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jyoongim · 2 months ago

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A Doe in Fall (Part 16)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like hersmut💦 Part 15 - Silence smut💦 Part 16 - Mine 📍

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Where we left off: After a busy evening of drink, dance, and dashing from the police, you finally confessed with a heartfelt bouquet. Alastor's reply was nonverbal but a reply nonethless.

Part 16 Mine

Alastor wants a chance to reply properly, and you return to work.

「Warnings/Promises: Human!Alastor x Fem!Reader, none really, A short one dears but it needed its own piece, foreshadowing out the ass, a slow night at the theater, a lot of catching up as we try to set our newly confessed lovers into normalcy, more is written I just wanted this moment to exist on its own」

When you woke up and instinctively reached for him your hand came up empty. Something that very rarely happened. Waking up without Alastor always left you panicked, even if it wasn’t a common issue.

In the past when he’d left bed for chores or restlessness your worry was so strong he promised to leave you a note in the future. So you’d know he was coming right back. It wasn’t a concern of trust for you, but safety.

Or maybe there was a deeper fear. A lead bullet in your gut he’d disappear entirely. Before you had said the words, you knew the stress had been mounting. Loving someone so sincerely meant putting everything truly important to you outside of your control. Ripe to be taken from you for any number of reasons. Turning to your side of the bed you saw there was no note either. Your stomach twisted. Had you fucked it up that efficiently? An embarrassing display of affection and already you were alone again. It was irrational, you could see that, but wouldn’t it just make sense that was your fate?

After several moments your body caught up to your waking mind and you heard the splashing of water outside. Ah, he was there. He was home.

A breath so deep and slow it was embarrassing. You’d have been less relieved if a speeding car stopped inches from you.

Looking out the window you saw the greenhouse was empty. A pause to figure out where he could be before turning slightly to realize the sound was coming through an open window. You briskly crossed the hall to his mother’s old room and stopped short of sticking your head out. He was washing his car. The twisting of your stomach stopped but the knots didn’t unravel. Your confession had apparently mattered so little he was moving swiftly past it.

“Hey.” You leaned down and shouted out the window. There was no plan beyond that.

His head perked up, glasses reflecting the sun brightly and hiding his honey brown eyes. His face went from rest to grinning. His teeth were so pretty. He wore a white shirt that shone in the sunlight and those loose fitting pants. Perfectly pleated with his iron, a task you heard single men complain about often. One he never asked you to take up.

“Hey! Good morning!” He lowered the hose and bent it to weaken the flow, “I’m sorry about last night.” A little laugh, you could see his eyes close with the sound as his head tilted from the sun’s glare, “Come down here.” His eyes opened and cut into you, “Let me try again.”

Your body responded with a flinch, bringing the back of your head into the window’s bottom rail with a thwack that echoed down to your teeth.

Alastor rushed to turn off the spigot, “You okay?” He yelled up to you.

Your hands were clean of any blood, you hadn’t broken the skin but it felt like you had, “Yeah.”

Why was this scarier than the confession itself?

You’d made it halfway across what used to be his mother’s room before you stopped. She chose that room so she could see him as soon as he got home. To feel relief as quickly as possible that he’d made it back every time he left.

The cold tendril of fear took hold of you by the ankles. Saying it was terrifying, but unrequited love still meant freedom. Even if it was a little harder to enjoy. But if he said it back, that was it. There would be expectations. Could you stomach being the woman in the window waiting for him to come home safe? It was one thing to do it now, but once you’d let your guard down fully it would mean tearing away your flesh to be taken away from him. Your heart outside your body. Your life intertwined so intimately with another that you would mourn your own unlived future if they were to leave. If Alastor were to leave. You had to say the name, because it made it so much worse and somehow all the more worth it.

Telling Alastor you loved him was for Alastor. That was a necessity. A truth you had to share. But accepting it from him?

You found yourself chewing on your thumbnail absentmindedly. A bad habit, one you couldn’t quite place the origin of.

Had you really not expected him to say it back? You heard the door squeak open downstairs.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He called up from the base of the stairs.

“Yeah.” You shouted back, a false chipperness to it you hadn’t meant to give. It sounded so fake and unlike yourself that it made you cringe.

As the wind pushed the clouds east over the old home and you fell into a shady darkness, Alastor entered the room.

He said something as he approached you, but your eyes were drawn to his shoes. Wet and dirty, tracking the driveway into the normally pristine room. And then he was so close to you that you could feel the heat of the sun radiating off his short sleeved polo. A daring color to wash a car in, but Alastor always liked to look like he was in control of everything; even splashback.

Warm. That smell of sweat and soap and sun-kissed water rose to meet you.

Looking up at him felt like turning the next page, so you stared at his chest before you. It was glowing, the sun coming back into view of New Orleans and pouring light through the windows.

Alastor didn’t know how to say it plainly. For so long his love sat like kerosene in his chest. Purposeless and evaporating slowly over time as it went unneeded. Dying fumes dizzying with their evaporation. Suffocating him as it threatened to go entirely wasted before he died. A love so like him, dangerous but with reason; by design. Just a little spark, a tiny flicker of something true to set him alight. Unused love sitting in his chest like lighter fluid, waiting for something to burn it away.

He could do anything, he could bury whomever. So what good were words now? How could he offer you sounds and pretend it carried an ounce of weight compared to the burning in his chest. Alastor knew he should have replied the night before. But he took the risk and trusted what you’d said. That you wouldn’t be going anywhere. That you loved him for the sake of it. He could be scared and make missteps without worry of you leaving.

His head dipped down to meet your eyes from the side, and as yours flitted to his he lifted back up and your gaze followed.

With a breath he opened his mouth and then exhaled. A hot palm came to rest on your forearm, the other slipped between elbow and nightgown to rest on your back and bring you a little closer.

You had to take a step and a half toward him to not fall forward. What were you meant to do with your hands? The illustrations inside the covers of novels came to mind. You chose against them all, and instead let your hands stand at your sides.

His eyes locked onto yours, moving back and forth like he was checking for something. Unbearable for you, to be seen so thoroughly and to not be able to look away. Could he feel your heart racing in your chest? Could you sense his doing the same?

Words he never thought he could say and mean before you. Words he had to whisper out of cowardice before. Words that he paradoxically finally understood and yet knew meant so little in comparison to what he felt. Insufficient. Base.

“I was scared last night,” he said.

“Of me?” You huffed a laugh, “That’s rich, given your hobbies.”

“You are terrifying.”

“Aw, the three words every woman longs to hear.”

“In a wonderful way. In a way I don’t want to lose.” The rustle of the wind in the trees outside as he took a calming breath, “Not that you’re something to have.”

You wanted to scream he’d had you since the alleyway beside the theater, since you saw him smiling from the crowd that night but you’d already exposed enough of yourself for one week.

“I’m not…good.” His eyes wandered down your nightdress, something white and thin meant for warmer weather than what was rolling in now. “Everything I touch breaks, is cut, falls to pieces and sinks into….dirt holes and still waters.”

You had to remember to breathe, the words coming out quiet when your inhale was too weak to gather enough force, “Don’t decide for me if I break or not. That’s still my choice to make.”

A chuckle, a smile that made the small wrinkles beside his eyes deepen, “I wouldn’t dare. But, I don’t think you were supposed to meet me.” He watched the softness in your eyes turn on him.

“Who says? And as if you didn’t try to stop me. You failed spectacularly.”

His hands came to hold your head, taking away your breath yet again. “I can feel them watching, the spirits beyond the safety of the haint blue of our porch. The ones always listening for words to twist. The bad things that eat good things. You are a good thing. And I love you more than I was ever meant to.” You watched his waterline fill before his arms wrapped around your head and pulled you into his chest.

His entire body was rocking with the beating of his heart.

He said it, actually said it loud enough for you to hear and register. Despite feeling so sure it would set off the hungry creatures to whom he owed his debts, his karma, whatever it was called if they even gave it a name. A declaration and a challenge. He felt it in his bones. He couldn’t keep you. No books about murderous men had happy endings of loving families and peaceful lives. It had always been a tragedy. And beautiful things only existed to twist that knife deeper. How many beautiful things had you given him already? How terribly would they hurt when he failed and you left? Like you had said, he had failed to keep you away. He surely would lose the battle to keep you near.

Tightly he held you, and only when your arms came to wrap around his chest and scratch at his back did he take slow deep breaths in. You felt the muscles across his ribs and down his shoulders relax under your hold. On your tippy toes you reached up to hold more of him.

Love was scary, so it made sense to you that he was scared. You were scared too.

But sometimes fear makes you bold. Defiant. His mother taught him about the ghosts that wandered around waiting to pull apart happiness at the seams, but your mother taught you to go down swinging.

After several moments, watching the light of the room dim and grow with the winds and taking in the warmth of his body. The residual sun’s heat was still radiating off of him. The water from the hose and the faint smell of sweat rising to your nose. The feel of his shirt against your cheek and his racing heart. All consuming. In that moment he was monopolizing your senses and if you could you’d be buried in that moment. Surrounded on all sides by Alastor.

If he had shouted his love at you from a tall building or wrote a banner and flew it past the house, it’d have meant so much less than what he had said. Your own confession had been a moment of vulnerability you hated, a display that exposed your guts to the open air.

And in his own way, hadn’t he done the same thing? Alastor admitted his love had become a runaway train, something he wasn’t choosing but something that was carrying him away from his comfort just like yours had. The current pulling your ship out of the harbor into the still unfamiliar but promising open seas that was now your unrestrained relationship. Anchors gone, ropes cut. Neither of you had any control of where this was headed, but you were going together. There was a new comfort in that.

And now you stood. Chests torn open gingerly for each other, hearts in your hands, blood mixed with blood. Sentiments neither of you could laugh off or wave away.

It would be too much to address the topic any further now. But you didn’t need to.

“You're damn lucky I didn’t walk home last night when you didn’t reply.” You said it into his arm, his embrace still firm. You always told yourself that was an option, just walking home if things went badly. It was hard to let old habits like back up plans and emergency exits die.

“In the dark? Darling it’s too dangerous out there, didn’t ya hear? Some mad man’s killing upstanding New Orleanians.” His arms loosened enough to let himself lean back and see your face. “And I did reply.” A sly smirk, his eyes rolling up, “just not verbally.”

Your brow crinkled with a tinge of embarrassment, remembering how silently he nodded as he laid you down and undressed you on the porch. “Well thank goodness I’m not upstanding. - I’m a nude dancer ruining the moral fabric of our country,” you read out the lines you so often saw in the papers with heavy sarcasm. The fight against burlesque was still strong and gaining traction up north. Briefly you thought about work. Maybe it’d be okay to go back soon. You’d need to check in first, see if any police or detectives had been lingering around.

A hand came to tilt your chin up and out of your thoughts of work, “I love you.” He heard your sharp inhale as if the words hurt you some way, but closed in for a kiss. Soft, you thought. Comfortable. The sensations would have kicked in your fight or flight before him, to be kissing so sweetly on another person’s property. But it didn’t. Instead, you felt like you had unclenched your shoulders for the first time in years.

For once someone's affections weren’t a police searchlight chasing you down and revealing you harshly, but a soft golden spotlight you could call home and bask in. You’d thought before it had been cruel to not accept the love others had offered when it was thrown at you. But you’d break a thousand more hearts if it meant getting to see Alastor’s.

At first it was just words, albeit pleasing ones. Words that made your stomach flip and something flutter in your chest. I love you, you said it tentatively at first whenever you felt overcome with something new and immutable stirring in you. But soon it became a phrase you said so confidently; A declaration when he left for work, a promise before you fell asleep. You relayed it like it’d gain more weight with every breath.

And for Alastor, it did. It was becoming something solid he could feel inside him. A disproportionate weight to its size, like gold under his sternum. It held his feet on the ground so the strong winds of insecurity couldn’t carry him away. That magnet he always felt pulling him to you grew stronger. He was sure he could feel you across the river when he was gone. Alastor began to think his mother hadn’t been exaggerating when she said she could sense when he was hurt or upset. He was sure he’d feel it, too, for you.

It became an expression you couldn’t hold in if you tried. And every time you said it it felt like peeling another strip of flesh off your chest, exposing a little more of yourself. And every time, it hurt less.

A bleeding heart, but the meaning was much different for you.

You could imagine it, the blood of your love soaking through your dress and down your stomach. Was it your blood, though?

“You always look lovely in red,” Alastor marveled at the color of your lips as you slowly applied your lipstick. Your eyes tore themselves from the gorey mirage in the vanity mirror.

“You'll like tonight’s set then.” Another week had passed sitting pretty in Alastor’s home after your confession before you found the strength to call the theater and check back in. Slowly you settled back into life as it was before Brady. First watching rehearsals, then discussing a comeback, practice and costumes and precautions. It was time to return.

“You're wearing red?”

You considered the words closely, “Hmm, wearing is a loose term. I’ll be undressing in red.”

Not every show could be rhinestones and feathers. Mostly due to costs, but there was something to say for a more intimate style. It had been decided your return would be special, and you offered your own idea.

A simple night in.

Johnny’s brow had quirked at the idea, Ruth trying her best as newly promoted artistic director (as she proudly named herself) to gently remind you the point of burlesque for the majority of the crowd. But with a little demonstration and conversation you got them on your side.

The theater said there’d been no issues. Well, the staff didn’t notice anything. The dancers said there was an influx of more new faces but it couldn’t be discerned who was a looky lou and who may be looking for trouble. You were going to just slip back into things casually but it had been decided by the theater they might as well flaunt the drama, bring in some more bodies with the excitement of the arrested dancer back at work.

With Alastor letting the cat out of the bag, as much as he had atleast, and nothing coming from it meant you could just … let go of the pretense. It’d be Alastor’s first time watching your show as your guy, and it was a fact you didn’t need to hide.

He had been right about Brady. He had several weeks while you hid at Alastor’s and let the theater and neighborhood at large settle down again to make some move and nothing came of it. Brady had nothing. Alastor spent the time home as well. No hunting, no killing, he avoided gossip and news to keep the urge dead. You both had circled the wagons. But the threat was seemingly gone.

Plus you missed the art of burlesque. And carrying his love with you onto the stage felt like something new and shiny that would add to your skill.

When your set was next in the line up and Alastor seated among the crowd, you felt the nervous energy in your fingertips. There was little chance of failure for you physically. But you could find you didn’t get the warm welcome you had hoped for. Maybe people were still angry at the attention you turned on your seedy little part of New Orleans. You’d heard word other establishments nearby had lower attendance in the days following your arrest.

The music started low and slow, setting the mood for your performance. The scene was set with a partition, a dressing table you all had dragged from the back, a cushioned stool, and that was it. Nothing fancy. It’d just be you up there.

Small and quick steps, your ankle length dress a bright, obscene red limiting your range of motion. The neck was high and modest, but as you turned the audience could see the bareback that ended in a neat satin bow just above your tailbone, tied tightly to keep the back strung taut. White satin gloves past your elbows added a layer for you to remove. The perfect image of a lady of leisure on her way home from some event. A strappy heel that clicked as you walked across the stage and echoed out past the music. Burlesque at the time was dance more than anything, quick movements of the chest and shoulders, rolls of the hips. A curtain of fabric letting peeks of cheek flash at the audience. A twirling of cloth giving quick and insufficient glances of your barely there but still bejeweled panties.

The places people were the loudest at showed more, but every theater and every dancer had their own norms.

And tonight you wanted to go slow.

Taking a seat on your stool you unclipped your earrings and set them down, the crowd still murmuring with their own jitters. You unhooked your necklace and the clinking sound was buried under whispers. When you turned your body to the side and bit the tip of your glove you stopped as if interrupted.

Glancing over your shoulder you looked out at the audience as if you’d heard a noise.

You made a face, a gasp, was someone watching you?

A loud hush through the audience, mischievous snickers popping up as you waved away the intruders and returned to your task.

Pulling slowly with your mouth you removed your right glove and let it drop. You tugged at each fingertip of the left to loosen its hold and just as slowly unsheathed the other arm.

Everyone was finally understanding.

Turning to face the peeping toms, you bent down and undid your heels and slipped out of them. The neckline was high and didn’t offer any glimpses of cleavage, but the lovely and long lines your body made were their own treat.

Standing, you walked half across the stage and paused, another slow and deep bend as you rolled your dress higher and higher up your thigh to reveal your garter. The curve of your thighs and backside the focus. Once undone you took your time rolling the nylon over your bare leg until it stopped at your ankle. With a little kick, it flew off. You repeated this on the other side and continued your saunter to the paper partition across from you.

Before retreating you reached back and pulled at the bow, the top of your dress gliding over your shoulders with the tension now gone, leaving a bare back and a loosely hanging skirt on your hips.

Once behind the partition, the light popped on for a classic silhouette tease. You let the dress completely fall off and stepped out of the pile of clothes. A turn to the side, a shadow of your near naked body visible to the audience before facing away from the hidden voyeurs. Your garter was taken off and dangled before you tossed it over the thin divider hiding you, panties soon following them.

And then the light cut off, you quickly slipped into something that wouldn’t have the cops running in again and waited for the shift of the focus. The stage light moved to the mirror of the dressing table, the light bouncing off expertly to give you a new spotlight.

Alastor watched you with a swell in his chest. He didn't have the same reaction as the others, because he knew what bodies were. He knew people were meat and bone and blood and sinew. But, he still felt so much. As he watched the strangers watching you, whispering about you, adoring you, Alastor could feel his ego overwhelming him.

People paid to watch you move and undress, a pleasure he had daily. And no matter how hard they could try, Alastor knew no one would beat him out for your affections.

And if they did…

How much more common thoughts of murder for the sake of keeping you came to him now.

Alastor had felt a disconnect with death since his youth. It was enthralling, and part of the fun was being God in that moment of someone’s quickly ending life. Deciding they were bad and not worth having around. Being the man who made that decision and acted it out with finality was the initial appeal.

But… he’d kill Brady. He’d kill anyone in the room with him now. He killed Tommy.

The only thing any of those people have in common was the perceived threat they posed to him and you. None of them were truly bad as he had always claimed his victims were.

The hum of his heart became a chant, Mine, Mine, Mine.

Yes he knew he would lose you, even as the fear calmed over time and the fact remained. But who would try to steal you from him?

Someone handsome, he thought as his eyes roamed around the room. Someone family oriented with a respectable job. Someone with cleans hands. Someone who wouldn’t hold you too tightly.

Someone Alastor could burn away with whatever love you left behind in him.

So consumed in the puffing of his chest as the sinners breathed out lust and he inhaled pride he didn’t notice the young woman taking a seat at the table beside him. Her attention decidedly not on the performance.

You ended the show by slipping out of your dressing gown just in time to flash a little cheek to the audience before you were spirited away behind the curtain.

As you let yourself relax again you wondered if anyone could see the tremble in your fingers. It was nerve wracking to be on stage again. But the applause made your skin tingle, a buzzing down your stomach when flowers kissed your toes as they slid across the stage. The theater had made a show of advertising your return, and paid a young man to stand out near the front with roses for sale. Nothing gets people in quite like a line of people with flowers. Must be special, they think. And it was special, because it was Autumn Hind’s return to the stage after her sudden and violent arrest.

He’s in love with her, the rumors had spread. The detective wanted her all to himself but she said no.

Suspended because he couldn’t keep himself away from her, you heard from the others during rehearsals. Sent to the boonies to clear his head and brought back to sit at a desk.

An order from his boss, he’s not allowed within 500 feet of the theater, the patrons harshly whispered as you slunk onto stage earlier that evening, Well I heard he can't come within 1000 feet of the pleasure district Autumn works.

But even the comfort of the dressing room and high of the praise was sullied when a loud noise made you shriek. You couldn’t admit you thought it was Brady storming in to take you again, so you laughed it off when everyone turned to look at you. The previous days of practice and getting back into your normal routine at work was mired with quick glances around for cold blue eyes and a stiff hat. It had been more than a month since you’d heard a peep from the man. Even his name felt foreign now, something your mind willed to the dustbin.

Well, you couldn’t say nothing happened. Alastor did receive an odd call at work not long after your confession. A promise from the former partner of Brady that he had indeed been briefly removed from his role and forced into a week of “vacation”. From the horse’s mouth Alastor learned that Brady had a bit of a breakdown at work. When his superior told him trespassing and a coerced search of someone’s property was a step beyond the pale no matter what vague confession Brady had heard or imagined, he slammed the door on his way out so hard the glass had shattered. Which was…unsettling. You hadn’t taken him for the violent type, but it must have been humiliating. To have the killer smile in your face and your boss just wave it all away as something you thought you saw.

The adoration of the audience did have its usual effect though. You floated from stage to seat and only the brief scare could bring you back to earth. You let thoughts of him drift away and allowed your feet to leave the ground again when you put on something cotton, loose with a ribbon on the low waist, and reintroduced yourself to the crowd. Modest, but put together. Clean straight lines, your hair neatly in place as if you hadn’t been sweating under the lights some time before.

You could understand how some people confused your workplace for a combination of entertainment and marketplace. Most dance halls didn’t have the talent mingling among the tables after their sets. But maybe that was the draw for many. Not all, but some of the dancers were accessible. And for a drink and maybe a cigarette anyone could enjoy a conversation with their own private star.

If others thought more should be expected, well that was on them. You could see the hopeful expectation in the eyes of some of those approaching you. How long had it been since you played your little game? Your own hunt. Finding someone arrogant and assumptive to get drunk and finesse.

Skillfully you greeted old and new faces while still keeping your eyes peeled for Alastor.

He could see you exiting from the same doorway he had followed you through so many months ago. But as he slowly approached you, taking in the sight of several others watching you hungrily, he was stopped.

“Hello!”

Alastor bristled, the voice unknown and the hand hooking his arm violently unwelcomed. Had he been in a more secluded place he’d have yanked his arm away. But this was his first real debut at your work and he didn’t need rumors he was rough with women reviving Tommy.

His head turned quickly, a petite woman with pitch black hair and bright eyes was hugging his forearm far too familiarly. He blinked, confused as to if he knew this person and forgot. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Hello,” it came out flat, the edges of his tone upturned with agitation.

“I’m new here, could you show me around?” Alastor watched her flutter her lashes and turn in her shoulders to make herself small. He sighed. With a glance down her clothes he leaned back to look at her shoes. Dressed well, making good money but unmarried. Fashionable but in a sense meant to draw attention. She worked for an established brothel with all the proper protections by the looks of her, a fallen angel as they were euphemistically called.

“I’m new here as well, sorry, can’t help you doll.” Alastor slipped his arm away but she pulled it closer to her chest and squeezed.

“Well then maybe we could go somewhere you know better.” Her smile was sweet, nothing about her seemed desperate. Maybe she did just find a chance for an attractive John. He smiled at the thought, she would be so lucky to catch him.

Alastor looked back at you. You were nodding along to something someone was saying, their hand on your wrist as if they’d never let go from a handshake. There was a sense of urgency in him he couldn’t place. He liked watching them fawn over you, but he worried how it looked now. You sweetly smiling to some older gentleman with too many rings and his arm between some young lady’s breasts. He wanted to steal you away and break the hearts of everyone in the room. Wanted you on his arm so he could drink in the glares and sneers. A thousand little deaths of those who had hoped for your time.

“You’re a flatterer, but no. I’m happily taken and needed here.” As his left arm pulled free, the woman snatched his hand and pouted.

“Taken but not the kind to wear a ring?” Her painted finger tapped his.

Alastor cackled, loudly laughing at the audacity. Rarely had a woman ever been so brazen in their crooning, most stuck with coy or blunt not bounced between the two in the same interaction. She recoiled at the sound, the unhinged nature of his laughter unsettling.

“You”, he pulled his hand from hers harshly and let his index finger gently bop her on the nose, “are too pushy for your own good. Find another tree to shake, sweetheart.”

She didn’t walk away though. In his peripheral he saw her still standing there in the center of the room, watching him and biting her bottom lip in contemplation of something. A fan, he considered. He had those, after all. It’d been so long since he’d gone out he had forgotten sometimes they popped up.

Finally, he could move past the others and make his way to you. A stream slipping past rocks and fallen branches to get to its mouth. To the place it could flow and become more than it was, vaster and deeper. Ah, that’s what love was, he considered as your head turned to him and he watched your face light up at the sight of him. The ocean, deep waters running cold and slow carrying you both somewhere new.

Your wrist was freed and you seemed to be attempting to introduce Alastor to the person you’d been talking to, but your words were stifled.

His fingers slid up the back of your neck to feel you held in his two palms as he pulled your face up to kiss you.

Yes you’d leave someday, but he’d not let go so easily.

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jyoongim · 3 months ago

Note

If you’re taking requests….(hmmm let’s see…. OH i know!!!)

How about Alastor getting his first crush on a girl. BUT…the girl has never been in a romantic relationship before and is completely oblivious to Al’s flirting. She finally gets the hint when he uses his southern accent (he overheard the reader talking to Angel Dust about how she’s into guys with a southern accent and he’s from the south) and properly asks to court her.

That’s all. Have a wonderful day/night/whatever time you’re reading this

PLEASE AND THANK YOU ❤️❤️❤️

Alastor never fancied himself the type to get flustered. That sort of nonsense was for others—blushing debutantes and young fools stumbling through their first dances. No, he prided himself on being composed, controlled, unbothered by such trivialities.

Which made the current state of affairs all the more humiliating.

He watched her from across the lounge in the Hazbin Hotel. She was sitting at the bar counter, thumbing through a paperback novel, oblivious to the low thrum of activity around her. Her lips moved as she read silently, occasionally pausing to tap her finger against her chin in thought. The motion made something tighten in Alastor’s chest.

Ridiculous, he thought. He, the Radio Demon, reduced to a fluttering mess by someone so utterly… unaware.

He’d been trying, subtly, to get her attention for days now. At first, he attempted charm in his usual, grandiose way—offers of assistance, carefully timed compliments, little magic tricks involving floating glasses and animated shadows that danced to the music he played.

Nothing.

She had smiled, of course—politely, sweetly—but it was the same smile she gave everyone. There was no spark of recognition, no blush, no hesitation in her step when she saw him. No indication she realized he was flirting.

Alastor was nearly offended.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and one foot lightly tapping the floor in time with the jazz record spinning in the background. Angel Dust sidled up beside him with a smirk, catching the direction of his gaze.

“She still ain’t taken the bait?” Angel asked, popping a bubble of gum.

Alastor’s smile didn’t falter. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, sure. You’ve been hovering around her like a moth on a porch light. Just ask her out already.”

“I would never be so crass,” Alastor replied, waving a hand dismissively. “Romantic pursuits require finesse. Elegance. A gentleman’s touch.”

“Uh-huh,” Angel said, unimpressed. “Well, finesse ain’t working. Maybe try something she actually notices?”

He was about to dismiss Angel entirely when the spider demon added casually, “Heard her talking yesterday. Said something about accents.”

Alastor’s ears perked up ever so slightly.

“Oh?” he said, a little too quickly. “What…sort of accents?”

Angel grinned wickedly. “Southern ones. Said she had a weakness for ‘em. Dunno why—probably the cowboy fantasy or whatever—but she went on about it for, like, ten minutes.”

Alastor straightened, smoothing his lapels thoughtfully. That… was useful information.

He was from New Orleans. He had worked hard to soften the lilt of his accent in public speech, preferring the crisp neutrality of radio diction. But the cadence, the musicality of the South still pulsed in his blood. Perhaps…

“Thank you, Angel,” Alastor said, turning away.

“Don’t mention it, Casanova.”

The next day, she was once again in the lounge, seated at the piano this time, fingers ghosting over the keys as she hummed tunelessly to herself. Alastor approached quietly, his smile soft but sharp, a hunter’s smile, just a little more dangerous today.

He leaned on the piano and said smoothly, “Now, ain’t this a picture? A darlin’ little thing all wrapped up in her own music.”

She looked up, blinking at him, startled. “Oh! Alastor. Hi.”

He gave a slight bow, letting his accent drip a little thicker than usual, like honey poured slow from the jar.

“I was hopin’ I might find you here today.”

She tilted her head, clearly confused. “You were?”

“Mm-hmm.” He leaned in just a fraction. “You see, I’ve been thinkin’—you’ve got a voice sweeter than magnolia wine, and fingers more graceful than a summer breeze. A man could get lost watchin’ you.”

There was a pause.

Then, with a furrow of her brow, she replied: “Do I have something on my face?”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

“You’re… looking at me kind of weird. Is there something wrong?”

Alastor exhaled through his nose. He chuckled—light, pleasant, but tinged with exasperation. “Nothin’ wrong, sugar. Quite the opposite.”

She smiled sheepishly. “Oh, okay. Sorry. I’ve just never been good at reading between the lines.”

That much was becoming abundantly clear.

“Tell me,” Alastor said, letting the chair beside her creak as he sat down, voice velvet-smooth, “have you ever had someone court you before?”

She blinked. “Court me?”

“Yes.” He folded his hands, suddenly earnest beneath the ever-present grin. “Take a genuine, gentlemanly interest in your company. Walk you through the gardens, sing with you in the parlor, bring you little gifts, if you’d let him. Someone who’d admire you deeply, and… respectfully.”

She was looking at him now, her book forgotten entirely.

“You’re asking if I’ve ever dated anyone?”

“Precisely.”

“…No. I haven’t.”

“Well then,” he said, voice dropping just a touch, gaze meeting hers fully now, “I’d like to be the first.”

There was a beat.

Then, a very quiet, “Wait. You’re serious?”

“As serious as a New Orleans summer is humid.”

Her mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “…Is that what you’ve been doing all week?”

“I do hope I haven’t been too subtle,” he said dryly.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, pressing her hands to her face in embarrassment. “I thought you were just being…you!”

Alastor’s laughter bubbled out before he could help it. “And what, pray tell, does that mean?”

“You compliment everyone! You do magic tricks for fun! You talk like a dramatic novel character. I thought that was just your thing!”

He grinned wider, if that were possible. “Ah, but did I compliment anyone else’s eyes in prose-poetry style? Did I call Husk’s frown ‘poetically tragic’ or Charlie’s footsteps ‘music to rival Debussy’?”

“…No.”

“Exactly.”

She groaned softly, dragging her hands down her face. “I missed everything. I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no apology needed.” His tone softened. “Romance isn’t a language everyone speaks fluently. But I’m willing to teach, if you’re willin’ to learn.”

She looked at him again—really looked this time. There was something genuine beneath the eccentricity. A glimmer of vulnerability in the way he held her gaze, even as his smile stayed fixed and bright.

“…You want to court me,” she repeated.

“If you’ll have me.”

She laughed under her breath, disbelieving. “I don’t even know how to be courted.”

“That’s alright, sugar,” he said gently. “I do.”

She paused. Then gave a small nod.

“Alright. You can court me.”

Alastor lit up like a marquee.

“Excellent!” he said, standing and offering her his hand. “Shall we start now? A walk through the garden, perhaps? I hear the moon’s lookin’ especially lovely tonight.”

She took his hand, hesitantly at first, then more surely. His grip was warm and steady.

As they walked toward the lobby doors, she looked sideways at him.

“So, just to be clear…was the shadow puppet of a heart yesterday part of the flirting?”

“Oh, most definitely.”

“…Wow. I thought that was just performance art.”

Alastor chuckled.

“We’ve got a long way to go, don’t we?”

She smiled. “Guess so.”

But her fingers stayed in his, and for the first time in a very long time, Alastor felt the quiet thrill of possibility stir beneath his ever-cheerful facade.

Maybe love wasn’t as trivial as he thought. Maybe—just maybe—it was worth learning how to speak her language, too.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #jyoongim #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel

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jyoongim · 4 months ago

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Hi!! Just curious, I've noticed your writing style is a little different than what it used to be? And the formatting is new?

One thing I'm missing are the fun aesthetic images :(

Again, just curious about the change!! Hope you're having a good day tho, and make sure to take care of yourself <3

Hiiiii

It’s not permanent lol just trying to see if I’m capable of writing in a ‘cleaner’ style (😩so yall like my crazy writing fr???)

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jyoongim · 4 months ago

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plz Yandere human alastor x fem reader when she was his childhood best friend to enemies to lover smut 🥰

Title: "Static Hearts"

Chapter 1: Echoes of the Past

The old church bells echoed through the small town, their sound sharp and bitter, like the memories you and Alastor once shared.

You stood at the edge of the overgrown park, watching the mist rise from the ground. The place felt different now—darker, colder, haunted by more than just time. It wasn’t the park you grew up in, the one where you and Alastor would run barefoot in the grass, laughing like nothing could touch you.

But it wasn’t laughter that filled the air when Alastor walked into view.

His eyes gleamed, predatory and sharp, his smile like a blade too dull to cut yet cruel enough to wound. He leaned casually against a tree, his voice dripping with honeyed malice.

“Ah, if it isn’t my dear childhood friend. What a wonderful surprise,” he said, his tone syrupy sweet but with a hidden edge.

You clenched your fists at your sides, fighting the urge to scream. “I’m not your friend anymore, Alastor. Not after everything. Not after you.”

He tilted his head, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. “Oh, darling, you wound me. I thought we’d moved past such trivial things. After all, we’ve grown, haven’t we?” His smile stretched wider, impossibly wide, almost like it was carved into his face. “You don’t look like the innocent girl I used to know. You’re something... new now. Something more.” He took a step forward, his eyes locked onto yours like a predator cornering its prey.

“I’m not yours to claim,” you snapped, the words cutting through the air.

Alastor’s expression darkened in an instant, and he was at your side before you could even react. His breath was hot against your ear as he whispered, “You were never mine to begin with. But you’ll be, darling. You’ll be, one way or another.”

You jerked away, heart racing. You wanted to run. God, how you wanted to run. But you couldn’t. Not when his gaze burned through you like an electric current, sparking memories of a time when you had trusted him with everything.

Chapter 2: The Return of the Past

The night was heavy, thick with the tension that hung between you and Alastor like a storm cloud, waiting to burst. You had tried to stay away, tried to sever the ties, but no matter how far you went, there was always a pull—always the whisper of his voice in your head, in your dreams.

You hadn’t expected to find him sitting in the diner, casually flipping through a menu as if nothing had happened. As if you hadn’t become the object of his obsession.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Alastor observed as you stood frozen at the door. His voice was light, but the warning was there, sharp and cutting. “Why? Were you hoping I’d forget you? Forget us?”

You walked to the counter, ignoring him as much as you could. You weren’t about to play into his twisted game. Not anymore.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you bit back, trying to hide the shakiness in your voice. “I don’t want to be a part of your little games, Alastor. I’m done with this. I’m done with you.”

He stood up with a smooth motion, his presence suffocating as he closed the distance between you. He didn’t touch you, but it felt like he did. His gaze was possessive, hungry. “Done? Darling, we both know you’re lying. You’re still the same scared little girl who used to hide in my arms when you were scared. You’re just too afraid to admit it.”

Your fists clenched again, but you couldn’t let him win. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Oh, but you are.” His voice dropped low, almost a whisper. “You’ve always been afraid of me. And you should be. Because when I want something, I take it. And I want you.”

The air between you crackled, thick with unspoken tension. You wanted to scream at him, tell him how twisted he was, how he had broken everything. But when he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, the words died in your throat.

“You were mine once, and you will be again,” he murmured, the promise dark and final. “You belong to me, darling. Don’t you forget that.”

Chapter 3: The Static Between Us

It had been weeks since the diner, weeks since you had dared to even think about him. But Alastor wasn’t one to be easily ignored.

He showed up at your apartment that night, uninvited, of course, the soft hum of his voice vibrating through the walls before he even knocked. The door swung open, revealing him, standing in the hallway, wearing that familiar, maddening grin.

“I can’t stay away, you know,” he said, his eyes glowing in the dim light. “I’ve tried, but when it comes to you, I’m not a man who surrenders.”

You looked at him, your heart beating erratically in your chest. You wanted to slap him, push him out of your life for good, but part of you still ached for the boy you had once known. The boy who had held you when you cried, the boy who had promised he would always be there.

But that boy had changed. And you weren’t sure who this man in front of you even was anymore.

“I hate you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His grin faltered for a moment, his eyes narrowing. He stepped into the room, his presence looming like an oppressive storm cloud. “No. You don’t hate me. You love me. And deep down, you always have.”

The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating. You could almost taste the desperation in his voice, the longing that twisted through each syllable. He reached out, his fingers brushing your cheek, and you flinched, but he was too close to escape now.

“Don’t touch me,” you spat, but even you could hear the uncertainty in your own voice.

He chuckled darkly, his hand sliding around your waist, pulling you toward him with a tenderness that felt far too intimate. “Always the same... always pretending you don’t want me.” His lips brushed against yours, slow, possessive, and he murmured against your lips, “I’ll make you remember, darling. I’ll make you want me again.”

Chapter 4: The Storm Between Us

It was inevitable. You knew it. No matter how hard you fought, how many walls you built between you and him, the storm was always there, waiting to pull you back.

And so, you found yourself, once again, tangled in his arms, caught between anger, fear, and desire.

Alastor’s lips were bruising as they moved against yours, his hands moving with a possessiveness that made your heart race. His voice was a whisper against your skin, dark and dangerous, yet filled with a kind of longing that terrified you.

“You can’t escape me,” he breathed. “You never could.”

You closed your eyes, trying to hold onto yourself, but it was hard when his touch felt so familiar, so right, even though it had broken you in ways you couldn’t even name.

“I hate you,” you whispered, though your voice trembled.

Alastor chuckled softly, his lips curving into a dangerous smile. “Then why, darling, do you still come back to me?”

The twisted dance between you and Alastor had only just begun, but you knew that no matter how much you tried to pull away, you’d never truly escape him.

Because he was right. You’d always come back.

And he’d always be waiting.

Sure! Here's a continuation of the story, expanding from Chapter 5 to Chapter 8. This section builds on the possessiveness, tension, and intimacy between Alastor and the reader.

Chapter 5: A Tangled Web

The air in your apartment felt too still, heavy with unspoken words and the ghosts of everything left unsaid. Alastor hadn't left—he never truly left. He was always there, like a shadow in your periphery, lurking just out of reach. Even when you tried to convince yourself you were free, you'd turn a corner and find him waiting.

You could still feel the heat of his touch on your skin, the softness of his lips lingering in your mind. You tried to scrub it out, bury it beneath layers of reason, but the more you fought, the more you wanted to scream. The more you longed for the twisted familiarity of him.

It was late when you heard the soft tap at your window. At first, you hesitated, unsure if you imagined it. But then there was another, more urgent knock, and you knew it could only be one person.

Alastor.

You opened the window just wide enough for him to slip inside. His red eyes gleamed with something unreadable, but his smile was as cruel as ever.

“Don’t you ever knock like a normal person?” you snapped, trying to maintain the last shred of control you had.

“Why would I? I’m not a normal person, darling,” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. “And besides, you know I prefer to surprise you.”

He stepped inside, the familiar scent of him—something like old radio static mixed with a faint trace of something darker—filling the space between you. Before you could say anything else, his hand shot out, grasping your wrist, pulling you toward him with almost inhuman strength. You could feel your pulse quicken under his touch, and you hated yourself for it.

“Tell me, darling,” he murmured, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “Do you ever wonder why you keep inviting me back in?”

You swallowed, trying to ignore the heat that curled in your stomach. “I’m not inviting you. I’m telling you to leave.”

He chuckled darkly, almost lovingly. “We both know that’s a lie.”

Chapter 6: Treading the Line

Days blurred into one another. Each one seemed to pass under the constant weight of Alastor’s presence. He was everywhere. Every moment when you thought you had a second to breathe, he would show up—whether in the form of a text, a message, or, more often than not, in person.

There were moments when he would be as distant as a storm on the horizon, watching you from the shadows, waiting. And there were times when he was right in front of you, pressing you up against walls, forcing you to look into those unsettling red eyes, demanding you admit what you both knew was true.

You were drawn to him. Despite everything, despite how much he twisted your mind, you wanted him. And it terrified you.

It was on one of those rare moments of calm, a night when you had dared to step outside for a walk, that you encountered him again. You didn’t even hear him approach until he was standing in front of you, blocking your path with an amused smile plastered on his face.

“Out for a walk, darling?” His tone was innocent, but the way he towered over you made it impossible to ignore the tension crackling between you both.

“You know I don’t want to talk to you,” you muttered, trying to push past him.

“But we need to talk.” His voice was soft but insistent. He grabbed your wrist again, this time not roughly, but with an undeniable firmness. “I’m starting to think you’re afraid of the truth.”

Your heart hammered in your chest. “The truth?” You spat. “The truth is that you’ve been tormenting me for months, and I’m done. I don’t care about your games.”

“Games?” Alastor scoffed. “Darling, this isn’t a game. This is a promise. And I don’t break my promises.”

You jerked your arm free, stepping back. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to see,” he replied, his voice low and dangerous, “that we’re already beyond saving. You belong to me, whether you want to or not.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he leaned in, cutting you off with a crushing kiss.

Chapter 7: The Struggle

The lines were blurring, and you hated it. Every time you saw him, every time he spoke to you, it felt like he was pulling you deeper into a web you couldn’t escape.

He began to show up unannounced—at your work, at your favorite café, even at the places where you thought you could escape. There was no safe space anymore. The feeling of him constantly watching you, of him owning you, suffocated you.

But still, you couldn’t deny that his presence stirred something in you—something dangerous, something you didn’t want to face.

One night, you couldn’t take it anymore. You tried to lock yourself in your room, but when you turned the key, there was a sharp click, and before you could react, the door swung open, and Alastor stood there, grinning, as if he had known exactly what you were going to do.

“You’re so predictable, darling.” His voice was laced with mockery, but there was something deeper beneath it, something raw. He stepped closer to you, his hands brushing your arms. “Running away never works, sweetheart.”

“You think this is funny?” you asked through gritted teeth. “You think I’m just some toy you can play with? I’m not yours, Alastor.”

He didn’t speak for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, and for the first time, you saw something softer flicker behind the mask of the Radio Demon.

“You were never just a toy, my dear,” he whispered, his tone quieter, more vulnerable. “You’ve always been everything to me.”

Then, in one fluid motion, he pulled you into him, kissing you again—this time slower, with an intensity that made it impossible to think.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath uneven. “I’ll never let you go, darling. Never.”

Chapter 8: Heart Static

Days turned into weeks, and yet, nothing changed. Alastor was relentless. No matter how many times you tried to push him away, he always came back, his possessiveness wrapping around you like a vice.

And the worst part? You hated yourself for craving it. Every time he came close, every time his voice dropped into that low, possessive whisper, you felt your resistance weaken, your heart beating erratically in your chest.

It was late one evening when the two of you found yourselves in the park where it all started. The place had always been a part of your shared past, and now it felt like a prison.

Alastor stood behind you, the familiar hum of his presence sending chills down your spine. “You’re still holding on, aren’t you?” His voice was soft, almost a question.

“I’m holding on to nothing,” you whispered back. “Nothing but the ghosts of who we used to be.”

Alastor stepped forward, his hands gently cupping your face, forcing you to look at him. His eyes were wild, desperate, and for the first time, you saw something broken in him. “You think you can escape me? You think you can escape us? Darling, you’re more mine than you realize.”

You should’ve pushed him away. You should’ve screamed. But when his lips met yours, when his hands held you in place, all you could do was let it happen.

The storm inside you finally broke.

Chapter 9: Bound in Static

The aftermath of what had just transpired hung thick in the air, a weight that pressed down on you both. His warmth was still against you, his body hovering over yours, yet there was a strange distance in his eyes, a calm before the storm that made your heart race. The room felt suffocating, like the walls themselves were closing in, trapping you in this twisted space between desire and rejection.

You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think.

Alastor’s fingers gently traced the curve of your collarbone, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every part of you, claiming it in a way that made your skin crawl with both fear and something else—something you refused to admit. He had you, in every sense of the word, and it terrified you.

He had always known how to control the situation, how to make you feel both small and powerful at the same time, and now, as he hovered over you, the power imbalance was painfully obvious.

Your breath came out shaky as you turned your head to the side, avoiding his gaze. His touch, gentle though it was, sent a shiver through your body. It wasn’t tenderness you felt—it was a cold, consuming need that you couldn’t escape.

“You think you can escape this?” His voice, smooth and dark, broke the silence. His breath was warm against your ear, and the way he spoke was both a question and a statement. It was never a question with him. “Darling, you and I are far beyond that.”

You tried to ignore the way your heart pounded in your chest, how his words—no matter how possessive, how suffocating—still made something inside of you ache. You wanted to be angry, to scream, to claw your way out of his grip. But you couldn’t. Not yet.

“I’m not yours,” you whispered, trying to force some conviction into your voice, but it faltered before it even left your lips.

Alastor’s smile was slow, almost affectionate, as though he were entertained by your futile attempt to push him away. He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his eyes gleaming in the dim light, like twin flames that would never extinguish.

“You say that,” he said, his voice low, his fingers drifting down your arm. “But deep down, darling, you’ve always known the truth. I’ve always been yours. And you’ve always been mine.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t the force of his touch that held you down. It was the way he seemed to know—to understand the twisted parts of you that you’d buried so deep, they almost felt like strangers.

“I’ve waited for this,” he continued, his lips brushing your temple in an almost tender motion. “I’ve been patient. But now… we’re finally here.”

You swallowed hard, trying to pull away from him, but your body refused to obey. Your hands were pressed to his chest, not to shove him away, but because you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything else. You weren’t sure what you were even feeling anymore. Hate? Desire? A mixture of both?

“I hate you,” you spat, but the words lacked any bite. Instead, they felt like a lie, a desperate attempt to hold onto some semblance of control.

His hand snaked behind your neck, pulling you forward until your lips were just a breath away from his. His eyes locked onto yours, intense and unwavering. “No, darling. You don’t hate me. You could never hate me. You’re far too entangled in this mess we’ve made.”

Before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours again. This kiss wasn’t frantic or desperate like the last one; it was slow, calculated, as if he were savoring it, marking it in some way that made your head spin. His lips, cold and sharp, pressed against yours with a possessiveness that left no room for argument.

He was claiming you again, even in this quiet moment, and there was nothing you could do to stop him. You wanted to resist. You tried to fight it, but the way his hands slid over your skin, the way his lips moved against yours with the same intensity he had shown before, made your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

When he finally pulled away, his breath was ragged, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t define. “I told you, darling,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your cheek, “you belong to me. Whether you want it or not.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to fight back, to slap him, to tell him he was wrong, but the words stuck in your throat, swallowed by the overwhelming pull of his presence. Your chest heaved as you tried to regain control over your breath, your pulse still hammering in your ears.

“I don’t belong to you,” you said, this time more firmly, even though it felt like you were only fooling yourself.

Alastor’s grin widened, and he looked at you as though you were the only thing that mattered in the world. “Of course, you do,” he replied softly. “And deep down, you know that too. That’s why you’re still here. That’s why you can’t leave.”

The way he said it made your skin burn, but you couldn’t deny the truth in his words. You had never fully left him. Not in any way that mattered. Not in your heart, even if your mind screamed at you to escape.

He reached down and cupped your face, his touch so gentle it felt like a contradiction to everything else he had done. His thumb stroked across your cheek, and for a moment, you saw the boy you had once known—a flicker of something softer, more human.

But it was gone as quickly as it came.

“You don’t have to run anymore,” he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re mine, darling. I’m all you need.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the sharp sting of his words. They cut deeper than any physical wound, twisting inside you, carving away the walls you had built around yourself. And you hated him for it. You hated him for breaking you down this way.

But no matter how much you hated him, there was a part of you that couldn’t stop yourself from wanting him.

And it terrified you.

———————————————————————

Yes I just realized I posted all the chapters in this MASSIVE doc 😭😭😭 SO SORRY

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #jyoongim #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x y/n #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor smut

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jyoongim · 4 months ago

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Requesting Fem!reader and Alastor go out to drink but they both come home HELLA intoxicated, MAKE IT SPICY

Title: A Night to Remember

It was one of those rare evenings in Hell where the usual chaos was just a little quieter, and for once, Y/N and Alastor found themselves with some free time. After a long stretch of work, dealing with endless hotel drama, and managing the constant circus of Hell, Y/N had a sudden thought.

"Hey, Al," she said with a sly grin, slipping into his office where he was, as usual, meticulously organizing his records. "How about we go out tonight? Just the two of us. Drink, relax. You know, actually enjoy ourselves for once."

Alastor, always the man of control, paused, his crimson eyes glinting as he considered her suggestion. His lips curled into a grin. "You and I, my dear? Out on the town?" He gave a playful chuckle, clearly intrigued by the idea. "How curious."

Y/N leaned against the doorframe, smirking. "Don’t worry, Al. I won’t let you go all ‘Radio Demon’ on everyone. Just you, me, and some quiet drinks."

"Well, I suppose I can indulge you for an evening." Alastor's voice was smooth, but there was an underlying excitement in his tone—something that, despite his usual poise, couldn’t be concealed.

A few hours later, Y/N and Alastor were seated at a secluded bar deep in Hell’s underbelly, a far cry from the usual glitz and glam of the Happy Hotel. The air was thick with a smoky haze, and the faint sound of jazz played in the background. The bar was nearly empty, save for a few souls hunched over their drinks, casting furtive glances toward the mysterious duo in the corner.

Y/N had ordered something strong—a drink that would give her the right kind of buzz without completely obliterating her. Alastor, of course, didn’t drink like a normal demon. He’d gone for something theatrically fiery, with a twist of something unidentifiable floating at the top. He held the drink with an air of elegance, as if even in this casual setting, he was performing for an audience only he could see.

"To the rare moments when we get to relax," Y/N toasted, holding her glass up.

Alastor clinked his drink with hers, his sharp smile growing. "To you," he said, the words laced with something far more intimate than a simple toast.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, feeling a heat spread through her chest. "Me? You sure you’re not just enjoying your drink too much?" she teased, trying to brush off the sudden intensity of his words.

“Oh, my dear,” he said, leaning closer, his voice hushed but tinged with something far more daring than his usual composure. "I enjoy you far more than any drink in this forsaken place."

Y/N felt her breath hitch. She swallowed a sip of her drink, attempting to regain control. “Careful, Al. You might give me the wrong idea.”

Alastor chuckled darkly, his eyes never leaving hers. “And what idea would that be?”

Before Y/N could respond, she felt the alcohol settling into her system—warm, comforting, and perhaps a little too inviting. Her face flushed, and she tilted her head to the side, gazing at Alastor through half-lidded eyes. There was something in the way he looked at her, something beneath the layers of his usual charm that felt dangerously close to something else—something more personal. The tension between them had always been there, simmering, but tonight? It was palpable.

Y/N couldn’t help but smirk. “I think you’re getting too comfortable, Al,” she teased, her voice a little slurred but still sharp. “Maybe I should’ve warned you that I’m a dangerous drinker.”

Alastor’s grin grew wider, and he leaned forward. His fingers brushed against hers on the table, sending a sudden jolt through Y/N's body. She could feel his gaze on her lips, and despite the heat of the alcohol coursing through her veins, she could still read him like a book.

“You’re quite dangerous, my dear,” Alastor said, his voice low, almost sultry. “But don’t worry… I can handle a little danger.” He leaned even closer, the air between them thickening with unspoken tension.

Y/N's heart raced as she felt the heat rise between them. It was hard to focus—her head spinning slightly from the alcohol, but she could feel him now. The pull between them had always been undeniable, but now, it was like a magnet drawing them together. And damn if she didn’t want to give in to it.

She placed her hand on his chest, just lightly enough to keep the space between them narrow but still tangible. “You know, Al,” she began, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper, “we’re in public. People might start to think we’re—”

Before she could finish, Alastor’s hand was suddenly on hers, pulling it away from his chest and toward him. He didn’t say a word, but the heated intensity in his eyes spoke volumes. Then, without warning, he cupped her face, his thumb brushing lightly across her lips.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice thick with something darker, more enticing. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?”

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, everything around her went silent. There was only the two of them—her heart pounding in her chest and the taste of her drink still lingering on her tongue. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Alastor kissed her.

It was deep. Intense. The kind of kiss that was laced with frustration, with longing, with the need to claim. It was everything that had been building between them for far too long, and the alcohol only made it more reckless, more urgent.

Y/N’s hands found their way to Alastor’s chest, gripping his shirt, as she kissed him back with equal fervor. The world around them seemed to blur and fade. There was no one else. Just them. Alastor’s lips, his hands trailing down to her waist, pulling her impossibly close to him. She could feel the heat of his body against hers, and she shivered in response.

"Al..." she gasped, breaking the kiss for just a moment, her voice shaky.

His eyes were darker now, filled with an intensity that made her pulse race. “Say my name again,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “Let me hear you, Y/N.”

And she did. She didn’t even think twice before she whispered it again—his name—because everything in her wanted it. Needed it.

Without another word, Alastor’s hands were at her back, pulling her up from the chair and into his arms. The world around them faded as they made their way toward the exit, the only thing driving them now the undeniable force between them. Y/N barely had time to register the sensation of the cold night air hitting her face before they were back at the Happy Hotel, stumbling into the privacy of their suite.

Once the door slammed shut behind them, everything erupted in heat. Clothes were discarded in a frenzy, and neither of them could stop the wave of desire crashing over them.

There was no more teasing, no more holding back. They were intoxicated—not just by the alcohol, but by each other.

Alastor’s lips were on hers again, his hands rougher this time, pulling her closer, deeper. She responded with equal hunger, matching him in every way, their bodies colliding with a fierce urgency that only alcohol, desire, and the months of unspoken tension between them could explain.

As the night went on, there was no need for words. There was only them—in every kiss, in every touch, in every heated breath. They were both lost in the moment, consumed by everything that had built up over time.

And when it was over, and they were tangled together in the sheets, breathless and sated, Y/N could only smile, her fingers tracing the outline of Alastor's jaw.

"Well," she murmured, her voice still thick with desire. "That was... worth the wait."

Alastor, equally as drunk on the intensity of the night, smiled back, his fingers brushing through her hair. "You have no idea, darling."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the Radio Demon let himself rest—completely uncontrolled, just like the night they had shared.

The End

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #jyoongim #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel

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jyoongim · 4 months ago

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HI THERE! I JS WANTED TO SAY THAT YOUR WRITING IS ABSOLUTELY PHENOMENAL 🙏 AND ALSO ARE YOU TAKING REQUESTS?? BC I WOULD LOVE A FIC WITH HUMAN ALASTOR X FAMOUS SINGER READER? WHERE ITS LIKE THE SILLY LITTLE RADIO MAN AND TALL HOT WOMAN?? (were reader is leaving lipstick marks all over Al’s neck and face in the backstage) (also feel absolutely free to delete this if you feel uncomfortable btw with the request btw and sorry for talking in all caps 😔)

Title: A Song for the Radio Demon

It was the night of the big concert, and Y/N was in her element. The crowd outside the venue was buzzing with excitement, the lights of the city shimmering like stars above. She stood backstage, adjusting her mic and smoothing out the glamorous, floor-length gown that hugged her figure perfectly. As one of the most famous singers in the world, she had performed for packed arenas before, but tonight felt different.

She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was an energy in the air—something electric, something... personal. And that wasn’t just the fans’ excited anticipation. No, it was the presence of one particular person that was making her heart flutter.

Alastor.

The man who had become an unexpected part of her life, a charming yet mysterious radio personality who’d appeared in her life out of nowhere, offering both a support system and a challenge she hadn't expected. He wasn’t just any man—he was entirely different, with his old-fashioned suit and charismatic, smooth voice. The way he smiled with that devilish glint in his eye. The way he made her laugh with his quirky, unpredictable humor. And the way his presence seemed to haunt every room, no matter where they went.

But tonight, Y/N had something on her mind.

The radio man and the singer. The tall, glamorous woman, and the silly, quirky man who always seemed to get under her skin in the most irresistible way.

“You look beautiful, darling,” Alastor’s voice broke through her thoughts, his smooth tone wrapping around her like velvet. Y/N turned to find him leaning against the doorway, looking effortlessly dashing in his usual tailored suit, his crimson eyes glimmering with that mischievous sparkle.

“Oh, stop it.” Y/N laughed, adjusting her lipstick in the mirror. “I’m not going to fall for your compliments again, Al.”

“I never joke about something as serious as your beauty, my dear,” he teased, his grin spreading wider as he approached her. “You’ve got that... star quality, hmm? It’s practically oozing out of you.”

Y/N shook her head, her lips curving into a smile despite herself. “You’re such a dork.”

The moment their eyes met in the mirror, Y/N felt that familiar, magnetic pull between them. It wasn’t something that could be ignored, even if they both tried. The teasing, the banter—it had all led to this. She had always known there was something more, something unspoken between them.

“Shall we get this show on the road?” Alastor asked, his voice suddenly serious as he stepped closer, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. He placed his hand on the small of her back, his touch unexpectedly warm for someone so elegantly composed.

Y/N nodded. "Let's do it."

The show was a roaring success, as expected. The stage lights bathed her in warm hues, and the sound of the crowd singing along to her songs was enough to make her heart race. She could feel Alastor's eyes on her throughout the entire performance, his gaze sharp but full of admiration, never leaving her for a second.

When the concert finally ended, and the roaring applause slowly faded, Y/N made her way backstage, the adrenaline from the performance still buzzing in her veins. She had barely taken two steps before Alastor was there, offering her a glass of champagne with a grin.

"Well done, darling. A flawless performance," he said with a twinkle in his eye, his voice smooth and velvety.

"Thank you, Al," she replied, taking the glass from him with a smile. She could feel his presence all around her, as usual, but tonight there was something different. Something in the way he was looking at her that made her pulse quicken.

She leaned in close, just enough that he could feel the heat of her body next to his. “You’re looking awfully sharp tonight. Might be I’m not the only one getting all the attention,” she teased, her lips brushing against his cheek as she playfully kissed his skin, leaving a faint lipstick mark.

Alastor froze for a moment, clearly surprised by her forwardness, before letting out a low chuckle. "Is that how it’s going to be, hmm?" His eyes narrowed playfully, but there was something more behind them, something deeper.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "I don’t know... Is that a problem?"

Her lips were just inches away from his neck as she traced her finger along his jawline. Alastor seemed to be struggling to maintain his usual composure, and that made her grin. It wasn’t often that she got to see him disarmed like this.

“No problem at all,” Alastor replied, his voice a little lower now, tinged with something unmistakable. “I find your... boldness charming, darling.”

With that, he reached out, pulling her closer by the waist. The movement was fluid, confident, and before Y/N could register what was happening, Alastor's lips were on her neck. The sensation of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, and she gasped, eyes fluttering shut as he nipped at her skin, leaving his own mark on her.

Her hands found their way into his hair, fingers threading through the strands, tugging him closer as she let herself enjoy the feeling of his lips against her skin. The subtle mix of danger and tenderness in his touch was intoxicating, and she couldn’t help but let out a soft moan, pulling his face up to hers with a newfound urgency.

"Al…" she whispered, her voice breathless.

Alastor didn’t answer right away. Instead, he kissed her. Slow at first, but as his hands moved to her back, pulling her flush against his chest, the kiss grew deeper, more insistent. She could taste the champagne on his lips, mingling with the faintest trace of something darker, more delicious.

In the heat of the moment, Y/N couldn’t help herself. Her lips trailed along his jaw, leaving soft, delicate lipstick marks that smeared across his neck and cheeks. Each mark was like a signature, proof of her passion.

"You're a bit of a mess, darling," Alastor teased with a smirk when she finally pulled back to admire her work. His voice was thick with desire, and his breath was heavy, almost unsteady.

Y/N grinned, wiping her lipstick from his cheek with the back of her hand. “What? Can’t handle a little bit of a bad girl?”

Alastor chuckled, clearly amused, but there was something more to his expression now—something raw, something hungry. "I think you need to be careful, darling," he murmured, his tone low and teasing. "You may be leaving marks on me, but I’m afraid you’ve already left one on my heart."

Her heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol in her system or the undeniable chemistry between them, but in that moment, everything seemed to fall away. There was no audience, no stage lights, no fame—just her, and Alastor, and a kiss that felt more like a promise than a playful moment.

“I think you might be right, Al,” she said softly, a playful glint in her eyes. “But maybe I’m just starting to enjoy this mess I’m making.”

And as the night went on, with the backstage chaos and the lingering excitement of the show still in the air, Y/N and Alastor found themselves wrapped up in their own little world, leaving a trail of lipstick marks and heated glances that would linger long after the final notes of the concert had faded away.

The End

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #jyoongim #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel

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jyoongim · 4 months ago

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I had this thought for an Alastor x Female Morningstar reader story. She is Charlie's older sister, and she resembles Lillith. She's also engaged to Alastor.

Charlie and Angel Dust are her maids of honor. (Angel literally kept asking about Morningstar Reader's sex life with Alastor, and she made a deal to make him his co-maid of honor, plan her bachelorette party, and pick out her honeymoon lingerie. If he stopped asking, he agreed in an instant.)

Reader, Charlie, Angel, and Vaggie are all going wedding dress shopping. But things get a bit messy because the group is trying to make sure that Alastor and Lucifer don't come and see Reader looking and trying on dresses.

One, Lucifer will be a bucket of tears. Second, we've all seen Hell's Greatest Dad. We don't need a better explanation than that.

Title: A Wedding Fit for the Underworld

The sun shone dimly through the Hellish sky, casting a faint glow over the Happy Hotel as the group of women gathered in Charlie's room, buzzing with excitement. Today was the day that everything was about to get complicated in ways that only Hell itself could pull off.

Y/N, Charlie’s older sister and heir to the Morningstar name, sat in front of a mirror, checking her reflection one last time. She was the spitting image of Lillith—graceful, powerful, with a magnetic presence that seemed to demand attention without her even trying. Her long, dark hair cascaded in waves down her back, and her sharp eyes gleamed with a cool, collected intelligence. As the fiancée of Alastor, the Radio Demon, Y/N's aura was equally as intimidating as it was alluring.

And yet, today, she found herself nervous. For a wedding dress shopping trip.

Charlie and Angel Dust—her co-maids of honor—had been relentlessly buzzing around her for days. Charlie was practically glowing with excitement. She had a million ideas for the wedding, most of them absurd, but endearing all the same. Meanwhile, Angel Dust had one mission: to keep asking her about her and Alastor's romantic life, despite her repeated attempts to steer the conversation elsewhere. He didn’t seem to understand that the topic of wedding night intimacy wasn’t something she wanted to discuss openly—especially in front of everyone.

In fact, Angel had asked so many uncomfortable questions that Y/N had finally made a deal with him: if he stopped asking about her and Alastor's private life, she would let him help plan her bachelorette party, pick out her honeymoon lingerie, and even serve as co-maid of honor. Naturally, Angel had agreed without hesitation. He was shameless like that.

Today, though, was all about one thing: finding the perfect dress.

“Okay, okay, Y/N,” Charlie grinned, twirling around with excitement. “You have to try on like, all the dresses! And then we’ll pick the one that screams you! You know, something that says, 'I’m marrying the Radio Demon and I’m here to take over Hell,' but also, *'I’m a princess and I deserve to be adored'! You know?”

Y/N smiled, albeit a little nervously. “I’m not sure a dress could really scream all of that, Charlie.”

“Trust me, we’ll make it work!” Charlie said with confidence. “It’s gonna be perfect.”

Angel, lounging on one of the velvet couches with a glass of something sparkling in his hand, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah, but let’s talk about the real issues, honey. Are you and Alastor gonna look this good on your wedding night? I mean, we all know he’s gonna get real fancy with the suit, but I’m just wondering if you two have chemistry down, if ya know what I mean…” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. “Angel, we’re not doing this today. Please. We’re here to try on dresses, not talk about that.”

Vaggie, who had been quietly observing the group, finally sighed and gave Angel a pointed look. “Angel, if you don’t stop, I will personally take that bottle of sparkling whatever away from you.”

Angel grinned, looking utterly unphased. “Eh, I’ve seen worse.”

“Alright,” Charlie clapped her hands, clearly trying to steer the conversation back on track. “Let’s get started before we all lose our minds!”

The group walked over to the massive fitting area, where rows of dresses in every imaginable color and design were hanging. The room was expansive, but the entire place was intentionally kept quiet, because there was one huge rule that the entire group had to follow: neither Alastor nor Lucifer could find out that Y/N was here trying on dresses.

Lucifer, of course, would be an emotional mess. The thought of his beloved daughter getting married and leaving him for another man—especially Alastor—would likely reduce him to a sobbing, dramatic heap of pure tears. And Alastor… well, he was the Radio Demon. His control over his emotions was legendary—except when it came to Y/N. The idea of her wearing a dress for anyone else—even if it was just for a fitting—would send him into an anxious spiral of possessiveness.

Vaggie crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. “We need to make sure they don’t catch a glimpse of her in any of these dresses. Alastor is a disaster when he gets emotional, and Lucifer will break down crying before he even sees her.”

Charlie nodded emphatically. “Exactly! If either of them finds out we’re dress shopping, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Just then, Angel snickered, holding up a dress he’d pulled off the rack. It was outrageously sparkly and not at all Y/N’s style. “Okay, but imagine this on you, Y/N. Like, hello, it screams 'I’m ready to get fancy for my wedding night.'”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “That looks like something from hell’s version of prom, Angel.”

“Exactly!” Angel said with a grin, as if he’d just solved the biggest mystery of the universe. “It’s perfect.”

Y/N shook her head. “Not in a million years, Angel.”

Charlie, ever the optimist, suddenly beamed and pulled out a dress from a hidden rack at the far end of the room. It was simple, elegant, and screamed ‘timeless beauty’. The fabric was a soft blend of crimson and gold, with lace detailing along the sleeves and hem. It was stunning. “Okay, Y/N, I think I found the one.”

Y/N took the dress from Charlie’s hands and held it up against herself in the mirror. It was beautiful, but her smile faltered for just a second. “This is gorgeous, Charlie, but… what if Alastor doesn’t like it?”

“Alastor is going to love it,” Charlie said confidently. “Trust me, you’re going to look like a goddess in this.”

Vaggie gave Y/N a knowing look. “You know he’s probably going to have a mini heart attack when he sees you in whatever you choose, right?”

Y/N laughed, her nerves slowly easing. “That sounds about right.”

“Alright, no more stalling,” Angel called out. “Get that dress on, darling, so we can see if it fits the 'Alastor’s heart will skip a beat' test.”

Y/N sighed, stepping into the dressing room and closing the door behind her. The process of trying on the dress felt oddly surreal. She was marrying Alastor. She was going to be his for all eternity. The thought made her heart flutter in a way she hadn’t expected.

A few moments later, she stepped out, the dress fitting perfectly, and the room went silent.

Charlie gasped. “Oh my god… Y/N, you look like you belong in a fairy tale.”

Vaggie gave a rare smile. “It’s perfect. You’re going to make Alastor lose it.”

Y/N took a step back, admiring herself in the mirror. The dress clung to her body in all the right ways, the lacework and golden accents shimmering in the light. It was everything. Her heart swelled with love and excitement at the thought of Alastor seeing her in it. She couldn’t wait for that moment—when he saw her and, just maybe, he’d forget to hide the emotions that were always so carefully concealed.

Meanwhile, in the corner, Angel, holding a glass of champagne, looked way too pleased with himself. “Alright, now that we’ve handled the wedding dress portion, we can finally talk about the honeymoon lingerie. I mean, we need to be prepared for that, right?”

Y/N groaned. “Not now, Angel.”

Charlie clapped her hands together. “Yes! Now we can talk about all the fun details! But first, we’ve got to finish our shopping trip before anyone else catches wind of what we’re doing!”

With a final, dramatic sigh from Angel, the group of them made their way to the next store. But no matter how chaotic or messy the day had been, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like her future was already falling into place. Alastor would see her in the dress, Lucifer would cry, and then—maybe just then—they would be able to enjoy the life they had ahead of them. All without a single demon interrupting the moment.

The End

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #jyoongim #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x y/n #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel

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jyoongim · 4 months ago

Text

STRONGEST - G.S.

Synopsis. The strongest. The most feraI. Gojo Satoru’s powers aren’t the only thing that goes out of control after a battle.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, fix-it, Shinjuku showdown, Gojo wins, established relationship, FÉRAL Gojo, Gojo’s powers, ínnapropriate use of jujutsu, oraI (fem. rec), fíngering, limitless, pússydrúnk Gojo, máting presses, overstím, rough s, he’s a little bit ínsane, brief male mast., size kínk, tummy buIges, squírting, cervíx kíssing, p sIapping, making him whíne, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 8.2k

A/N. I’m Gege I say this is canon mhm.

BIoody. Broken. Breathing.

Only that last one came from Gojo Satoru— the sole person in the entirety of Shinjuku’s ravaged battleground that was.

Twitching, he could sense sorcerers rushing out of their hiding spots to inspect the disintegrating, blob-like form of the former King of Curses before they even moved. Others sprinting medical instruments towards Fushiguro’s sprawled-out - alive, Gojo made sure to keep his boy alive - figure.

Not many dared to step towards the strongest, who towered in the midst of the chaos.

After all, it was only Itadori who could grit his teeth and force himself to walk through the waves upon waves of magnetic cursed energy radiating off of his teacher. Bulldozing, gasping- “G-Gojo-sensei!”

And all at once, the power ceases.

For the first time since the showdown started, everyone could finally breathe without the pressure of over a thousand sorcerers emanating from the body of one man.

That is, until Gojo snaps his eyes behind and mankind flinches. “I need my wife.”

Oh.

By destroying one monster, they might just have created another.

You didn’t want to be here - you couldn’t.

Planted prettily like some prized porcelain doll behind the countless wards of the Gojo Estate, its location so classified that it wasn’t disclosed to even you.

You knew why you were here; your husband may be the strongest, but that didn’t stop Ryomen Sukuna from being the most treacherous. And in the unfortunate fate where he might’ve - heavens forbid - won, it was obvious that one of his next targets would be you.

A war prize for a war-bringer.

Your chest tightens at the notion, and you’re struggling to manually lug in smoggy pants- no, that couldn’t happen. Fingers seconds away from shattering the dainty ceramic bowl of tea that you’d made out of pure nerves, it couldn’t.

“Damn higher-ups.” You’re hissing into the now-frigid drink, and yet it still blisters down your tastebuds. Almost as much as the memory of those orders to stay put lest you wanted something to happen to Gojo’s precious students. A warning. A threat. “Leaving me here to rot- fuck, when I get out I’m going to kill those ol’ toads- oh!”

Your sip of tea was a tightened ball of lead that simply refused to go past your larynx– and your brows furrow as the pale glass slips like water flowing between your fingers.

Tumbling. Shattering a puddling splash on the tatami-covered floor below.

And yet, you don’t even remember weakening your grasp - almost as if the cup was magnetized towards the edge of your decadent bedroom.

“I must be going mad.” You’re muttering to yourself, feeling even more so as you do. Shaking your head to some semblance of clearance, you crouch down with a sigh to pick up the chipped shards-

Only to find that the ground was trembling.

What…the fuck? Urgently smoothing the mountains of your palm flat on the firm mats below, it felt like something was thundering. Rampaging.

Something was happening.

You should run, you should surrender.

But you stay rooted to where you are, feeling the tips of your ears tingle with a whirrrr of energy clashing against energy, a monstrous sort of crackling power in the air. Tummy tensing as the ancient protective jujutsu of the estate bends and bends and bends - generations of power that snaps!

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.

Right in time with three sharp, repeated raps from behind the paper-thin sliding doors to your chamber.

Impatient.

It certainly couldn’t be one of the elders, they’d no sooner left you here to brace the impact of Sukuna’s looming victory and die rather than keep you company. Perhaps one of Gojo’s students? Shoko?

The King of Curses himself?

Squinting at the yolky outline of shadows drawn by the setting sun, your heart soars at the shape of those familiar broad shoulders and unruly hair.

Ones you could never mistake.

“Sa…Satoru.” You’re breathing, voice strangled as if not even your own words believed you.

Your calves sting with the impact of your running before you even register it- Satoru. Satoru was behind this door. Satoru won.

Almost out of breath once you reach the entrance, it’s all you can do to startle out a happy chuckle as your finger knot on the lattice handle and draaaag it open– “Sato- oh.”

Except…the man behind the door wasn’t your husband at all.

At least, not a version of your husband that you knew.

Because the Gojo rampant at the door was slouching, heaving.

Loooong, rasping breaths that made the mahogany doorframe clutched underneath his tense white knuckles crack into the tiniest of splinters. Every second wheeze fills the air up with so many charged atoms of cursed energy until you could barely even move.

Skin-tight black compression shirt torn in a jagged scratch right down the middle, billowing white pants tattered and sagging until you could almost see a few curls of creamy white. Could see allll of his washboard abs.

It looked like he’d clawed through hell himself just to take you there with him.

As your mouth opens and gapes wordlessly, your husband takes - well, more like stumbles - a singular step towards you that makes the expensive mats underneath break into a crater.

You’re catching the way his meaty thighs tremble through the cracks of his trousers, a singular dewdropped bead of sweat trickling down the side of Gojo’s flushed temples - almost as if he’d…run the entire way here instead of his usual teleportation.

Breath bated, your eyes cross over the lines of his sculptured deltoids to look at the destroyed mess of the hallway leading up to your room. Only your door was left untouched.

So he did run.

“Oh- Satoru.” Your voice drops into a sweetened tone unknowingly, and that makes Gojo stiffen with a hoarse breath.

With every pretty sound falling from your mouth, the sweltering hot atmosphere sizzled so many temperate degrees higher, until your skin was humid with power and want and power.

Instantly fighting against the rigid air to close the distance, all you wanted to do was hold him. “Are you- are you okay- what happened-”

And then Gojo lurches- as if he’d just been struck with your presence and it had electrocuted him, until he’s raising his eyes up to meet yours and-

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Never in your life had Gojo Satoru looked at you like that.

Heavy lids only half-open, the semi-crescents of his pupils so dilated that they shone Stygian black, tendrils of miniscule blue lightning shoot from the corners of his gaze as Gojo fights to keep his long lashes from fluttering shut.

He looked ravaged.

The very instant you’re thinking of inching yourself closer to wrap his bruised body in a long-overdue embrace, he’s flinching.

Like he’d read your very mind.

And maybe he did, because in mere nanoseconds, Gojo’s kissing you and kissing you until you’re tasting everything iron and him-

Fuck, you couldn’t even stickily part your lips from his plush, puckered ones to breathe without him letting off a pained grunt. He’s so engulfing. “My wife.”

You’re gasping at the pressurized layer of power that sticks to him like a second skin - and it fights, yearns until you’re being pressed flesh-to-bloodied flesh. Drinking in the scent of candy and something metallically sharp, “Satoru.”

A few calloused fingers tighten ‘round your tender throat so that Gojo could drink all those cute wailing whimpers of yours.

Crushing you to his toned front, you weren’t sure if your fingerpads were digging into his chiseled shoulders out of his magnetism or pure greed. Still reminding yourself to be careful of his injuries-

“You-” Words warbling like never before, the crowned edges of your digits skim his undercut. Struggling through loudly snogging crashes of his lips, “Wh-what happened? Can you stand? Does it hurt somewhere? Do you need me to-”

“My wife.”

Oh…

“My wife.” His parched throat slackens to suck on your pinkish tongue like his favorite candy, “My wife-” Ivory lashes trickle your cheeks, and suddenly his honed canines nip your wobbly lower lip. Tugging sensually, “My wife.”

He couldn’t get enough.

“T-Toooru–” Your maw slicks with a thick gloss of spittle, and Gojo immediately catches the dangling strands on the flat of his lecherous tongue to laaaap it up like he was a man who’d been dying of thirst for eons.

“Need you.”

And it was the way he said it - so low, strained. A guttural groan that sounded almost like a growl, spat right through Gojo’s clenched pearly whites.

Devotion and power overflowing so much that he simply had to have you. He had to.

Silky locks of ivory brush your sweat-simmered forehead, “My wife- you- need you.” He’s snarling against your tightly smeared lips, almost as if stringing together coherent sentences had wrenched out whatever was left of his control, too.

In only two flaps of your shocked lashes, Gojo’s trailing his hotly opened maw down your neck. Fangs dipping right near your throat to feel the way your pulse pounds. Power thrumming underneath his touch, air stifling– “Need you always.”

Your lips buzz at the sheer cursed energy flowing through him, vocal cords too smoky to produce a proper noise, “Need- Toru–”

But the strongest didn’t need you to struggle out your words right now.

He’s widening his blazing sapphire peripherals once your weakened legs squeeze almost unnoticeably together. Nostrils flaring slightly and-

Ah. There.

Gojo Satoru knows the exact moment that particularly gummy droplet of slick escapes from the crevice of your throbbing pussy - because he can smell it.

Oh, that heady, hypnotic aroma that has your husband collapsing onto his knees in front of you with a resounding CRASH!

So hard, so rough that you’re wincing at the way his very own limitless flickers and falters to make Gojo’s capped knees bruise against the floorboards. Ground now shattered underneath his inhumanly strength- “Fuck- Toru- you just came back from-”

But any and all shrilling words evaporate on your tastebuds, replaced with the tangy excitement of having him loll his head drunkenly between your jittery legs to sniiiiff–!

“Neeeed you-” He’s croaking out, oh-so-raw. Your spine works as a runway for your goosebumps as he’s letting his cherry-pink lips twitch up into a sleazy grin. “-my wife.”

Perhaps it’s your melty brain trying to make sense of things, perhaps it’s Gojo’s teleportation working in overdrive - because one split-second you’re slouching your weight on his sturdy figure to hold yourself standing, and the next you’re being splayed out on the cool tatami floors like such a slut.

Gasping, head swimming.

The moment your legs fall open with a slurping pop! already talking from your oversaturated pussylips, you huff. “Did- did you just teleport us onto the floor, Satoru?”

“Teleport?” He’s barely removing his glassy pupils from the adorably damp spot peeking from between your legs. Gojo’s eyes flicker with faint recognition as he airily looks around like he wasn’t even sure how he got here.

All pinning you to the mat with one massive palm clung onto your hips, shuffled downwards so that the scorched breezes of his breaths hover over your clothed cunt in muggy lil’ gusts.

It takes your squirming buck for Gojo to finally, finally realize his position and startles out a shocked chuckle, like he himself didn’t even realize whether he teleported.

“Are- are you okay, Toru–?” You’re breathing out, concern rippling the rational part of your brain.

Jostling back your satiny skirt to bare your slick-sheened inner thighs to the chill air, Gojo only halts his laughter to answer - airy, about five octaves higher than you were used to.

“Do I look okay, sweetheart?”

Fuck.

You didn’t doubt that he wasn’t.

You were fucked.

Because the very second Gojo tugs down your skirt, “Fuck- fuck.”

“Toru, do you need h-” And riiiips it straight off of your hips to take a good - good - long look at the sodden, see-through underwear flimsily bunched at your quivering pussy, his half-opened eyes quiver shut.

You can’t even complain about your skirt being limited edition because Gojo just looked so ruined. And you were addicted.

Icy brows furrowed, jaw ticking, you’re watching speechlessly once he’s taking another deeeeep inhale. Pecs constricting, the curvaceous edges of his smirk dapples with a slight geyser of drool at the sweet, sweet smell of your cunt.

“Fuuuck, my sweetheart- my wife.” The flesh of your inner thighs clam with a thin layer of perspiration at Gojo’s reverent whisper. Taking in yet another deep breath- “All mine.”

And there’s something so primal in the way the edges of his sharpened teeth come snagging down on the thin layer hiding your pussy. The very slimy tip of his tongue grazes that slight moistness of your panties and the man finds himself snickering.

Gnawing down on the fabric– you don’t know if he realizes, you don’t know if he even cares that he’s teasingly nibbling on one of your plump labia.

“Missed you- missed this- fuck.” He’s only making his mouth grow more waterlogged, his teeth toyin’ and grinding near your aching hot pussy– Gojo slurps up another taste of you and his hips come humping down on the firm ground. “Missed her.”

Before you know it, Gojo’s superhuman reflexes have hooked a slender finger underneath your panties and he’s tearing them. Biting them. Clean off.

“T-Toru!” You’re squealing, your dripping hole slopping out yet another splosh! of sap at the act. Your heat races as your husband lazily trawls that translucent skimp of fabric up, up, up over to give it another drunken gnaw–

Groaning, “Oh, my wife-” His darkly predatory gaze snatches back open at the cloying dredges of syrup that tack onto his tastebuds, wide. Wild. “My wife- my wife.”

There it is again, and you’re just about opening your mouth to ask about his sultry little mantra- before Gojo’s bullying out every syllable in the back of your throat with a sudden, firm push of his tongue - flopped out right where your folds were leaking the utmost.

“O-oh my ngh- god!” Your dewy lashes moisten because his probin’ muscle was just so big. And he was never this urgent before, this hurried.

Never this filthy.

Gojo only nuzzles your flinching thighs further to give you such a sinful view, gawking at the way his bubblegum-pink buds spread wiiide open to act like a lil’ road for all your ribbony wires of slick. Every puddling bead slipping from where his tongue was plunged inside you n’ down to the target of his throat, “O-oh.”

Oh?

And Gojo was stuttering, just one taste of your soaking wet pussy and he’s letting his high cheekbones burn a bright blossoming red. Hips bludgeoning forwards to press his aching, heavy bulge into the floor.

He was a man gone.

“So sweet. Wet- s-so wet.” He’s sucking in a few breaths before veering up a single hand to plant a rude spank right on your soaked lips.

And imagine the strongest’s raw, carnal delight when that only makes your saccharine cunt even wetter. So drenched that your globs of slick were gathering on the point of his chin and formulating a slick puddle.

Voice wavering, stuttering. Almost like he couldn’t even believe it even though the evidence was clinging and dripping from his very maw, “So…wet. Like a waterpark- dessert- oh…So wet- f-fuuuck s’she drooling f’me? F’me?”

“For you- o-only for you.” You’re whimpering as his hand comes slamming down again.

Slap after slap after slap, until you swear his fingertips were starting to buzz with power. Speckles of pearly sheen flying from the knobs of his fingers and straight into his parched mouth.

“Ohhh don’t say that- don’t you say that.” He’s warning, “S’gonna make me- make me…” Prolonging the crown of his tongue to take more of you and stretch and stretch inside your elastic cunt. “Oh- fuck, m’fucking you-” Prominent Adam’s apple bobbing with a gasp– he’s tasting you. He’s really, really tasting you now. “-I’m h-haaaa…fucking you.”

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck, Satoru you’re being so…”

Insatiable? Depraved?

“Can’t stop-” Comes out his ragged gulps, wanting to coo at your cutely twisting expressions and yet unable to even bear the thought of breaking his lewd French kiss with your cunt. “Can’t stop, sweetheart- fuck!”

He really couldn’t. Swabbing ridges of his tastebuds just keeping on swirlin’ into the tenderest spots of your gummy walls, and Gojo’s tongue is so long that every thrusting push past your snug hole leaves you feeling so dizzy.

You’re sucking in a sharp inhale, “T-Toru-”

Faring worse off, he couldn’t even speak.

Instead of an actual answer, the only sign that shows he even heard is one of his visceral flinches, as if just the way you said his name was enough to drive him crazy.

The scratchy tip of his tongue scours in a welcoming heart right where your hole was and playfully back - no hesitation, no shyness.

“Puh-please, Satoru–” He was fucking into you now. A great big helping of saliva slobbers down the side of your mouth, your foggy pupils starting to circle at just the exact tempo of his dipping tongue.

The only thing you’re able to let off is the wetly glistening gush of another clingy wave of sap. Swashing Gojo’s swollen lips until they’re soaking wet, your fingers scrape their way through his sweat-matted strands. Babbling, “M-more.”

And there you said. There.

You knew the instant that those strained syllables ripped from your throat that it would not bode well for your poor pussy.

Because Gojo’s Herculean shoulder muscles tense, lengthy lashes flapping, and you wonder if he’d stopped fucking breathing.

Not even the slightest gust of air leaves him as he’s wafting his eyes to your teary ones in shock– “M-more?”

You can’t even tease your dear husband for the way his husky bass was cracking at the very ends, because simply repeating the words makes his cerulean irises spark with bolted lightning. Staring dead-on as he keeps muttering away to himself—

“More?”

You’re mewling as soon as his fat wad of spittle strikes your heated core, slimily slithering straight down your puffed-up lips.

Just the sight of your glistening entrance so vulgar that, without even a second thought, Gojo’s once more surging his lips against your other pair until his pointed chin. So hard that he’s slapping the base of your treacly pussy until his skin’s all delicate n’ raw.

The curved ends of his jaw slipping n’ glissading up and down while his tongue sliiiides in.

“More-” He’s half-giggling to himself, the straight line of his nosebridge crushing your perked clit and sending your spine sparking. “More more more more- my wife- hah!” You swear you feel the cute crater of his dimples press against the skin of your thighs. Drooling, he’s crooning– “My wife wants more.”

And it’s the last thing said before your eyes blotch pure white with a sheer rummaging stretch. Wider n’ wider - not only was Gojo snaggling your leaking hole open with his tongue, he was adding in his long fingers, too.

The nearly six-inch length of his middle finger tucking between your slick-stained folds with a thundering squeeeelch–!

“Want more- gonna get it-” You can make him uttering in a gravelly tone against your swollen lips, grunting. Repeatedly swervin’ his padded digits back n’ forth, “-gonna- gonna get it.”

“Toru- Toru oh my god- fuck, s’too good-” Your knees tremor weakly as they bend in the air, head tumbling backwards as your eyes roll to the dark depths of your skull.

“Raise.”

It’s all you hear before a scouring tendril of cursed energy curls around your neck and your head is being forced to tilt upwards and stare deeply into Gojo’s dimly-lit eyes. Ravenous.

You didn’t even think that he had the ability to do that, but with the way he was ruining your cunt from the very inside out you wouldn’t be surprised.

And you think this might be the dopiest you’ve seen Gojo’s pretty smile. Something that would be so completely endearing if it wasn’t for the way that his azure eyes were flickering with cursed energy. “N’ let me ruin you, my wife.”

It wasn’t a promise - he was already doing it.

Barreling the tippy-tops of his two slippery digits so far deeply into your g-spot that you’re drooling. A wave of spitballing drool flapping from your gluey lips, “Are you- Toru are you- using Six Eyes?”

Fuck, that’s what it was.

That had to be it - he’s treating the treasure trove of your sweet spots so meanly. Like a lil’ dartboard that he’s carving out the exact spheroid circumferences of his fingertips, again. And again. And again.

Until his manicured fingernails were leaving that lil’ bundle so overstimulated that even the merest, slightest graze had you weeping out in slicked drool.

You’re crying out by the time that Gojo’s tucking the edges of his tongue inside your gaping entrance with three girthy fingertips - sweat-sleek brows knitting as he pushes and pushes against the resistance.

Doubly filling you up, and it was such a stretch that it left your hip restless.

“M’n-not gonna hck! last, Satoru.” Your lips pucker into such a cute sob, the melody of it going straight to the plump, aching tip filling up his pants.

He’s rasping, mouth barely giving the time of day for anything other than making out with your creamy pussy. “Cum.” Urgent, rapid strokes of his fingers like he was dragging that stormy high from you. The faster his sloppy movements were becoming, the more crazed his eyes were becoming. “Cum.”

And even though you were too dumbstruck to notice it now, Gojo was so feral for your leaking pussy that loose pieces of furniture in the room had begun to clatter.

Torrents of cursed energy zipping down to his fingers and concentrating there, “All f’me.” Breaths hoarse with belated pants, he’s groaning when the bzzzz–! of power on your battered g-spot makes your back arch prettily.

Like a perfect bullet vibrator that was precisely and never-endingly whacking your favorite area, faster. Sloppier.

So, so filthy.

Gojo was already widening his eyes and letting his spit-adhesive lips crack into a wild smile by the time you’re trilling about your orgasm - because he knew. Oh, he knew.

His Six Eyes could see it coming from a mile away; the way your heart was racing in a pitter-patter that matches the flicks of his narrowed tongue. Every sopping slap! making you clench your scalding insides ‘round him instinctively until it was almost difficult for him to press back against the mushy recoil of your g-spot.

But the strongest always got what he wanted.

And what he wanted was you cumming right now, your nails clawing adorable crimson rainbows all down his shoulders, his neck. “T-Toru- cu-cumming- ngh! M’c-cumming, fuck fuck fuck–”

Gojo would throw his head back and moan if it didn’t mean moving his rovering lips away from your pretty pussy.

“No- c’mon c’mon c’mon- wanna taste. Need to taste-” He’s letting you ride your peaks of euphoria out on slobbering drags of your hips. Face crinkling, his free hand darting up to cushion your tempo with reverse cursed energy so you won’t get too tired n’ stop.

He wouldn’t have been able to handle it if you did.

Wouldn’t have been able to bare- “Again. Again-” Slapping down a hand on the slick-shined inners you’re crying out once the energy-capped crowns of his fingers inch dangerously towards your clit. “Taste- on my face. All over my face, alright?”

He didn’t just want you to cum - he wanted you to squirt.

“O-oh my god, Tooooru!” Your mouth clogs up with both spit and sultry whines, heels starting to dig into the dimples on Gojo’s sexily flexing back. “M’so sensitive, dunno if I can-”

“No.” He’s cutting you off, and you almost startle. A dull thud! emanating from where his v-line angrily hits the floor in a grindin’ push, another sparking spank punishes your sobbing slope. “No no no no- have to. Wanna taste- think m’gonna die without it.”

Practically begging on his knees right now. And if you thought that the vibrating sensation of his fingerpads were bad, then you surely weren’t ready for the way that Gojo’s lacquering his sizzling tastebuds over with a flimsy layer of energy.

“C’mon- c’mon c’mon c’mon–” His reverse cursed energy bolts mindlessly from the left hand attached possessively to your waist, and you’re tearing up all over again with a fresh batch of salty tears when that thrumming tongue of his flops over your driveling hole.

The textured vibrations just felt so good that it was making your mouth flap sappily open, you’re sure that the only reason you could even think right now was because of his reverse cursed energy.

Circlin’ your fleshy folds, where your plugged-up hole was being thrashed with all his pummeling fingers, then up, up, up to your twitchy clit.

Gojo’s nimble muscle was drawing circles- no, hearts. No, a cursive T-O-R-U ♡

He wasn’t even trying - didn’t even have to - to let buzzing bursts of power flicker at your cunt. So teasing on purposeful, those shockwaves were making your thighs twitch with bliss each n’ every time. Every part of him.

“What does that saaay?”

“Toru- Toru” Right before you throw your head back and get steamrolled by your high like never before, such a crashing, blissful wave. “I-I’m…”

You don’t even have to finish your soft gasping moan because your squelching pussy does so for you. In the loudest, rawest sluuuurp that Gojo laps up gratefully- a drink made especially for his dry throat.

Ears popping, skin all tingly - you can only slouch your legs further open and take it.

Stringy, wadded splashes of syrupy sap that escape out of you even if you tried to stop. “Gonna fuck-” He’s grunting, throatily. Ruminating growls locked away in his chest, he spits into your fluttery cunt. “-gonna fuck you- fuck you so good.”

You’re so wet that Gojo’s finding himself soaked-through all the way from the tips of those creamy white curls by the shell of his ear down to his chin. A round goblet of slick glues to the sharp line of his jaw and makes a slithering trailway doooown his bobbing throat.

“S’here-” Letting go of your hips, he’s pointing to the mouthfuls of you that fill up his sloppy maw. “Down, down–” The very tip of Gojo’s lecherous finger points a pathway doooown his pale, handsome neck, “-down. All inside. Finally got ta t-taste ya, sweetheart.”

You’re still blinking back the full vignette of your vision by the time that your husband’s pulling his dexterous digits out with a noisy squelch!

Letting the proud layer of juicy slick smear all over your pussylips once he’s giving your cute, quivering clit a lil’ piiiinch. “And m’s-still thirsty.” He’s grumbling, grinning. Watching as your mouth falls into an awe-struck ‘o’ when you feel his buzzing cursed energy flowing through him again.

“Toru- fuck fuck fuck–!” It takes every ounce of strength in your body to lift yourself up onto your elbows. “Want…” You wanted him - namely that aching hot bulge you could peek at if you angled your head just right.

And even pushing your trembling thighs together doesn’t do anything to falter Gojo, because he’s simply pushing himself deeper between your gooey legs and gasping. Not for air, not for a breath, but for another taste of you.

Poking down the mushed tip of his tongue until he was pressing on your buttony clit. Hard. He’s seriously happy to die a death suffocated between your pretty thighs, “But why–?”

Walls clenching needily, you shoot your hand to clutch the strongest’s angelic hair and pull–

“Fuh-fuck–!” Gojo’s dizzy head falls back, breaking off from your syrupy pussy with such a sinfully wet pop! Through your tears you see his right hand shake, quiver down between his trousers.

And it makes your mouth water greedily to watch the schwf! of tattered fabric motioning back n’ forth as he’s grabbing his rock-hard bulge and thrusting. Angrily. Furiously. “Look what- look what you did- what you- ngh!”

Before you know it, Gojo’s clawing his free hand somewhere in the air hovering above you - all that it takes for him to snap his jujutsu powers and help draaaaag you down like some glorified doll.

Charred breaths labored, his meaty knees clatter on either side of your body. So urgent that you wonder whether it doesn’t hurt him to scramble up your figure this way, alllll up until you’re finding your face straddled by a heaving Gojo Satoru.

“S’your fault.” He’s grouching out in a gruff tone, and you’re taking the moment to just fully admire him in all his sinful glory.

Skin-tight clothes still hanging off of him in tatters, back oh-so-arched, and his expression– oh, his expression almost made you regret pulling him away from your cunt.

With a rosy blush flooded all the way from the tips of his ears to the back of his perspiration-glossed neck, heady gaze practically shuttered, lips dripping wet with all your essence still. A few glittery spatters of it slobber down from his cheeks to hit your own face once Gojo lets his lips fall into a soft oh!

Wheezing, “S’your…” You can only gape as he’s tugging down the ivory hem of his pants just enough to let his swollen, heavy cock free. “-fault.”

He was throbbing and big, flinching from the very tip of his lollipop-red cockhead just as soon as he’s feeling the cold breeze of your bedroom. Gojo’s biceps flex sexily as he nudges the moist skin of his tender shaft against your left cheek and pumps.

Sloppy.

“Didn’t have to be s’fuckin’ sweet-” Gojo hisses through gleaming clenched teeth, your blinking expression too gorgeous. “Didn’t have to be- so- ohhhh– m’gonna marry you. M’gonna marry you m’gonna marry you.”

“Toruuu–” You’re cooing out, gazing as he’s biting back into a snarl. Drooling strawberry orifice sprinkling a wispy jetstream of white, vulgar. “-we’re already married, baby.”

Fuck- and then he’s cumming.

He’s cumming and cumming so much that Gojo’s overworked brain half-wonders when he might stop. The rounded curve of his ballsack squeezing with every elongated ribbon of seed that he’s letting out- more once he catches sight of the way it glissades in a sheeny polish down your features.

Steaming hot and aching, just as much as he was.

“Th-there’s so much, Toru-” You’re whining when the salted caramel flavor edges near your tongue, every fat goblet of sap positioned exactly to drool down your face. “-Toru?”

Gojo was on cloud nine, and you didn’t even know he was even listening to you.

Only letting out a dreamy sigh, the knobbly curve of his thumb comes brushing down that pooling slick mess he was making on you.

Giggling - giggling, “Whoops.” He’s prodding over those webs of seed past your poutily puckered maw, purposefully gliding his fingerpad alllll the way down your wobbly bottom lip. “-missed a spot.”

You’re ogling with an ajar mouth once he glistens it over like some sultry lipgloss, you just looked so beautiful like this that Gojo feels his heart race. He feels his breath hitch, his wide length throbbing-

“Oh.” He hiccups, still sensitive with the shivering wracks of his high. And Gojo’s gaze hastily flickers behind him - to his second favorite pair of lips, after your mouth, of course. “Missed a spot there, too.”

Whatever shred of practicality left in him promises he’ll make it up to you later, he’ll take it slow and make mind-numbing love to you later. Much, much later, but for now: you’re being pushed against the bouncy mattress of your bed.

You gasp, “A-again? Toru you-” Faltering weakly for just the slightest second when Gojo corners you on the bedcoils and rids of his shirt. All pale, chiseled muscles and power for daaaays. Fuck, he was so hot. “-do you even hck! realize you teleported us?”

The only answer he gives you is a savage grin, voice dipping into just deepest territory as he muses. “No.”

He didn’t. He really, really didn’t even register it when his powers were thrusting you into the bed and making the bedroom lights flicker once he all but tears off those damn overlarge pants.

And then he gets closer.

Cornering you, a soft pant of shock lets off from you at the faint scars and cuts decorating those familiar muscles of his toned front. “W-wait, Satoru, are you feeling-”

“What? This?” With the click of his fingers, most of those bloodied injuries fade into obscurity. Leaving only a few scars and the remnants of reverse cursed tingling in the air. “Now ruin me, my wife.”

“Fuck…”

“Can’t think.” Gojo’s rasping voice wafts over your lips, making sure to draw out a wet sluuuurp when he suckles on your white-topped maw. Tasting you, tasting himself. His eyes flare madly wide, “-don’t want a-anything but you…”

You’re squirming sluttily at the faint bolts of lightning that decorate his creamy skin, flickering down from his eyes- down to where his ravaging cock was hanging low between his thighs. Slapping a wad of drooling precum on your inner thighs.

Gojo was so big and hard that you could count every ba-dump–! his ruby crown was thumping against your poor bloated folds. Squelch after squelch, you got the feeling that he was repeatedly rubbing his chubby tip just to drive you mad.

“Don’t have- condoms.” And Gojo could merely lift himself off to grab those familiar foil packets in that bedside drawer - hell, he could even teleport himself there.

But doing so meant that he had to be away from you and this cutely drooling cunt of yours. And though you didn’t mind if he went in purely raw, Gojo had another idea in mind.

Whimpering, “Then give it-” Gojo’s breath catches when you buck your hips impatiently, “Need you, Sato- fuck!”

He was never one to disappoint, of course.

Your eyelashes flap tearily at the sudden snagging streeeeeetch being pressured between your glued pussylips. Gasping, struggling to take a look and-

“S’gonna work.”

“I-it’s not.”

“It will.”

“Won’t- mmpf–!”

Pushing and pushing to try and fit the limitless-capped ends of his length into your tight hole. “Gonna-” He’s poking the reddish tip of his tongue between his teeth in a way that sends shivers down your spine, “-gonna work. Trust me- hck! Trust me, sweetheart.”

If you thought you’d ever gotten used to the maddening girth of your husband before, then you sure weren’t ready for right now.

For when he’s coating his near-ten inches, thick inches with a layer of crackling limitless. Forcin’ your poor entrance even more full, the pointed corner of his head slips once more between your sandwiching lips and Gojo growls.

“Fuck- fuck!” In both your carnally muddled minds, you’re barely registering the way something in the bedroom shatters. Sounding halfway through tears, “Not even the tip- Gotta fit- s’gotta. I have to.”

You’re whining with every rutting push, “Wh-why the hell are you so big, Satoru–?”

“Shhh m’gonna make it fit- gonna hah- make it.” He’s urgently soothing you with a big hand on your forehead - not just to caress your forehead, no. Gojo’s clawing your sweaty crown and pushing you down onto where his bulky length was pulsating. Desperate.

And the smooch of his boiling hot length was so wiiide that your vision is shattering into something bleary.

Pupils rolling until your eyes were only pure white, you almost don’t catch the rippling forearm being planted right in the middle of your line of sight. “Bite.” Gojo grits out, tension ticking. “Bite.”

So you do - hard enough to draw blood, and that’s exactly the way he wanted it.

“Yeah- yeahhh jus’ like that.” He’s groaning underneath his breath once you’re gnawing, letting off the prettiest noises when Gojo keeps pulling his hips back and forth. Like some animal, he’s dolloping out a slimy topping of pre on top of your cunt and rutting– “Take it.” Somehow easing in his ridiculous length, “All of it, like my g-good wife now. All-”

And he meant it.

Slamming his toned hips so hard into yours that sparks - literal, powerful sparks - are sent flying from his body. Pants raspy, maw slackening, “Where is it?” Roaming his eyes rapidly down your body, your skin prickles with atoms stood on edge. “Where- fuck! Where am I…ah. H-here.”

“Here?”

“Here.” A trembling, vibrating finger of Gojo’s comes drifting absent-mindedly up from the start to your folds. And the deeper this fat, vein-covered cock was bludgeoning in - the further his digit was drawing. “Here- m’riiiight here, sweetheart.”

It’s only then that your saccharine brain thinks to understand that he was using his Six Eyes, targeting the sight where his swollen cock was probin’ around your sweet insides.

“Watch me- watch me get deeper.”

You’re watching with an unfastened jaw as Gojo precisely draws where his bulbous tip was smearing out your walls to their maximum. Subconscious, short jabs back and forth back and forth baaack and forth.

Just to fit inside.

“S-shoooo deeeep–”

“Not deep enough.”

Stupidly prattling with every knock of his size. Gojo was so damn big that you didn’t even need his outlining digit, your goopy innards were already bulging with his size. A bumpy cylindrical outline that only went deeper, deeper-

“-deeper.” Gojo rests his woozy forehead on top of yours, just as ruined as you. So close now that his chiseled abs gliiiide down your front, “F-feels good, huh? My cock so ngh- deep- my limitless. So, so…deep.”

And it’s at that very second that once your husband bottoms out, that he breaks.

SLAM!

His sanity, his palm collapsing down to splinter the headboard, and limitless. All at the same time.

Hours and hours later, you’ll both be told that there was a suspicious spike of cursed energy in this area during this exact time. One so strong that it alerted almost every sorcerer in the territory.

But right now you’re too focused on the way that Gojo’s mushy, furiously leaking tip was crashing head-first into your sponged cervix. And suddenly it’s not just the airy feeling of his limitless, it’s the feeling of you.

Warm and wet. So so wet.

It’s then that Gojo gnaws down on his rosy, trembling lower lip and stalls. It’s then that he’s scrunching his eyes to stop the outpour of power. It’s then that he gasps–

“Didn’t work.”

Letting out a high, wild bout of laughter that makes you wonder just how high the kill count would be.

Confused, “Wh-what?”

Gojo only removes his hand from the bedframe to reveal a scalding handprint exactly in the shape of his, a few shards of wood falling onto the floor.

“Didn’t…work.” His voice was hard, rough. And there was a jagged tone to them that you hadn’t ever heard before- “It didn’t- work- fuck fuck fuck- didn’t work. Didn’t work didn’t work.” All that he could even think to bellow out in moans every time that Gojo rocked his hips thoroughly. “And I…you…”

Running out of the fucking syllables, he’s letting go of your scalp to fully throw both of your legs over his shoulder and buck. So soft.

“S-soft-?” You’re making out through your pressured eardrums, clinging onto Gojo’s broad shoulders for dear life. You almost - almost - miss the way that his mouth drops, shit- he said that out loud?

Well, now that he started - Gojo couldn’t stop.

Spitting out nonsense between every jackhammer- “Y’feel s-so…soft.” He’s continuing on in an airy tone, gripping a good handful of either side of your hips. So strong that it barely take even a fraction of his strength to jostle you hip n’ down to meet every thrust, “So…sweet- fuck! Even sw-sweeter without a ngh- condom.”

So fucking looooong that every jackhammer from the tip of his geysering divot to his hefty hilt felt like it took ages. Your toes curled helplessly every time he was stirrin’ your insides right up to your cervix, crazed.

“M’really hitting her-” His breath fans your face in steamy gusts that humidify your skin, “-really, really can feel her.” Peking you once, twice, thrice. “Kissing you- kissing her-” A slam to your cervix, “-there, too.”

You’re letting off mumbled whines of something that sounds like “yes!” and “Toru!” as Gojo slows his craving pace down just a tad to splash out a stringy drawing of a heart right at the bottom of your pussy.

Long, thorough digging drills that bruise his exact circumference size, “N’ m’seeing her- seeing her take me so welllll, oh…deserves a lil’ treat.”

Too nervous to think about what he would consider a ‘treat’, you’re shoving your face into the clammy crook of Gojo’s neck and biting. Leaving him just as rawly red and stinging as his cock was, the action was enough to make him nibble his bottom lip.

Babbling, “Yeah- yeah, a t-treat. A treat for my good girl- my wife.” You’re feeling it before you register it, that stickily sweet buzzzz–! of cursed energy coating Gojo’s fingertips.

He unabashedly drags it all the way across your hardened nipples - giving just a lil’ pinch - down your tummy, that bulging outline he was fucking into you, down.

Until Gojo had his sparking fingerpads locked around your throbbing fat clit and refused to let go- “You like that? Yeahh fuh-fucking like that-” Hiccuping, every new roll of his hips plapping against yours made him twist your perked nub just the way you liked. “-like seeing me like this? Th-the strongest fucking you like this?”

“Yes-” You’re sobbing out, your hip gyrating lewdly upwards in tandem with his. And it makes both you and the ancient bedsprings sing in unison when Gojo reaches so deep, “-like it, like it- ngh! Love it.”

Oh.

If you thought that Gojo had nothing left to lose at this point then you were wrong, because with a rummaging spank of skin-on-skin, he’s probin’ a kiss so deep into your g-spot that you can almost taste Gojo’s candied caramel flavor.

Swiveling his hips just right to maze his lustrously crowned head into that filthy, filthy target. Thumping veins bloated enough to circle your elastic walls and make you remember each lightning bolt pattern.

Pulse leaping through your mouth, your head bangs backwards into the plush pillows, “There- there, Toruu–!”

“I already know.” Fuck, did he know - and he almost wished you could see the way he could with his Six Eyes. Just how lecherously you glutinous walls were bending to gulp him up straight into your plush g-spot. Every whack thrashing dead-on into that bullseye, “There- there. M’right there- fucking you right there.”

He was pounding into you like he was crazed at this point, and with every white-hot star of pleasure bursting behind your eyes, you could feel yourself sinking further into the cushy bed.

“-the bed, huh?” If you were in any better state of mind, you’d have been wondering about the fact that your husband seemingly had the ability to read minds.

But even Gojo doesn’t seem to realize.

A simpering smile falling over his features as he hoists your boneless legs further up his shoulders - locking them with a simple curl of his cursed energy. Before bending down, down, down until you’re all folded in half like a lawnchair and helpless.

Completely at the mercy of his sloppy, spanking cadence, “S’what I k-kept thinking about- ngh- a-allll today.” At just the mere mention, Gojo’s throwing his head back with another wave of excess power.

“R-really?” You’re questioning cutely, and he’s forced to concentrate on a lil’ patch of limitless on top of his weepy crownhead to stop himself from fucking cumming right then, right there.

“Thought about you- ngh- your lips. Your smile.” That explained why he was so ravenous, biting back grunting whimpers at the throbbing clench of your melty walls - molding ‘round his barreling girth. “And your…pussy.”

“S-so filthy, Satoru.”

Your features crinkle with a tiny, blissful twitch - so faint that you almost don’t even register it.

But Gojo does.

Fuck- of course, he does. He’s slouching forwards until the drenched tufts of his stark white happy trail scratch your already-buzzing clit. Until his superhuman senses can distinctly make out every slurring mwah-! being pulled out from your soppy folds, nodding along as if in conversation.

“Yeah- mhmmm–” He’s tittering at your starstruck expression, kissing away the clumps of dumbfounded drool splattering from your lips. Gojo squeezes the bullet vibrators of his fingers harder ‘round your clit and lets his eyes glow once you squeal, “-knew it. You’re close, my sweetheart.”

“I-I am?”

“Mhmm—”

And his Six Eyes was never incorrect.

Within only a few more vulgar, touching strokes you could feel that familiar tightness at the bottom of your tummy. Gojo’s giving your cunt another good spank to keep your legs twitching, “C-close.”

“Yeah? Yeah?” Taking on that maddened tinge, “Gonna cum- gonna cum f’me.” He’s giggling into your open mouth, letting a few oodles of spit let slip. “Can tell- so close so lose that- ooooone—”

Your hips jiggle hysterically up into his feverish pace, chasing your high with every uncontrolled thrust. Every spark of power– “Two- two.”

“Twoooo–” He’s calling out after a confirming glance downwards with his Six Eyes, manhandling your restless body pliably. Spattered specks of sweat hit your chest when he’s aligning his tip for once last crash into your tenderest spots. One. last- “Thr- fuck–!”

Right on time. And it wasn’t just you crashing into your high, it was Gojo, too.

Every bedroom light shattering, loose furniture hovering copious inches.

Gojo was like a monster, his skin decorating with sparks of blue lightning after every long, aching bout of overstimulated euphoria that make the strongest’s famed eyes blur with big, fat goblets of tears.

Whimpering - whimpering - in muffled noises as he fucks you full with a roped, creamy sap. It knocks around your deepest insides and pushes up in fat wads against your cervix, that little puddle swashing around to and fro with every pump. “Milk me- yeah yeah milk me.”

He’s fucking and fucking you until his rock-hard cock rubs red n’ raw.

Your own high simply zapping tingles by now from the arched curls of your toes up to your sweltering head, Gojo slides his puffy veins just past your g-spot and your legs go weak.

“P-pleeeease–” You’re mumbling through streaky cries of your own, the feeling so filthy that you didn’t know whether you wanted more or to crawl away.

Before a splat! of something wet and viscid on your shoulder jolts you out of you reverie - and only then do you realize that Gojo fucking Satoru was drooling.

“Don’t you fucking run.” Before you know it, both Gojo’s handless cursed energy and his own right hand curl around your throat to draaaag you back into his ruthless hips.

His shivering thighs against yours, the stony ridge of his v-line grinding into your stinging ass cheeks just so. Gojo’s pounding you so full of his seed that you feel oh-so-sluggish, “But- but Tooooruuuu–” You could already feel every ounce of blood in his body rush to make his cock twitch, dangerously. Oh. “-a-again? More?”

It’s like the very word is enough to make him jolt. “More?”

“Will it even ngh- fit?” Your lower lip juts out into a pout, feeling the gluey mess of syrup sticking your thighs together. A few gumdrops of pearly cum already pouring out of your sheened hole and dripping right down onto his base.

“Well…” Gojo’s peripherals were so very hazy now, and they take their languid time falling to the cumflated bulge he’d jackhammered into you. Chuckling - pitched high, he’s plugging those escaping ribbons back into your milky pussy and licking off the excess. “-how many?”

“Wh-what?” You’re gasping as he leverages the hold at your throat to spit the mess right back onto your tongue.

“How many kids d’you want, hmmm-?” Gojo purrs right back, nuzzling the sweat-stuck side of your face. He’s whispering into your ear, “Because my Six Eyes tells me it h-hasn’t taken-” One thrust, and just about millions of angels and stars flashing behind your lids. “-yet.”

Reversed curse technique was just seeping out of Gojo, and for a second you wonder what time it was. What day- sore arms wrapping around his neck, you’re muttering your answer.

And he only chuckles– “B-because- limitless void, my wife.” And there’s a soft breeze of cracking energy washing over you - soft, loving, and so Gojo. Twinkling eyes drifting meaningfully to your humming cunt, “-m’gonna make you my ngh- cum…dump.”

He…did he just- your eyes widen, he did. Abusing that limitless void on your bawling pussy…oh, how it made you clench with need.

Power having him crazed.

The bedroom air prickles with a gush of energy so thick it makes your skin burn slightly, and makes Gojo throw his head back with a whine. A whine.

Eyes ablaze until only its faint bolts and the dusky sun were your sources of light right now - yet, little did you know that none of Tokyo had power, either. None of its wards. None of Japan.

The surge of power so ridiculously high that your comfy bed was sagging on one end, furniture unruly, the flowers of the estate’s gardens blooming.

He’s letting go of your skin with a faintly steaming handprint, breath catching at the mark- Gojo similarly guides his own zapping fingers to brand your own steaming initials on his v-line. Electric. Twitching.

“N’ who knows…” Giving you a probin’ dig of his swollen, ravaged cock, your husband grins. “-maybe I'll summon my haaaa- clones for this next round.”

A/N. Also I know most of y’all probably don’t celebrate but happy Sinhala and Tamil new year! Smooching all you lovelies <3

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