a truck for the female lead ? What, am I her servant now?” Jacob scoffed at the task.

[Correction: Jacob Black is a male lead of the novel.]

Jacob didn’t answer back. Everything seemed so in place that he had forgotten that he’d momentarily forgotten his role—the second male lead in a romance novel, whose sole purpose was to worship the ground the female lead walked on. His life wasn’t truly his own; it was meant to revolve around her, with no room for his own desires. His existence was defined by what he could do for the female lead, a reality that left a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew it wasn’t Bella’s fault—she hadn’t asked for this, just as he hadn’t. There was only one person he could blame for it all.

“Stephanie when I catch you Stephanie,” He cursed silently, but he knew he had no choice but to accept the quest. Forcing a smile, he looked at his dad and said, “Consider it done.” His dad smiled at him,

His father smiled, clearly pleased with Jacob’s response. “That’s the spirit. Bella will appreciate it,” he said, pushing back from the table and wheeling himself toward the door. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Jacob nodded, though his mind was elsewhere. As soon as his father was out of sight, the fake smile dropped from his face. He headed out to the garage, where the old red truck was parked. The sight of it made him sigh. Fixing the truck wasn’t really the problem—it was what it represented. This wasn’t just a mechanical job; it was the beginning of his role in the story, the part where he’d be sucked deeper into a plot he had no control over.

The system chimed again in his head as he approached the truck.

[Reminder: Completing quests will increase your chances of survival in this world.]

“You do realize I don’t know shit about fixing machines, right ?” Jacob muttered under his breath, staring at the set of tools with resentment bubbling inside him. With a resigned sigh, he picked up a wrench, though he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it. “Great,” he muttered, “just another thing I’ve got to figure out on my own.”

In his previous world, he had graduated from college, but with a degree in chemical engineering, not mechanical and didn't know the first thing about machines. He popped the truck’s hood and surveyed the engine, trying to remember anything he’d ever seen or heard about fixing cars. It wasn’t much, but he knew he had to start somewhere. His hands moved hesitantly, testing bolts and wires, half-expecting the system to chime in with a snarky comment or some overly complex instructions.

But the system remained silent, leaving him to muddle through on his own. Jacob tightened a few bolts, poked around in the engine, and fiddled with whatever parts looked like they might need adjusting. It was slow, frustrating work, and he doubted he was doing much good.

[New Feature Unlocked: Easy Mode.]

Jacob blinked in surprise as the notification appeared in his mind. "Easy Mode ? Now you decide to help ?" he muttered, half-annoyed and half-relieved.

[Easy Mode : Guided assistance will now be provided.]

[Activation requires : 10 B-points]

[ ➤ 「Accept」]

[ 「Reject」]

“Ugh, fuck it. Accept.” Almost instantly, a series of holographic arrows and instructions appeared, overlaying the truck’s engine. The system highlighted specific parts, showing Jacob exactly where to place the wrench, which bolts to tighten, and which wires needed reconnecting. Each step was broken down into simple, manageable tasks.

[-10 B points ↓ ↓ ↓]

Following the holographic instructions, he carefully placed the wrench on the first bolt the system highlighted. “Okay, I can do this,” Jacob muttered to himself, tightening the bolt as directed. He moved on to the next step, reconnecting a loose wire that the system had pointed out. The process was much smoother now, and with each completed task, the truck started to look less like a hopeless wreck and more like a functioning vehicle. At least with Easy Mode activated, the overwhelming sense of helplessness was gone. The minutes ticked by, and before he knew it, he was tightening the last bolt the system had highlighted.

[Progress: 100% complete. The truck is now operational.]

Jacob stepped back, looking at the truck with a mixture of pride and disbelief. “I actually did it,” he murmured, feeling a small sense of accomplishment. Even though the system had done most of the heavy lifting with its guided assistance, he had still been the one to follow through.

“What’s is the skill interface ?” He asked out of curiosity. As Jacob's question hung in the air, the system responded with a chime, and a new window popped up in front of him, displaying the contents of the survival kit.

[ Quest completed. processing rewards.]

[Entering skill interface]

[ 「Shapeshifting」]

[ 「Superhuman strength」]

[ 「Superhuman speed」]

[ 「Accelerated healing」]

[ 「Combat Skills」]

[ 「Mechanical Knowledge」]

[ 「Memories of “Jacob Black”」]

Jacob chose [Mechanical Knowledge] first, eager to see how it might assist him with future tasks. The moment he selected the option, a torrent of information surged into his mind—detailed schematics, repair techniques, and a newfound intuitive grasp of machinery. The influx was almost overwhelming, giving him a throbbing headache.

“Alright, that’s definitely useful,” he said, rubbing his forehead. He felt more confident about handling mechanical tasks going forward. The other skills on the list remained greyed out, indicating they were locked and would likely unlock at later stages.

Curious about the remaining options, Jacob hesitantly tapped [Memories of “Jacob Black”]. Instantly, he was hit with a wave of pain as fragmented memories and experiences from the character he was supposed to embody flooded his mind. The memories were disjointed and confusing, offering glimpses into Jacob Black’s motivations and actions.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about this change—was it a relief or a burden ? He couldn’t tell. A part of him had always feared embracing the identity of Jacob Black, worried that doing so would mean losing himself entirely. Yet, another, louder voice in his mind scoffed at the idea. What was there to lose ? Jason had never been someone worth remembering. His life had been marked by mediocrity, at best. For years, he tried to deny it, but eventually, the truth became undeniable. In every aspect—looks, athletics, personality, academics—he had always fallen short. He was nothing more than a background character, one who could vanish without anyone noticing.

From being bullied and ostracized in school to facing isolation in college and work, the pattern remained the same. His peers—whether classmates, batchmates or neighbors—seemed to move forward effortlessly, while he remained stuck, perpetually left behind. Eventually, he gave up trying to keep pace. Why bother, when it was clear he never stood a chance ?

Jacob Black, on the other hand, was everything Jason had always dreamed of being—smart, good-looking, charismatic. It made it easier to slip into the character’s persona, to hide from his inadequacies. Despite the flawed story Jacob Black came from, he was someone—someone with a real chance at life. And that was something Jason had never felt he could be. And so, in a strange and twisted way, he found solace in becoming someone else, even if it meant surrendering pieces of himself in the process. It wasn’t that he wanted to forget who he was, but clinging to Jason’s identity only brought him pain—memories of failures, insecurities and a life that felt perpetually out of reach. Jacob Black, by contrast, offered an escape, a new narrative where he wasn’t invisible, where he could matter.

Still, as comforting as that illusion was, it came with a heavy cost. The more he embraced Jacob Black, the harder it became to distinguish where Jason ended and Jacob began. Yet, a nagging thought echoed in his mind: Did it even matter? If being Jason meant a life of irrelevance and emptiness, maybe losing himself wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Heard you guys coming all the way down the road”, Charlie chuckled, greeting Billy with a grin before fist-bumping Jacob—a gesture he insisted on using to "keep up with the younger folks”. Jacob gave a polite nod but kept glancing between the door and Charlie, mentally counting down. Any moment now, he thought, waiting for Bella’s entrance. He wasn’t exactly a fan of Bella Swan as a character—mostly due to the way the story was written—but from what he could gather from Jacob Black’s memories, she seemed pretty chill. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to befriend her.

The door creaked open, and there she was—Isabella Marie Swan, the illustrious female lead of Twilight. Bella fit the mold perfectly: the quintessential plain brunette lead that romance novels loved to idealize. The archetype was crafted to be highly relatable—an "average" girl with nothing striking about her outwardly. Yet despite that description, Bella was undeniably attractive by conventional beauty standards. Her features weren’t particularly distinctive—the kind you might find on an aspiring young model—but they gave her a soft, doe-like appeal, also a common trait in romance novel female leads.

It was this very trope that irked Jacob: the unrealistic fantasy of an ordinary girl, doing little to alter her circumstances, who is inexplicably "discovered" and elevated by an idealized partner. It reinforced a passive role, one where the protagonist didn’t have to work for change or growth—everything simply happened to her.

Jacob suppressed an eye roll as he watched Bella quietly step inside, glancing around with that reserved, slightly awkward demeanor he remembered from the story. Yep, classic plain-brunette-lead energy, he thought. There was nothing inherently wrong with Bella—she wasn’t annoying or overly dramatic—but it was the way the narrative framed her as the ultimate object of desire without much effort on her part that bugged him. Everyone, from Edward to Jacob Black, seemed drawn to her like moths to a flame, while she just... existed.

“Bella, you remember Billy Black,” Charlie said, breaking the silence. Bella responded with a polite smile, “Wow, you’re looking good.” Billy chuckled warmly. “Well, I’m still dancin’.” Though he wasn’t fond of the wheelchair, Jacob had come to understand that humor was Billy’s way of dealing with his condition. “I'm glad you're finally here,” Billy added with a grin. “Charlie here hasn't shut up about it since you told him you were coming.” He shot Charlie a knowing look, who, clearly embarrassed, averted his gaze and rolled his eyes—prompting a round of laughter from everyone at his expense.

“All right, keep exaggerating. I'll roll you into the mud,” Charlie shot back with a smirk. He wasn’t the type to openly show affection, but his quiet protectiveness and demeanor made it clear how much he cared for Bella in his own gruff way. "After I ram you into the ankles !" illy shot back, wheeling toward him with a mischievous glint in his eye. Charlie, grinning, raised his fists like a boxer ready for a playful showdown. Bella shook her head, half amused, half exasperated by her father’s shenanigans.

“Hi, I'm Jacob,” Jacob said, giving her a friendly grin. His voice was casual, familiar, like they’d been friends all along. He didn’t need to overdo it; Jacob Black’s charm came naturally, after all. Bella gave him a small smile in return, looking a bit surprised but pleased by the warm greeting.

“Hey,” Bella said, her voice soft but steady.

“We uh— used to make mudpies when we were little.” he recalled, trying to break the ice. “Right. No, I remember,” Bella nodded, and he laughed lightly, and for a brief moment, Jacob found himself wondering if maybe he’d been too harsh in judging her earlier. “Are they always like this ?”She asked and Jacob rolled his eyes and let out a tired and dramatic sigh, “It’s getting worse with old age.” Before they could continue, Charlie gave the truck a solid pat, rejoining the conversation with a grin. “So, what do you think?”

“Think of what?”

“Your homecoming present,” he said, a proud smile spreading across his face. “Just bought it off Billy here.”

“I totally rebuilt the engine for you,” Jacob chirped, eager to take some credit.

Bella took a step closer to the old red truck, inspecting its weathered exterior. The paint was faded, with a few dents here and there, but somehow, it had character—like it had been through a lot and still held its ground. She ran a hand over the cool metal, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Oh my gosh,” she exclaimed, glancing at Charlie, who was watching her expectantly. Charlie’s chest puffed up slightly with pride. “Thought you’d like it. It’s reliable, sturdy, and got a lot of miles left in it.”

“Are you kidding me ? This is perfect !”

Jacob leaned casually against the side of the truck, grinning. “Yeah, and if you ever break down, you know who to call.” Bella gave him a faux skeptical look as she retorted, “You sure I won’t end up stranded on some back road ?”

“Hey, have a little faith. It’s practically indestructible now.”

Billy laughed, wheeling himself forward slightly. “Kid’s been tinkering with engines since he could hold a wrench. You’re in good hands.”

As the conversation carried on, Bella opened the truck’s door and climbed in, running her hands over the steering wheel. The scent of old leather and oil greeted her, and despite its worn state, it felt right—like it belonged. Starting the engine, she was pleasantly surprised when it roared to life without hesitation.

“See? Told you it was solid,” Jacob said smugly, leaning against the window. Bella laughed softly, shaking her head. For a moment, things felt simple, easy—like the beginning of something new.

Still, Jacob had a plan. He wasn’t here to criticize the story—at least not openly to avoid triggering the system. He was here to observe, maybe stir the pot a little, and most importantly, enjoy the chaos as it unfolded. Making friends with Bella could be useful, especially since she was at the center of all the supernatural madness to come. Plus, from what he remembered, it seemed like they had gotten along pretty well before things got complicated with the whole love triangle nonsense.

[Quest Completed: Welcome to Forks!]

[+20 B points ↑ ↑ ↑]

Jacob stared down at the slab of steak on his plate, its surface glistening with a thin sheen of butter. The rich aroma filled the kitchen, mingling with the faint scent of charred edges. Anyone else would have been salivating by now, but not him. He picked up his fork and knife reluctantly, cutting a piece off with mechanical precision. The knife slid through cleanly enough, but that didn’t stop the unease building in his stomach.

It’s just food. You need it. Get it over with, he told himself, spearing the piece and raising it to his mouth. As soon as he bit down, that dreaded texture hit him—chewy, dense, and greasy. He hated how it clung to his teeth, how it seemed to fight back every time he tried to chew.

Steak wasn’t about the taste; the flavor was fine, even decent. It was the texture that made his skin crawl. The way it demanded to be chewed thoroughly, the way every bite felt like more of an effort than it should’ve been—turning a meal into a chore.

Still, he didn’t have much of a choice. His body needed the protein, especially with the increased appetite and metabolism that came with being... what he was. Skipping meals wasn’t an option. His muscles burned through calories too fast, and no amount of vegetables or carbs would cut it. Something he learned after transmigration. Fuck Jacob's werewolf genes man, this shit's nasty.

He forced himself to swallow the bite, chasing it down with water before it could sit too long on his tongue. The cool liquid was a relief, washing away the lingering sensation.

Across the table, Billy watched him with an amused expression. “Not a fan of steak, huh?” Jacob shot him a tired look, cutting another piece. “Not really. It’s... the texture.”

Billy chuckled, wheeling himself back a bit. “Never thought I’d see a kid who can put away half a fridge of food complain about a steak.” Jacob didn’t respond. He just kept eating, each bite an exercise in patience and necessity. It wasn’t about enjoying the meal—it was about fueling the machine his body had become. And whether he liked it or not, he’d have to learn to live with it.

While chewing, Jacob had what he proudly considered the most brilliant idea of his life—like a metaphorical light bulb flickering on above his head.

[OOC warning!]

Oh, shut up, I haven’t even said anything yet ! he mentally grumbled at the system, only to be met with an ominous silence. Since he had already prepared a welcome gift for the female lead, it only seemed fair to do the same for the male lead. And since Edward’s Volvo didn’t exactly need repairs, the next best idea that came to mind was… cue the drumroll… steak. Maybe if Edward had some, he wouldn’t look quite so anemic. It wasn’t like offering food would be a huge deal, right?

[OOC warning! OOC warning! OOC warning! OOC warning!]

“What now?” he snapped at the system, clearly annoyed.

[OOC! Do not give raw steak to Edward.]

“Can’t you mind your own damn business for once?” Jacob snapped internally, his irritation flaring and patience running thin.

[Edward Cullen is your enemy.]

[Edward Cullen doesn’t consume meat.]

The system’s monotonous voice rang in his head, pushing him closer to the edge. He groaned in frustration. “Fine, he can have the blood, then.”

But despite his snark, the warning made him think twice. Showing up unannounced with a random gift, especially steak, probably wasn’t the smartest move. Edward barely knew him, and it wasn’t like they were on friendly terms. He had lucked out last time, but relying on luck again was risky. Plus, knowing vampires, the smell alone might irritate Edward—and that wasn’t a situation Jacob wanted to deal with.

With a resigned sigh, he realized he needed a different approach. Something smarter. Something that wouldn’t backfire spectacularly. For now, it was best to put the idea on hold and figure out a more... vampire-friendly approach. But for now, he had to get some fresh steak first.

“Give me the bloodiest steak you’ve got. Like, completely soaked in blood,” Jacob requested, glancing at the lady behind the counter. She frowned slightly at the odd request but didn’t question him—after all, he was a regular.

“The bloodier, the better,” he added, thinking it would provide more… sustenance for Edward. That had to count as a good thing, right? Noticing the lady’s wary expression, he let out a nervous chuckle. “Uh, it helps with the flavor.” He hoped the offhand remark would diffuse any suspicion, but she merely shrugged, uninterested, and continued wrapping the steak without a word.

Edward stood in the clearing, utterly flabbergasted as he stared at the bizarre sight before him—a piece of raw, bloody steak dangling from a tree branch, tied with a bright red ribbon as if someone had packed it like a school lunch.

He approached cautiously, his sharp senses on high alert, as though expecting this to be some kind of trap. But no danger presented itself—just the absurdity of the situation hanging in front of him, literally. The blood on the steak was fresh, but it didn’t appeal to him in the slightest. If anything, it annoyed him thanks to the wolf smell.

Why ? Just why ?

His mind immediately began narrowing down the possibilities, and his mind drifted back to the boy he saw that evening. He didn’t have proof, but something about the sheer ridiculousness of this gesture reminded Edward of him. But he didn't have a name nor motivation for said crime.

Edward sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course this had to happen to me,” he muttered under his breath, his tone somewhere between irritation and reluctant amusement. It wasn’t exactly a peace offering, but it felt like… something. A weird, clumsy attempt to get his attention—or maybe just to mess with him, he couldn't tell.

Another glance at the steak, the bright red ribbon swaying slightly in the breeze. Whether it was meant as a joke, a message, or simply an oddball's antics, Edward wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he wasn’t touching it.

With a resigned sigh, he turned and walked away, leaving the steak to hang there like some twisted forest decoration. Whatever this was, he figured he’d get his answer soon enough. After all, whosoever left this here wasn’t exactly subtle.

a/n - And special thanks to that one commenter who said they believed in me. Thanks man. Wouldn’t have done it without you.

tags - @duckysprouts @awesomeartfound @crimechor @the-bizzare-catnon @spookyfishoperalamp @faitrash @sleeping-willows @interdimensionaltravelerposts @porcelana-r0ta @theabsoluteweirdo @mileamintuemalarky @flamingoreo @verypersonadazzel @breyito @fandommenagerie @re4l-life-npc @frebbybirb @2lbballpeenhammer @lasswithaquill @overtherose @tataruz @phoenix-kite @fistfuloflightning @fagflint @starrii-blue @mintyfrogpluto @zgirlly @rareavian @sco-ot

#jbsss #jacob black #jacob black’s self saving system #edward cullen #bella swan #twilight #mxtx svsss #svsss #scum villian self saving system #scum villain #scumbag system #scumbag self saving system #scumbag villain #mxtx

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schizoidcurly · 4 months ago

Note

Best way to approach the topic of the Captain’s disability? Also what’s ur opinion on the “post-game” art of the captain?

hi!! thank you for this question.. please keep in mind while i am (higher support needs, unable to be independent) disabled myself and i frequent disabled spaces, i am NOT a burn survivor nor do i speak for people who are! i would love to hear input from anyone who is, and corrections! but here are my thoughts on these things :]

abled people can reblog and such but please do not add anything. please kindly correct me if i am wrong on anything here and i'll add it.

the best ways to approach the topic of the captain's disability

one thing i see many people with facial differences like burns and such say is to not refer to burns as a "facial disfigurement", if you must refer to it, i've seen it said that "facial difference" is much preferred opposed to disfigurement. while this opinion is just that, an opinion, tread lightly here and use what you think it appropriate, but alwaysalwaysalways stay away from referring to curly's body as "deformed". i recommend checking out face equality international and the pheonix society for burn survivors.

on that note, pleasepleaseplease do not use curly's appearance post-crash as shock value or refer to it as "body horror". if it's newly burnt curly, i believe tagging him as gore or injury would be accurate as he hasn't been administered any real medical aid aside from painkillers and still very much is injured, but not body horror, and do not use gore or injury trigger tags for a rehabilitated curly; he is no longer injured in that case. this is a person. not an eldritch horror, not a monster, a disabled person. listen to disabled people about this, especially burn survivors.

don't say that curly's disability is his "karma", punishment, consequence, etc, or use the common "theory" that he is a metaphor for anya's unborn child. curly is not a child. disability is not a punishment. curly is a vulnerable, disabled, adult man. treat him as such. ableism & disability is as much of a theme in mouthwashing as rape culture & abuse is. curly does not stop being a flawed human adult man because he is disabled.

and, please do not debate whether it would have been best to kill curly, or say one of jimmy's crimes was "keeping curly alive" in his burnt state. while curly's injuries are absolutely to some extent exaggerated, and injuries like that would be much different in real life, curly as he is presented in the media is alive, conscious, and aware. he is not actively dying, based on the fact he can be kept alive (albeit with significant pain) without much effort in an area without any actual medical aid besides what anya can do for him. these discussions easily segue into eugenics, especially if you are an abled person.

generally, just approach his disability with the fact in mind that he is still living, conscious, thinking, and a person. do not allow yourself to dehumanize him or infantilize him on the basis of his disability, or act as if curly is "dead". curly is still alive, he was not lost in the crash, he is just disabled now. in game he has proven that he is still very much aware, very much alive. do not ignore this.

ALSO. a fandom thing, but PLEASE. PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. DO NOT USE HIS DISABILITY/CONDITION FOR ""WHUMP"". PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE. and please also just as much do not use them as a gag or joke or for the punchline of one.

my opinion on "post-game captain curly"/rehabilitated captain curly

i see absolutely no harm in it! real people are burnt and then treated and rehabilitated. so long as it's not a way to attempt to erase his disability, i see nothing wrong with it. a disability is not a death penalty, even extreme burns! burn survivors are still people who can live happy lives after their burns.

however, do your research when writing/drawing about rehabilitated curly! look into how to draw and write burn scars, facial differences, how healed burns may affect people later on, the treatments done for people with extreme burns like curly's, etc. especially look into info written by burn survivors (but please don't go around asking random burn survivors these things)! when drawing, reference real people, look up pictures and look at them! do lots of research, ask lots of (respectful) questions when it's appropriate.

some things to avoid: the mask trope, there isn't a real reason to cover up his burn scars, and especially not just to use it as a shocking moment later. avoid needlessly mentioning a recovered curly's disabilities and burns, or using it as a point of pity/sympathy.

some things i recommend you look at: face equality international's 'international media standard on disfigurement', cripplecharacter's tips on writing/drawing a character with facial differences/disfigurement, niki averton's tips for writing about burn survivors, saszor's guide to drawing burns, an interview with zaid who is a burn survivor by SBSK

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #wrong organ

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obsessive-clown · 4 months ago

Text

𝖸𝖠𝖭𝖣𝖤𝖱𝖤 𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖢𝖫𝖮𝖶𝖭 𝖧𝖤𝖠𝖣𝖢𝖠𝖭𝖮𝖭𝖲 -

a/n: i’ve only seen a few of these posts and wanted to do one myself. i just see a lot of them sort of make art softer than expected. i also probably wrote too much and just pulled a word-vomit move.

TW - stalking, manipulation, (attempted) nsfw/nsfw mentions, bodily harm, imprisonment, torture, murder, slightly straying away from the original (softer) yandere trope, Art the clown himself is a warning.

ﾒღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღﾒ

For starters, just like every Yandere, Art is naturally possessive and obsessive of you. How he finds you is completely up to you and your imagination, but after he does, something in his immortal body compels him to follow you. And stalk you. Because it feels different from his normal ‘stalk & kill’ routine, he doesn’t understand it, but he certainly doesn’t fight it.

It starts off ‘innocent’. Art follows you around (mainly at night), or he manages to worm his way into your home without you knowing (or with you knowing, he doesn’t care). This really doesn’t last long though because of his nature as a serial killer. Art will absolutely lose the sweet façade and begin harassing you in every sense of the word.

What you call harassment, Art calls devotion. He leaves little notes around your house, whether it’s on paper or written in blood (from his most recent kill) depends entirely on his mood. Typically, Art’s notes will consist of smiley faces and hearts accompanied by weird comments like “YOU SMΣГL ИIСЕ :)” or “YOυЯΣ CυτΣ ωΗEИ УOυ SΓEΣΡ!! :)” in messy writing. This also includes “gifts”, which mostly consist of dismembered parts of his victims, but mainly their hearts. He simply wants to show how much he ‘loves’ you.

Art, without a doubt, manipulated you to “date” him. When you first shoved him away in that aspect, his goofy and playful act cracked and withered away in an instant. You don’t want him? Why not? He’ll make you eat those words.

You’ll find yourself taped down to a chair in an odd (gross) looking basement one day. Only to be greeted with the sight of any loved one you hold closest, hung upside down and ready to be sawed in half (just like Dawn!). Art WILL make you watch and he won’t stop unless you insist and assure him that you will go out with him. Even then, he’ll still maim that special person within an inch of their life.

Art allows you to choose where you want to be: The warehouse he chooses to hide away in at times or your house. He knows where you live and can get in with ease. Not only that but he can visit you in your dreams, so either way, you’re stuck with him.

Extremely touchy and affectionate. Art is EXTREMELY touchy towards you. His affection is based on how you treat him and what kind of mood he’s in after a long day of ‘work’. He’s always clingy and attached to your hip when he gets the chance though. He constantly wants to touch you — and he wants you to do the same. He expects you to give him some sort of affection or attention, in fact, he demands it. Your touch is reassurance to him and if you’re not willing to give it to him, he automatically thinks you’re disobeying him or planning on leaving him.

Art punishes you, that’s just a fact. Maybe he’ll starve you for a day, maybe he’ll lock you in a dark basement for several days. If you try to leave him and run off somewhere with anyone, there’s rope tied to a pipe in a particularly dark and cold room waiting for you. Even when he locks you away, though, he can’t leave you alone so expect plenty of visits from him.

Art loses his temper with you, he does with everyone. Even if he has an extended patience with you, it still wears thin. He’s a demon, he has no morals, so he will hurt you. Killing you is out of the question, but hitting you or throwing some sort of ridiculous tantrum and you getting caught up in it is bound to happen. If you’ve done something particularly terrible in his mind, he’ll try out a new blade he made on your skin. It’s okay though, because he’s doing it, in Art’s mind, only he’s allowed that luxury.

Art is softer with you than anyone else. He’ll limit his strength (when he isn’t lashing out or upset with you) to an almost pitiful degree. That won’t stop him from randomly doing things to annoy you, though.

Art will most definitely steal your clothes. If he knows he’ll be gone for an extended period of time, he’ll steal a dirty shirt or anything he can get his hands on. Just as long as it smells like you, he’s happy. Your scent is comforting to him and as grotesque and unhygienic as he is, he will NOT let that piece of clothing get dirty or tainted by the blood of a victim.

When Art allows you some freedom (because he remembers he can, in fact, just stalk around and linger near you like a shadow) he leaves bite marks on your skin. Preferably, on your neck. You’re HIS and he wants everyone to know that.

Art kisses you every time he leaves to go on a murder spree! It’s something so small and domestic that it can go over anyone’s head, including yours. But he does it all the time.

Art would find any opportunity to spend some quality time with you, even if you want it to be strictly non-sexual/violent. So, he’ll come up with some things. He’d love to do your makeup, his favorite being his clown makeup on your face. He just can’t get over how much he loves you looking like him. He also loves teaching you about the weird weapons he decides to make and he even encourages you to come up with your own and work on it with him.

𝖭𝖲𝖥𝖶 𝖧𝖤𝖠𝖣𝖢𝖠𝖭𝖭𝖮𝖭𝖲 -

(This is a personal headcannon/thought) Art can change his sex/genitalia to your liking. He’s a demon, after all. Just as long as you’re happy and he’s happy, he’ll do what you want, when you want, how you want it. So, whether he’s stuffing himself inside you or vice-versa, he doesn’t care.

This man is a top. Art will try being a switch for you, it doesn’t always work, but he still tries. He loves being in power, it definitely turns him on more, especially when you willingly give him control and that power he craves. If you top him in one of the rare occasions that he lets you, expect him to act ‘whiney’. Or just honk his clown horn at you in the most bratty fashion you can imagine, simply because he believes he should be babied and taken care of gently afterwards, just like he (tries to do) does for you afterwards.

He steals your underwear when he’s gone for extended periods of time (this is def tied to the normal clothes stealing, but he sneaks a pair with him and shoves it in his plastic bag). And, because this is Art we’re talking about, it is most definitely a used pair and, if he can help it, a pair you’ve came in. Perfect jerk-off material to hold him over until he can get back to you and have the real deal instead of some stupid clothing.

Missionary, Cowgirl, Mating Press, it doesn’t matter, Art LOVES seeing your face during sex. Something about seeing your face scrunch up when he gets rough or any sort of pout you make when he manages to pull an umpteenth orgasm from your already overstimulated body just makes it infinitely better for him. And it makes him hard again because he knows only he gets to see these reactions.

While Art has no intentions or real interest in becoming a parent in the slightest (<- if you’re a female/female identifying of course), he definitely has a breeding kink. The risk is rather exhilarating in a sense for him and he’ll never pass up a chance to fuck you and fill you silly. After all, he loves leaving bits of him on you. Or in you, in this case. Oh, and he’ll force you to wear underwear after that simply because he doesn’t want his seed leaving you — plugging you up with a sex toy works for him, too, he just wants to keep a part of him with you for as long as possible.

Art LOVES seeing you cry, he definitely has Dacryphilia. He’s a serial killer who loves seeing fear in his victims eyes after all. Making you whine and literally cry as he rams into you aggressively (just to get you to shed some tears) is probably one of his favorite things because he can kiss — or lick — the tears off your face as a form of a silent, makeshift, half-assed apology.

‘ART WAS HERE’ or anything that says ‘ART’S’ with a word that is more than likely objectifying or deeming you as property of sorts has been carved into your skin without a doubt. He did it the very first time you agreed to have sex with him too — and he was nice enough to pick where you wanted it to be. His favorite spots to put it would likely be your hip, just above your ass, your ribs/side (just under your chest) and a little below your bellybutton. He’ll still let you pick though, because he loves you too much to not give you the power to do so.

Art has a thing for shoving his fingers in your mouth. For some reason, your scary clown partner loves to pop a finger or two in your mouth while fucking you ruthlessly. His finger(s) will graze over your teeth, the sides of your mouth and then your tongue before pulling his hand away and licking any and all spit he’s collected, off his fingers. He absolutely loves the way you taste — which also explains why he’ll give you head without a second thought.

Period. Sex. He’ll insist on it. Art knows how painful cramps can be and how sex can definitely fix that… Not to mention, he loves seeing the blood coat his skin.

Giving him head is like a game of Russian roulette. Art loves when you do it, he’ll even honk his horn at you until you agree to do it and sit under his ‘work’ desk that’s full of make-shift weapons to pleasure him while he works. The downside though, is that he has a habit of shoving your head down further for extended periods of time — to the point where you almost pass out — and only lets you up and silently giggles as his shoulders bounce when you’re on the brink of passing out. (There is no real upside, he just loves to toy with you as you do it and push you around for the hell of it).

Art BEGS for you (with a sad pout and a little honk of his horn) to cockwarm him when he gets back home from ‘work’ at the late hours of the night or when you’re getting ready for bed. Yes, an hour is far too long to be away from you (and not in you) and no he will not be okay without it. So what if you’re about to go to sleep, can’t he be comfortable too?

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a/n 2: sorry if this is shit, i was writing when i could during a busy day and kept getting distracted. i’m also not good at writing nsfw and typically am uncomfortable with writing it lmao. hope you liked this anyways.

TAGS FOR THOSE WHO WANTED TO BE TAGGED: @bloodytittiez

#obsessive clown writes 🌀#art the clown #terrifier #terrifier 2 #terrifier 3 #y/n x slasher #slasher x reader #slasher x you #art the clown x reader #art the clown x you #art the clown headcanons #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #shitpost #idk how to tag this #i don’t like this #why did i make this

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