#and kinda like. get dangerously closer to death or whatever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hobi-side · 2 months ago

Text

might just blow it

— pairing: jung hoseok x f!reader

— playlist: danger - txt, smoke sprite - rm, fuxxin' love - OoOo, 24 hours - jimmy brown, steel - 365 feat dana kim

— summary: Revenge is a dish best served hot, and Hoseok might have pushed your buttons, but he’ll soon learn just what happens when the tables turn. Spoiler: You might be the one getting a lesson but it's fun to play with fire.

— word count: 8.1k (like 5k of this is probably filth y’all)

— warnings: pwp, established relationship, unprotected sex, hobi is kinda a possesive man, f! masturbation, degradation, bratty reader, little breath play, hoseok has a filthy mouth and idk what else, they were possesed by a sex demon in this piece

— note: this is entirely inspired by the craze of what the hope on the stage tour has been giving us for the past months and more specifically THIS whatever the hell was going on with this man that night i have been thinking about it for over a month and this piece of extremely self indulgent horny craze was born. this is my first ever post here, hope you enjoy it! english isn't my first language! please let me know what you think

The second he steps on stage, he wrecks you.

It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen him perform—he always leaves you breathless. Ruthless. A storm in human form. The second the lights hit him, the crowd erupts, and suddenly, you're nothing but need in a sea of screams.

You’re not backstage tonight. You’re in the VIP section—closer to him, somehow further from him. The Hope on Tour shirt clings to your body, damp with sweat, your ARMY bomb held in a death grip. No one around you knows the truth. No one knows that the man they’re screaming for—aching for—is yours. You think of those TikToks, smug and stupid: They don’t know I’m his girlfriend. But you do. You know it in the way your body thrums just watching him. You know it in the ache pooling low in your belly. You know it in the fact that you’ve kept him a secret, selfishly, fiercely. Because he’s not a fantasy. He’s real. And he’s yours.

And tonight, he’s out for blood.

You can’t take your eyes off him. Every move is designed to destroy. He dances like he’s fucking the beat into the floor. He raps like he wants to bite. And every time he gets near your section, it’s like he’s looking straight through the noise—straight at you.

Then he smiles.

Not just any smile. That one. The one that says he knows exactly what he’s doing. The one that makes your knees buckle.

And then—forty minutes in—it happens.

Hangsang.

Your pulse spikes. You love this song. At least, you did. Right up until he decides to ruin your life with it.

He makes his way to your section. Slow. Measured. A predator in perfect control.

And then?

He fucking does it.

A casual gesture, at first. One he could get away with. Until he doesn’t. Until his gaze locks on yours like a sniper scope, until he bites his lip and drags his fingers across it like he's testing your patience on purpose.

And then—God help you—he slips those fingers into his mouth. Slow. Deep. Tongue flicking against the tips like he’s tasting you instead.

Your stomach drops. Your thighs clench. You swear you see a thread of spit glisten in the lights.

And then—

Oh, no.

His hand lifts. Fingers curl into the air, sin made physical. A motion you know intimately, one he’s used on you in the dark, against the wall, under the sheets. One that never fails to make you unravel.

Two seconds. That’s all it takes.

The crowd loses its mind—screams, gasps, cries of disbelief. You can already see the fancams being clipped, slowed down, dissected frame by frame.

And he’s still watching you.

Smirking.

Like he knows you’re already soaked through your panties. Like he knows exactly how you’ll fall apart the second he gets you alone. And fuck—he does.

Because Hoseok isn’t just a performer. He’s a menace. A devil in glitter and sweat.

And you know—know—what’s coming later. The teasing. The cocky little tilt of his head. The filthy whisper, hot against your skin:

Couldn’t handle that, baby? You looked so pretty about to cry.

You hate him for it.

But not nearly as much as you love him for it.

When the show ends, and he gives his closing speech, the switch flips. Suddenly he’s not the sin-dripping demon who just mimed fucking the air with his fingers.

He’s just Hoseok.

Hair damp with sweat, eyes glassy with emotion. His voice cracks as he thanks the crowd, thanks the fans, thanks you—without saying it. You see it in the way he clutches his chest, the way he breathes like every second is a gift.

You look at him and feel your heart stretch to bursting.

Your boyfriend is a paradox. Pure chaos. Pure light. He destroys and he heals. And somehow, impossibly, he’s yours.

Backstage is a blur of movement and sound, but your senses are locked on him. Jung Hoseok, still glistening with sweat, flushed from the high of performing, is leaning against a table, chugging water like he didn't just ruin lives for two hours straight. The towel draped around his shoulders does little to distract from the sharp cut of his jaw, the soaked-through shirt clinging to his chest, the glint in his eyes when he spots you.

He doesn’t say anything at first.

Just watches you approach with that look—the one he saves for private moments. The one that says he knows. Knows exactly what he did out there.

You stop in front of him, arms crossed. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Hoseok raises a brow. “Me? What did I do?”

You scoff. “Don’t play innocent. That thing during ‘Hangsang’? You really went with that move?”

He shrugs, a smug tilt to his mouth. “Felt right in the moment.”

“In the moment?” You glare. “You looked me dead in the eye while doing it.”

“Ah,” he says, tapping his fingers against the bottle, voice lowering, “so you admit you were watching me.”

You roll your eyes. “You were practically fucking the air.”

His smile sharpens. “Was I?”

He pushes off the table, stepping in close. Too close. Heat radiates from him like a furnace, and his voice drops to a murmur just for you. “You didn’t like it?”

“I liked it too much, and you know it.”

He hums. “Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem,” you hiss, pulse spiking, “is that now I can’t think straight and you’re standing here like you didn’t just mouthfuck your own fingers and ruin my entire nervous system.”

He lets out a soft laugh, biting down on his lip like he’s trying not to lose it. His eyes flick down, catching the way your chest rises with each breath. When they return to yours, they’re darker. Hungrier.

“I was just giving a little performance,” he says. “You looked like you needed the reminder.”

You narrow your eyes. “Of what?”

He leans in, lips nearly grazing your ear. “What happens when I actually put my mouth on you.”

Your breath catches—right as a voice cuts through the hallway.

“Hyung! You’ve got five minutes ‘til the send-off!”

You both freeze. Hoseok pulls back with a tight breath, jaw clenching as he throws a nod over his shoulder. “Got it!”

Then his eyes settle back on you. “We’re not done.”

“Oh, I know.”

The energy between you crackles. Neither of you moves as a stylist swoops in to blot the sweat on his forehead, mumbling something about lighting. You barely hear it. Hoseok’s hand brushes your waist as he steps around you, not-so-accidentally dragging fingertips along your side before pulling away completely.

The send-off is a blur, fan signs and waves and cameras flashing. You follow at a distance, trying to keep yourself together, but it’s impossible. Every time he glances back, every time he smiles too wide or bites down on that lip, you feel it unraveling again.

And then you’re in the car.

The doors shut.

Silence.

He’s beside you, legs spread wide, chest still rising and falling too fast. The windows are tinted, the divider up. Just the two of you now.

You glance at him. He’s staring out the window like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just press you to the edge of combustion and walk away.

But his knee bumps yours.

Once.

Twice.

Then stays there.

He turns slowly, lips twitching. “I’m going live in ten.”

You nod, voice tight. “Mm. You better hurry. You look like someone who needs a little help calming down.”

He chuckles, deep and wrecked. “Baby, you’re the reason I’m like this.”

And you sit there, burning, limbs aching, the space between you electric and unbearable.

Neither of you touches.

Not yet.

But god—you both want to.

The hotel room is quiet when you walk in. Clean, modern, luxurious—but it barely registers.

Hoseok heads straight for the desk setup by the window, pulling out his phone and propping it up on a mini tripod. His makeup is barely touched up, hair still messy in that post-show, too-good-to-be-legal way. He mutters something about checking the Wi-Fi, tapping through settings with a frown.

You trail in slower, pretending to be unaffected, but you’re boiling.

And you want payback.

“You starting the live now?” you ask, voice light.

He glances back at you. “In a minute. Why?”

You shrug, toeing off your shoes. “Just wondering how long I have to behave.”

That gets his attention. His head tilts, a knowing smile twitching at his lips. “Don't start something you can't finish, baby.”

“Who says I won’t?”

He shakes his head, amused, and turns back to his phone, hitting the “go live” button before you can say more. The app lights up, comments immediately flooding in as the view count climbs.

“Hey guys,” he says, voice warm, tired but happy. “Just got back from the show. You guys were crazy tonight…”

You sit on the edge of the bed, watching him talk. He’s glowing—soaked in adrenaline and affection, eyes scanning the screen like he’s genuinely soaking up every word. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

You stand, slow and quiet, padding over to where he sits.

He notices. Barely. A flick of his eyes toward you, then back to the camera.

And then you straddle his lap.

He freezes.

It’s subtle—no one on the live can see—but you feel it. The sharp inhale. The tension in his thighs. The way his hands hover, unsure whether to push you off or pull you closer.

You drape your arms loosely around his shoulders, mouth close, almost right beside his ear. “Smile for the fans, Hobi.”

He shifts in the chair, clearly trying to look casual, but you’re sitting right on him—weight pressing into his hips. He clears his throat, waves at the screen.

“Yeah, so I’ll talk about the setlist in a sec,” he says, voice a pitch higher than before. “I just, uh…”

You roll your hips.

Slow. Torturous.

His breath catches audibly.

You suppress a grin.

His eyes dart to the screen, then to you. “Baby,” he warns, lips barely moving.

“Hmm?” You bat your lashes, kissing the shell of his ear.

“Stop.”

“Make me.”

His jaw clenches. The comments keep flying—fans asking why he’s blushing, if the room’s too warm, why he’s suddenly looking down every few seconds.

He tries to power through. Tries to focus. He starts talking about his favorite moment during “Just Dance,” but his voice keeps stuttering. His hands grip the edge of the chair so hard his knuckles go white.

You grind down again. Barely.

He mutters something in Korean under his breath.

Then he’s done.

“I—I’ll talk to you guys later,” he says, too fast. “I need to—rest. Yeah.”

He ends the live with a stiff wave, slamming his phone down the second the stream cuts.

Silence.

You lean in, innocent. “Everything okay, Hobi?”

He looks at you. And he snaps.

In one motion, he lifts you, flips you onto the bed, and crawls on top of you with a growl in his throat and murder in his eyes—sweet, delicious murder.

“You think that was funny?”

You grin, breathless already. “A little.”

He leans in, mouth brushing yours. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“I don't think so.”

He hovers over you, hands planted on either side of your head, breathing hard.

His eyes are wild—half disbelief, half dark amusement—and all of it aimed directly at you.

“You think this is a game?” he murmurs, low and dangerous.

You blink up at him, face the picture of innocence. “Didn’t you start it, Mr. ‘Let Me Finger the Air Like a Pornstar in Front of Thousands’?”

His nostrils flare. “That was performance. This—” he gestures between your bodies, hips brushing yours with almost-zero restraint, “—this is personal.”

“And?” you whisper, one hand sliding up the back of his neck, threading into his hair. “You gonna punish me or talk me to death?”

That does it.

He jerks back like your touch burns. Stands. Paces.

You watch from the bed, smug, legs still slightly spread from where he left you.

He’s trying to get it together. Chest rising and falling, hands tugging at the hem of his shirt, jaw flexing like he’s biting back a thousand curses. He drags both hands down his face, then breathes out a laugh that sounds half-wrecked.

“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, shaking his head.

You sit up slowly. Swing your legs over the side of the bed, take your sweet time walking up behind him. You press your chest against his back, let your fingers drift just under the waistband of his pants. Just a taste.

“Tell me to stop,” you murmur.

He doesn’t.

“Tell me you didn’t love every second of it.”

Still nothing.

You pull back just enough to tease, but he catches your wrist before you can fully retreat. Spins around, pulling you against him in a hard, unyielding grip.

“You want to play games?” he growls. “Fine. We’ll play.”

His hands drop to your hips, fingers digging in. He leans down, lips brushing yours—so close, but not touching.

“But you don’t get to win.”

Then—again—he lets go.

Backs away. Grabs a water bottle from the table and drinks like it’ll douse the fire in him. It won’t.

“You’re not gonna touch me?” you ask, head tilted just enough to be a challenge. Your pulse is thrumming in your neck, fast and furious, and he can see it—feels it.

Hoseok takes a slow sip from his water bottle, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, licking the last drop from his bottom lip, he smirks. “You’re not ready.”

Your brows lift, mocking. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he murmurs, voice low, cocky. “You’re not ready for what I’d do to you if I actually started touching you.”

You scoff, but the heat that coils in your belly betrays you instantly. Your thighs press together on instinct. God, you hate how right he might be.

But now—it’s about pride. About holding your ground. About not letting him win just because he knows exactly what buttons to press.

You cross your arms, eyes gleaming. “Coward.”

He tilts his head, tongue poking into his cheek as he smiles. Dangerous. Ferocious. “Keep talking, baby,” he warns, rising from the edge of the bed. “You’ll be flat on your back before you can blink.”

You raise a brow. “Big words for someone who rage-quit a livestream because he got hard on camera.”

He lunges.

You shriek, laughing, twisting, but he’s too quick. In a second, he’s got you pinned under him again, his hands bracketing your shoulders, his knee sliding between your legs like he owns the space there.

The smile on his face is feral—unchained. “You think you're funny, huh?” he growls, breath ghosting over your lips. “You think I won’t wreck you right now for that little stunt?”

You grin, wicked and bright. “Mmm, you like it nasty, babe?” you purr, fingers dancing up the line of his jaw. “Should’ve thought better before acting up on stage. That little finger trick?” You click your tongue. “You started it.”

He growls again—deep, from his chest, like you’ve touched something raw.

You lean up, give him a light kiss on the cheek. A tease. Nothing more. Then you start to wriggle out from under him. “I’m gonna go clean up. Make myself comfortable.”

You say it like a threat. And it is.

But the second you try to move, his arms tighten, locking you in place.

“Oh, hell no,” he says, voice rough. “You don’t get to kiss me like that and walk away all smug, acting like you didn’t just hijack my entire f—” he swallows hard, eyes dragging over your body like he’s trying to rein it all back in. “You’re not going anywhere until I say so.”

You laugh again, but it’s breathless this time—your own composure slipping. His body is hot, solid, and there, and every move he makes only pushes you deeper into the mattress.

Still, you raise your chin. “You can’t keep me here forever, Hobi.”

He dips down, lips brushing your jaw, your neck, that spot behind your ear that makes your knees go weak—even when you’re lying down.

“Baby,” he whispers, voice like velvet over a razor’s edge. “You think I’m the one losing control right now?”

Your stomach flips.

“Go on,” he adds, letting up just enough for you to slide out from under him. “Run off. Get comfortable. But when I’m done being nice—” his gaze drops, slow and hot—“you’ll be the one begging to stay in bed.”

And he flops back on the mattress, watching you walk away with hooded eyes and a smirk that promises vengeance.

You shut the bathroom door behind you, but not all the way.

Just enough for him to hear everything. Just enough for him to wonder if you left it ajar on purpose.

You flick on the light and catch your reflection in the mirror—cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bitten, pupils blown wide. You look wrecked already and he hasn’t even touched you properly. It’s power. It’s delicious.

And you’re going to make him feel every second of it.

You peel off your shirt with slow, deliberate movements, knowing he can hear the whisper of fabric, the creak of the floorboards, the soft clink of your necklace hitting the counter. You don’t say a word. Let his mind fill in the gaps.

You hear him shift in the bed. Restless.

Then the tap runs. You rinse your face, run your hands through your hair. Still quiet. Still calculated.

Then, when the silence gets too loud, you hum.

Soft and lazy. Just loud enough for it to carry.

“Hmmm,” you sigh to yourself, like you're very pleased with how things are going. Then: “This lingerie might be too much.”

You hear him curse.

You smile. God, you’re having so much fun.

And you keep going. “Or not enough.”

“Baby,” his voice comes through the door, already strained. “Don’t fuck with me right now.”

“Who’s fucking with you?” you chirp sweetly. “I’m just getting comfortable”

You pause. Let it sit. Let him stew in it.

Then, in a voice soaked in sugar: “You good out there?”

The bed creaks again. Louder this time. You imagine him pacing, or palming himself over those sweatpants he threw on in a rush, maybe thinking about how it felt when you sat in his lap before, shifting just so, how your scent’s probably still on his fingers. Still on his skin.

You press your thighs together and try to stay composed.

This is revenge. Sweet, slow-burning revenge. And you’re winning.

“If you want,” you murmur, voice light and laced with mischief, “I could show you what I picked out…”

Silence.

Then—bang.

A sharp thud against the wall. You can’t tell if it’s his fist or the dresser or his skull, but whatever it is, it sounds violent.

You bite back a smile, high on the power. Teasing him like this is too easy.

“Get out here,” he snarls. “Now.”

You scoff, amused. “You didn’t even say please.”

There’s no pause this time.

“I don’t fucking care. I’m tired.” His voice is raw—loud, dark, and fraying at the edges. You open the door fully and find him in the doorway already, like he couldn’t wait. His pupils are blown, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, one arm extended just far enough to touch the inside of your wrist.

His fingers curl around it.

Not rough, but firm. Insistent.

“You are coming with me,” he says, like it’s law. Like it’s a fact already written.

You stand there in his shirt and the smallest pair of shorts you packed—fabric clinging to your skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. He sees everything. The curve of your ass, the hint of lace at your hips, the smooth slope of your thighs still flushed from the game you started.

He swallows, jaw ticking.

“I was just making myself comfortable,” you say sweetly, and his grip tightens, thumb brushing the pulse at your wrist like it drives him mad.

“You’ve got five seconds,” he says, voice low and shaking. “Before I stop playing nice.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You think this is nice?”

He steps closer.

You don’t move.

Now he’s right there—barely an inch between you. The heat off his skin is blistering. His other hand rises to cup your jaw, not quite touching, just hovering, like even that would be giving in too soon.

His eyes flick to your lips, your legs, the way your shirt rides up when you breathe.

“You look like a fucking dream,” he mutters. “A dream that’s trying to kill me.”

You smile, saccharine and smug. “Then maybe you should’ve thought twice before acting up on stage.”

You lean in—just a whisper of your lips against his cheek—and give him a kiss. Barely there. Just enough to ignite.

Then you turn like you’re about to leave again, heading back toward the bed or the bathroom or anywhere that isn’t him.

But his grip doesn’t let go.

He tugs. Not hard—but with purpose.

You stumble right into him, chest against his, thigh brushing the outline of his cock straining against the sweats he rushed to put on after the livestream.

He breathes hard through his nose, like he’s fighting for control.

You whisper against his neck, “You don’t look that tired to me.”

That’s it.

That’s the spark.

He doesn’t lunge, not yet—but his whole body tightens, like a predator held back by a thread. You can feel his fingers flexing against your waist, twitching like they’re seconds from dragging you down onto the floor.

But he won’t. Not until you beg.

God, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love this. What you had. What you were.

He was always all over you, and so were you—two magnets locked in a pull too strong to fight, too wild to tame. Every breath, every look, every fucking brush of skin felt like it was dipped in gasoline. And now?

Now it’s fire.

He walks you backward with slow, deliberate steps until the back of your knees hit the bed. You fall onto it with a soft gasp, and he’s right there, standing between your legs, looking down at you like he’s starving and you’re the feast he’s been denied for way too long.

“Still wanna play?” he asks, voice like gravel, hands clenched at his sides like it’s taking every ounce of self-control not to touch you.

You drag your gaze down his body—his flexing forearms, the twitch in his jaw, the tent in his sweats that looks painful. You smirk. “Are you gonna make me beg, Hoseok?”

His name on your lips does something to him. His eyes darken, and this time when he leans in, it’s not careful. It’s reckless.

He grabs your thighs and yanks you to the edge of the bed so fast you yelp, hands catching on his shoulders. Then his mouth is on your neck��hot and open and claiming—and your whole body arches off the mattress.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he growls against your skin. “With that mouth. With that attitude. With those fucking shorts—”

“You like the shorts?” you pant, tugging on his hair until he groans.

“I hate the shorts,” he snarls, licking down to your collarbone, tongue filthy. “I hate that you wore them when you knew I’d see. I hate that you knew exactly what you were doing.”

You gasp as he nips at your chest through the fabric of your shirt, his hands sliding up under it, rough and eager, palms mapping your ribs like he’s trying to remember what you feel like under pressure.

“I always know what I’m doing,” you whisper.

“Then you knew I wouldn’t last.” He pulls back just long enough to strip the shirt off your body, fast and clumsy, like it offended him just by existing. His eyes rake over you—half-naked, flushed, breathing heavy, legs spread for him—and he snaps.

In a heartbeat, he’s crawling over you, hips grinding into yours, his mouth everywhere—your jaw, your throat, your chest—until you’re gasping his name, your hands clawing at his back, your thighs locking around his waist like he’s the only thing tethering you to earth.

“You wanna beg now, baby?” he huffs against your lips, breathless.

You roll your hips against him and watch his whole body jolt.

“You’re gonna beg first,” you whisper. “For making me wait.”

And just like that, you flip him—straddle him. His back hits the mattress with a thud, and he looks up at you like he’s already ruined.

You settle your weight on his lap and smile down at him, wicked and wild.

“Let’s see who really breaks first.”

He doesn’t answer with words.

His hands shoot up to grip your waist, knuckles white, muscles flexing like restraint is no longer an option—and maybe it never was. Not when it comes to you. Not when you’re sitting on top of him like this, all flushed and smug and soaked in sweat and attitude.

You grind down once—slow and hard—and he chokes.

“Oh, fuck—” His hips buck up into yours, involuntary, brutal, and you ride it, gasping as your core drags against the thick length straining beneath those damn sweatpants.

That’s it. That’s the snap.

One second, the air between you is strung tight with tension, and the next, he’s moving—sitting up fast, eyes wild, grabbing you like he’s been holding back for hours and just broke. One arm hooks around your back, the other fists in your hair, yanking you into him, crashing his mouth against yours again like he’s starving for it.

It’s not a kiss. It’s a collision.

Tongues clash, teeth graze, breaths tangle. It's messy and urgent, raw with need. He groans deep in his chest like the taste of you is dragging him under, like he's unraveling at the seams just from this, just from you, and you moan right back, clutching at him like he’s your last tether to the world.

“You feel what you do to me?” he growls, voice thick with hunger, biting down on your bottom lip before dragging it into his mouth and sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “You’ve been fucking dripping all night.”

“So touch me,” you pant, grinding against him without shame, chasing friction, chasing anything. “Make me feel it.”

And he does. God, does he.

You’re flipped without warning again, like you weigh nothing in his hands. The room blurs for a heartbeat and then your back hits the bed, his weight caging you in, devouring every inch of you with his eyes. He rips your shorts down like they personally offended him, tossing them aside without a glance.

Then he sees the soaked spot on your panties and something snaps behind his eyes.

A low, guttural growl vibrates through his chest. “Fuck.”

He runs a finger right over it—barely there, just a tease—and you gasp, hips bucking up into the touch. He smirks, dark and dangerous, before shoving the fabric aside and diving in like a man possessed.

No hesitation. No mercy.

Two fingers slam into you, deep and fast, and your back arches off the bed as a cry tears from your throat.

“Already so fucking tight,” he mutters, forehead dropping to your shoulder, his eyes fixed on the way your body clenches around him. He curls his fingers just right and thrusts again, harder this time, deeper, and your legs start to shake.

“You were waiting for this, weren’t you?”

You can’t speak. You can barely breathe. All you can do is nod helplessly, whimpering, your nails digging into his arm as your other hand twists in the sheets like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

He doesn’t stop. He won’t stop.

Each thrust is punishing, each curl devastating, each drag of his fingers designed to destroy you. Your whole body is shaking, every muscle drawn tight, the edge so close it feels like you could fall over it with a single breath.

“Hoseok—fuck, I—”

“Not yet.”

He rips his fingers away, and you scream in frustration, hips bucking into nothing, walls fluttering around the absence like you’ve been ripped open and left begging.

“I said—”

But the words vanish from your mouth because suddenly—God—his mouth is right there.

No warning. No buildup. Just heat and tongue and wicked, wicked lips wrapping around your clit like a death sentence.

He moans into you, arms locking around your thighs to hold you in place while he ruins you with his mouth.

“You—fuck, I—”

He glances up, lips glistening, eyes gleaming with sin. He smirks like he knows. Like he planned this.

And then he says, low and lethal, “Don’t come until I say so.”

Like it’s a challenge. Like he wants to see you fall apart trying not to.

And oh, you will.

Oh, you unleash.

It’s not graceful. It’s not sweet. It’s carnal.

You shatter—loud, writhing, wrecked. A cry bursts from your throat, raw and ragged, echoing off the walls like a confession. Your voice breaks into a hoarse moan, half his name, half a curse, and entirely surrender.

And he watches—fuck, he watches like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

That wicked smile curves across his lips, dark and triumphant. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let up. His mouth is right there, relentless, greedy, like he’s trying to consume every last tremor from your body. His tongue flicks, circles, presses, and it’s too much—too much heat, too much pleasure, too much him.

Then his hand slides up—slow, smooth, terrifying in how in control he still is—and wraps lightly around your throat.

Not tight. Just enough.

Just enough to make your breath hitch. Just enough to make you feel it—that loss of air, that vulnerability, that heady spike of something deeper.

His lips drag down, kissing the inside of your thigh with reverence, then right back up, mouth sealing over your clit like he’s praying with his tongue.

“Look at you,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rough, reverent. “So fucking perfect when you come.”

Your body jerks beneath him, aftershocks ripping through you, legs trembling like you’ve run miles. You can barely keep your eyes open, but you see the way he’s looking at you—like you’re something holy and ruined all at once.

“Could watch you fall apart like that forever,” he growls, licking a long, slow stripe through your slick. “Could live between your thighs and never need another damn thing.”

You whimper, mind fogged and limbs useless, but he’s not done.

He shifts up, kissing your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone, while his hand keeps its gentle pressure at your throat. Not to hurt. Just to hold. Just to remind you: he’s the one doing this.

“You think that was it?” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours as he grinds his hips down, the hard line of him pressing against you. “I haven’t even started.”

Even in the haze—numb, trembling, boneless from the high—you move.

You fight for it.

Still shaking, still gasping, you claw your way onto him like instinct, like something primal and desperate has taken hold. There's no grace, no finesse—just raw need, coursing through you like lightning. You straddle him, hips grinding down, rutting shamelessly against the thick heat straining beneath his clothes.

You’re a mess. A beautiful, wrecked mess.

Mouth parted, chest heaving, hair clinging to your sweat-slicked skin. You can barely breathe, barely think, but all your body knows is him.

“Please…” you gasp, voice breaking on a moan as you roll your hips again. “Please, baby… fuck… want ya—want ya so bad.”

The words come out slurred with lust, almost incomprehensible, like you're drunk on him. And maybe you are.

He watches you like he’s in a trance, hands gripping your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. His jaw is tight, his eyes dark—burning. Like he’s holding on to every last shred of control and losing.

“Look at you,” he breathes, voice wrecked with arousal. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“I do,” you whimper, grinding down harder, chasing friction, chasing everything. “Want your cock, baby—need it. Need you in me.”

That’s what shatters him.

He flips you again—ruthless, fast. Your back hits the bed and he’s already there, caging you in with his body, pulling his pants down just enough to free himself.

You both moan when he ruts against your core, right there, the heat of him dragging over the slick fabric.

“God, you’re filthy,” he groans “You’re gonna take every inch. Gonna feel me for days.”

You spread your legs wider, shameless and soaked, begging with your body.

“So take me,” you cry, voice breaking as your nails drag down his back, leaving red lines in their wake. “Fuck me.”

God, you love this man.

Love how filthy you both are—how raw, how real. How there’s nothing between you but heat and skin and the kind of need that burns straight through the bones.

He groans at your words, at the way your body arches into his, shameless and pleading. His cock is right there, so close, the head dragging through your slick, teasing your entrance with maddening slowness.

You whine, desperate, hips lifting to chase him, to take him, but he holds steady—just to watch you fall apart a little more. Just to feel your hunger for him.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, voice low, reverent, dangerous. “Can’t even wait a second, can you?”

You shake your head, lips parted, breath catching. “I need you,” you gasp. “Please, just—just fuck me already.”

And then—blissful mercy—he gives in.

He pushes in slow, the thick head of his cock breaching you, stretching you open inch by inch. Your mouth falls open, a broken moan spilling out as your eyes flutter shut.

Then he bottoms out in one smooth, deep thrust, burying himself inside you to the hilt.

Your world ends.

Your eyes roll back, your entire body going limp beneath him, mouth slack, breath stolen. You feel everything—the stretch, the pressure, the way he fits like he was made for you.

“Fuuuck,” he groans, forehead pressing against yours, barely holding himself back. “You feel unreal. So tight, so fucking wet for me.”

You can’t even respond. Just whimper, legs wrapping around his waist like instinct, like you never want him to leave.

He pulls out slow, just enough to feel the drag, then thrusts back in with a snap of his hips that knocks the air from your lungs.

You gasp, moan, claw at his back again. “Yes, yes—just like that—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t.

He pounds into you with a rhythm that’s all hunger and devotion, head buried in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

And all you can think—through the pleasure, the gasps, the sting of nails and the slap of skin—is how much you fucking love this.

How much you fucking love him.

The thing about Hoseok is… he’s an artist, yeah. But first? He’s a dancer.

And those goddamn hips know exactly what they’re doing.

You know better than anyone.

You’ve felt it—in the way he moves against you, inside you, like his body was choreographed to yours. Every roll of his hips is a masterstroke, every thrust precise, powerful, devastating. He hits that spot again and again, like he mapped it out, like he studied it, like he's spent hours—years—perfecting the rhythm that makes you scream his name.

And you do.

You chant it, breathless and wrecked, nails digging into his back like he’s the only thing tethering you to this earth.

“Hoseok—fuck, right there, baby, right there—”

He groans into your neck, hips grinding deeper, slower for a second, just to make you feel the drag of him inside you. Just to show you who’s in control.

“You feel me?” he growls, teeth dragging over the curve of your throat, his voice a rasp in your ear. “That’s it, baby. Take it. Take all of me.”

And you do.

You take everything. Every inch, every thrust, every filthy word he feeds into your skin like sin-soaked poetry. Your body matches his like instinct, like choreography written in lust and obsession. This is more than sex—it’s a rhythm, a performance, a fucking ritual.

“You’re my filthy princess,” he pants, hips snapping against yours, the sound obscene, slick, perfect. “You know why I did that shit on stage, babe?”

You blink through the haze, barely able to speak, to breathe.

He leans closer, lips brushing your ear, thrusts never faltering, never softening. “I did it ‘cause I was thinking of you.”

Your heart stutters. Your pussy clenches around him.

His voice darkens, sweet with venom. “Thought about you the night before that concert… pressed up against the wall, legs shaking, those pretty little moans spilling out while I had my fingers inside you. Remember that?”

You nod frantically, mind flashing with the memory—his hand, your helplessness, the way you came with your mouth against his shoulder to muffle the scream.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about the way you begged,” he grins, feral, breath hitching as your walls flutter around him. “‘Oh baby,’” he mocks you in a breathy whimper, falsetto, sinful. “‘I’m your filthy fucking bitch…’”

Your whole body seizes. Shame and heat twist together like a fuse sparking to life.

He laughs—low and wicked, full of pride. “And all I could think was: that’s mine. That girl up front, lookin’ all sweet, all put-together?”

His hips drive harder, deeper—he’s pounding into you now, chasing the sound of your cries, the clench of your cunt.

“She’s the same one who gets on her knees like a whore for me.”

You whimper, head thrown back, nails clawing at his shoulders.

“That’s you, baby,” he says, voice all gravel and affection, eyes blazing. “My pretty girl, my nasty little thing. The one who smiles for the cameras, then bends over the second I lock the door.”

Your entire body is trembling. You don’t know if it’s the pace or the filth or the way he’s looking at you like he’s obsessed—but you're close, again, helpless to stop it.

“You gonna come for me again?” he asks, cocky and tender all at once. “Let me feel that tight little pussy squeeze the fuck out of me?”

“Y-Yeah—fuck, Hoseok—”

“Come,” he growls, voice raw, deep, commanding. “Come for me, my beautiful princess—my filthy fucking whore.”

That’s it. That’s the snap.

You shatter.

Your entire body goes taut, every muscle pulling tight before releasing in one violent, uncontrollable wave. Your legs shake around him, trembling so hard it’s like your bones have melted. Your mouth opens on a scream, but it barely makes it out—just a broken, choked moan that dies in your throat as your vision whites out.

You cling to him, hands clawing at his back like you need something—anything—to anchor you. But he’s not slowing down. If anything, he’s driving it deeper, dragging your orgasm out until it borders on unbearable.

And then—your body gives.

A gush of wetness spills between you, soaking his cock, the sheets, your thighs. You gasp, humiliated and feral all at once, trying to pull away—but he growls low, hands gripping your hips, holding you there.

“Oh fuck,” he hisses, staring down where your bodies are joined. “That’s it, baby. Look at that. Look at the mess you just made for me.”

You’re still twitching, body jerking with aftershocks, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity. But Hoseok—he looks like a man possessed.

“Goddamn, you’re perfect,” he breathes, dragging his cock out just enough to watch more of your release drip out, then sliding right back in with a groan. “So wet, so ruined, so fucking mine.”

You whimper beneath him, wrecked and pliant, your voice barely a whisper. “I can’t… I—I already…”

“You can,” he growls, eyes blazing as he locks gazes with you. “And you will. I’m not done with you yet.”

He kisses you then—deep and claiming, like he’s sealing something between you with tongue and teeth and breath.

And all you can do is moan into it, broken and breathless, because despite everything— You want it. You want him.

You’re still trembling, your body a live wire of oversensitivity and bliss, when he starts moving again—slow at first, but no less intense. Like he’s savoring the afterglow, dragging it out, making you feel every inch of him, every pulse and push and stretch.

“You’re unreal,” Hoseok mutters against your mouth, voice thick with awe and hunger. “You came so hard for me. Fuck, baby… you squirted for me.”

Your cheeks burn, your lips part to apologize, but he cuts you off with another deep thrust that makes your back arch, a whimper catching in your throat.

“Don’t even try,” he growls, pinning your hips down. “That was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

He’s drunk on you now—high on the mess, the heat, the way your body is still fluttering around him. He dips his head to kiss down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, dragging his tongue along your skin as if trying to taste the orgasm still clinging to you.

And you… you’re floating.

You can’t even form words. Just sounds. Moans and gasps and breathy little pleas as he rocks into you, deeper now, slower, rolling his hips with maddening precision.

“Still so tight,” he whispers, voice ragged. “You feel that? The way your pussy’s still trying to milk me?”

You nod weakly, eyes glassy, mouth open on a silent gasp when he hits that spot again, perfectly, like he knows.

“Fuck, I love you like this,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “All soft. Fucked-out. Shaking. You’re so fucking pretty when you come.”

His hand slips down between you, fingers rubbing lazy circles on your clit, and your whole body jolts.

“N-No—too much—”

“I know, baby,” he coos, still fucking you through it. “I know. Just one more. One more for me, yeah?”

You sob his name, overwhelmed, but you don’t tell him no. Because you don’t want it to stop. Not yet. Not when it feels like this. Not when his body is still moving against yours like a symphony only you get to hear.

You lock your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, holding him there. And he groans—low, guttural, broken.

“Oh fuck—fuck, baby—”

He’s close. You can feel it.

The rhythm starts to slip, his thrusts getting rougher, faster. The weight of him, the sound of your soaked skin meeting his, the filthy praise falling from his lips—it’s all building again, dizzying, consuming.

And right before the fall, right when everything goes blinding and hot—he looks at you. Really looks at you.

And he says it.

“Come with me.”

And you do.

Together.

Hard, loud, beautiful.

The high fades like smoke—slow, warm, lingering—but the after? The after is where it all settles. Where the heat gives way to something softer, deeper, realer.

You’re both breathless, tangled together in a mess of limbs and sweat and slick, bodies still twitching from the aftershocks. Hoseok collapses gently onto you, careful not to crush you, just enough to feel your heartbeat slam against his.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Just the sound of your breathing, still uneven and shaky. The way his hand finds yours, fingers lacing like it’s instinct.

Then, a laugh. Small, hoarse. Yours.

He lifts his head slightly, his forehead still resting on yours, brows furrowed in amused concern. “What?”

You grin, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He laughs too, deep and wrecked, kissing your forehead like he’s proud of that. “You weren’t supposed to. That was kinda the point.”

You try to nudge him with your knee, but it twitches uselessly and flops against the mattress. That just makes him laugh harder.

“I broke you,” he teases, clearly delighted with himself. “My poor baby.”

He kisses you again, this time slower, sweeter. Like a thank-you. Like a promise. Like he means it.

Then he starts pulling away to grab something—a towel, maybe—but you clutch at him with a tiny, panicked sound. “No—don’t go.”

He freezes. Looks down at you. And something in his face melts.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says gently, crawling right back over you, arms wrapping around your waist to roll you both onto your sides. “Not now. Not ever.”

You bury your face in his neck, letting your body relax completely into him. His scent, his warmth, the thrum of his pulse under your fingertips—it’s all enough to lull you into the sweetest kind of daze.

His thumb strokes your hip lazily. “You really are my filthy little princess, huh?”

You mumble something incoherent against his throat.

He chuckles. “What was that?”

“I said,” you sigh, half-asleep already, “your filthy queen, actually.”

He grins like you’ve just given him the world. “Damn right.”

Then he kisses your shoulder, one hand trailing up your spine, the other pulling the sheets around both of you.

"I love you, babe"

And just like that—you’re safe. Wrecked. Loved. Held.

The morning comes slow, gentle, a hazy stretch of sunlight spilling through half-closed blinds, casting soft lines across tangled sheets and bare limbs.

You wake first—barely. Just enough to feel the stiffness in your muscles, the warm ache between your thighs, and the delicious weight of an arm slung over your waist. Hoseok’s chest is pressed to your back, his breath soft and warm against your shoulder, one leg tucked between yours like he couldn’t bear to be any farther away, even in sleep.

You hum quietly, nuzzling into the pillow with a sleepy smile. Everything smells like him—sweat, skin, sex, and that faint hint of his cologne that somehow survived the chaos of last night.

You don't want to move. Ever.

But a groggy groan rumbles behind you.

“Fuck.”

You shift slightly. “What time is it?”

There’s a pause. Then another groan, this one full of regret. “Eight-thirty.”

You blink. “…AM?”

He flops onto his back dramatically, arm flung over his eyes like he’s auditioning for a tragedy. “I have to be at soundcheck in three hours. My body feels like it got run over by a truck.”

You snort, rolling onto your side to face him. His hair’s a mess, lips puffy, eyes still half-closed and pouting like a grumpy cat.

“Wonder why that is,” you tease, trailing your fingers over the fresh nail marks on his chest.

He squints at you from under his arm. “You did this. You and your pretty little ‘Please, baby, fuck me so good’ voice.”

You fake a gasp. “I never—”

He mimics you, pitch high and breathy, “‘Oh Hobi, I’m your filthy fuckin’ bitch—’”

You throw a pillow at his face. He catches it with one hand and groans again, flopping back down.

“…I deserve that,” he mumbles. Then, with sudden, dramatic anguish: “God, I’m so tired. My legs are jello. I have choreo in nine hours.”

You try not to laugh, but it bubbles out anyway. “You broke me last night. This is just karma.”

“I’m never going that hard the night before a show again,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes.

You kiss his cheek gently. “Liar.”

He sighs, lips curling into a crooked little smile. “Yeah. I’m totally gonna do it again.”

You both lie there for another few moments, the calm creeping back in, the kind that only comes with mornings like this. The silence is soft. Easy. Safe.

Then he cracks one eye open again, already plotting. “Okay. Hear me out. If I nap in the car and stretch in the dressing room, I might survive tonight.”

You grin. “I’ll be in the front row. Screaming my head off. Still limping.”

He smirks, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Bet.”

note: girl, i wrote this in like 3 hours instead of my actual thesis hshshs hope you guys liked it <3

#hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts smut #bts #jhope fanfic #hoseok ff #jhope smut

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xoxo-sarah · 10 months ago

Text

Reckless

↝a/n: reader is indeed a badass in this. A dumb one- but a badass nonetheless.

↝pairing:Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

↝warning: death, murder, weird guys, set after Negan shows up, Alexandria, fear of losing a loved one (Daryl and reader, separately),, reader endangers herself, pigs (men),cursing, slightly proofread, idk it's kinda graphic ngl, reader is kinda crazy but who isn't in twd universe?

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 8.16.24

Note: Kate is reader's friend

“You ain't goin' out there.” Daryl said nonchalantly, bringing the lighter up to light the cigarette hanging between his cracked lips.

Taken aback, you could only stare at him. Watching as he leaned against the porch railing, looking at you with a calm look in his eye.

It's almost like he believed you wouldn't walk outside the gate of Alexandria. Like you would listen to him. You weren't about to argue about what you can and can't do, especially when a man is on the other side.

Huffing, you stomped past him, back into the house.

After Daryl finished the cigarette, he stood to his full height, turning to open the door. He grunted when the door wouldn't open.

“Seriously?”

You heard him on the other side, but didn't care. Kate was out there. Who was Daryl to tell you to stay in the safe zone, to not look for someone who would be out in the woods looking for you the second they heard you were missing? You knew it was dangerous, but that was the chance you were willing to take for a friend.

“Open the door.” Hiding the last bit of supplies, you twisted the lock, letting him open the door. Ignoring the glare he was sending you, you made your way to the bedroom, exiting with a blanket and pillow. “Are ya kiddin'? What, 'm I in the doghouse?”

“No,” you scoffed, throwing the blanket on the couch, and began to make it comfortable. “I'm not sleeping in the same bed as someone who thinks I can't take care of myself.”

“I didn't say that.”

“You implied it.” With that, you finally looked him in the eye, daring him to say another word.

Huffing, he made his way to the bedroom, slamming the door.

You stood in the darkness for a moment, thinking everything through, whilst also listening as he walked around the room, before the mattress springs creaked, letting you know he flopped on the bed. You give it 20-30 minutes before he gets up and tries to apologize, like he always did. You'd turn him down, of course, and he'd finally leave you alone for the night. Then you'd make your run for it.

Sticks and leaves crunched under your feet, the quiet of the night having the hair on your arms stand straight up. Light illuminated ahead of you, the flashlight held tightly in your grip, knife in the other hand. The backpack you were quick to pack only had a few things, but they were important. A pistol you stored with you at all times sat on your belt (only for emergencies), small first aid kit–in the hindsight you do find Kate– but she's hurt, a can of whatever was out on the kitchen counter that you didn't get the time to actually look at-it was probably a can of peaches or something-, water, and the thin blanket you kept sprawled across the back of the couch.

Hearing voices from the distance, you quickly cut your light, catching the smell of a fire, along with the sound of the crackle of wood and drunken laughter. You took your chance with your surroundings, putting your trust in what was blindly in front of you.

You managed to sneak closer, now being able to see the group from between the trees. They sat around the fire, cackling about God knows what, blood and grime coating their skin in a thick layer. They passed a bottle around the circle, taking a big swig to numb their reality. Looking around them, they set up an alarm type thing with empty cans connected to wire and string, something your group has done many times, especially when you were without a stable housing system.

Stained tents were close together, nearly side by side with how small the alarm system was. “She's a beauty.” One man snarled, standing to wobble toward one tent, unzipping it, bending over, and reaching into it.

He struggled for a minute, nearly losing his footing, before he straightened up, dragging the body over to the other guys. They whooped and hollered, passing the bottle around again.

The guy who pulled Kate out of the tent started playing with her matted hair, a nasty grin on his face. Your nails dug into your hand. There were 4 of them, all of which had an advantage for having Kate. Even if you were to attack them, they would probably kill her without a second thought.

She snarled, pulling at the rope that bound her hands behind her back. “Ain't she?” He bent down, closer to her ear. She pulled a disgusted face.

One guy cackled, loving her reactions for a sickly reason.

The handle of the knife nearly left a permanent indention on your palm, the skin beginning to sting.

Maybe if you brought something like a bow you could catch them off guard. But you didn't, alright?

You have a knife and a pistol.

“I think it's time to turn in, fellas.” Another guy stood, stretching his long, skinny limbs. The other guys mumbled an agreement, beginning to retreat.

Kate was dragged toward the fire by the original guy, “can't let you out of my sight, can I, pretty girl?”

Kate uttered a 'fuck you'.

The guy stood back from snuffing the fire pit with dirt, moving to lean over her. His hand caressed her cheek, dirt smearing. “ You have a mouth on ya, doncha?"

The knife slid across his throat in one quick motion, a garbled sound was put to an end as the knife punctured his skull quickly after. You laid his body down gently, glancing at the tents as you moved to Kate.

She silently watched you with wide eyes. To her, you just appeared out of the darkness, leaping over the wire and taking her and the guy by surprise. If anything, she didn't recognize you at first. You looked scary, crazed, even. Your eyes held a fiery she'd only seen a handful of times since the apocalypse started.

Finally untying her hands, where rope was tied in a tight knot, leaving her wrist red and raw, you heard rustling came from one of the tents, followed by, “I gotta take a leak.” Kate quickly scanned the dead body, taking the knife off his person.

You quietly blended in to the woods, running as fast as your limbs would let you. You could hear cursing from the tents. Far enough away, you slowed down, coming out of the woods. Kate heaved, rubbing at her wrist.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Rosita came back from the supply run, and she said you were taken.” The two of them had gone out early that morning, in search of something-anything to satisfy Negan.

“That was dangerous. Those were Negan's men.”

“They're disgusting.”

She couldn't disagree. You didn't see what they did before, or hear what they said. She was thankful for that. If she were to tell you, you'd turn around and go slaughter every one of them.

Coming to an abandoned, dead car, you settled in the driver's seat, helping her wrap her wrist and any small cuts she had on her body.

You offered her the can of peaches, opening it up with your knife for her. She took it, her stomach growling as soon as you uttered the word 'food'. She chugged the water. You watched.

You had known her before the apocalypse. She had it made, never having to starve or wait all day to eat, always having the comfortable bank account to just be able to buy whatever she was feeling at the moment. You had watched first hand as her life flipped upside down. Reckon she thought the same about you. Deep down, you knew she would've gone looking for you if the roles were reversed.

“They took everything we found, which wasn't much but still. I was going to drink that alcohol.” She broke the silence, slightly pouting her busted lip out. Your lip twitched, not quite finding the amusement in your body. “Surprised Daryl didn't come with you.”

“He didn't want me coming.” She nodded, understanding where he was coming from. “They were going to look for you in the morning, but a lot could happen between now and then. I couldn't risk it.”

“You're reckless.”

“You could've died,” you countered. Maybe you were reckless and stubborn, you didn't care at that moment.

The door suddenly swung open, a gun cocking as soon as the cold metal touched your temple. Kate yelped as she got dragged out, falling out on the broken asphalt. “You think you could do that shit and get away with it?” Alcohol wafted in your nostrils, hot breath fanning across your ear and neck. “Get out.” A harsh hand gripped your arm, pulling you out. He grabbed your knife, pocketing it before you had the time to use it. You could only see two out of the three surviving men from before. The other one was probably still at their camp, keeping an eye out.

The grip on your arm tightened.

Daryl stumbled out of the woods, hearing commotion on the old, worn down road. He saw the car, the men, your silhouette.

He saw the man in front of you, getting in your face. The darkness of the night didn't do anything to show your facial expression. But Daryl knew you, knew how you were holding your ground.

He loaded his bow, watching as a punch landed to your left cheek.

You fell to the floor, quickly shuffling closer to the car. You grabbed the jagged metal of the old can of peaches you had mindlessly discarded, swinging around and dragging it across his face, nicking your palm in the process, but you didn't care.

Daryl jogged closer, arrow ready to shoot, now aimed at the man holding Kate.

Before he could release the arrow, you grabbed the gun that was recently pointed at your head, swirling around to shoot the other guy right in the face, despite his scared protest, before aiming it at the man holding his face at your feet, cursing you, belittling you.

Daryl stood, stunned.

In the span of a minute and a half, you had killed two men without flinching.

—

The door to your bedroom creaked, Daryl stumbled out of it. He stood behind the couch, shirtless, his pants hanging low on his hips. His face was set in a scowl, his distaste about having to apologize evident on his face. “Ya know you're a badass. Ain't no secret. Didn't mean it like that, ya know that.” You grunted, giving him a taste of his own medicine. You were turned away from him, laid out across the couch as you glared at the wall through the darkness. The backpack laid under the couch, everything ready.

“Say somethin'.”

You turned on your back, looking up at him. You knew he was leaned across the back of the furniture, searching for your face in the darkness, you did the same. “Fine.” Your words held no truth to them, only evident annoyance.

He sighed, straightening his back. “It's dang-”

“It's dangerous, yeah, I know. Which is exactly why we need to look for her. There's no telling what has already happened to her, especially with Negan's men out there.”

“A group is goin' in the mornin'. First thing.”

You stayed silent. At least they were trying, and being smart about it. But you weren't using your brain, only your heart. She means too much to you to lose her. She's all you have left of the normal life, before all this.

“You gonna come to bed?”

Maybe you were being unreasonable.

“No.”

Daryl shuffled back to the bedroom, letting the door shut harshly behind him.

Three minutes later, you were quietly opening the back door and wiggling out. You blended into the night, walking around Alexandria without anyone noticing. You ran by the people on watch, making your escape. You ventured into the woods, Daryl's words in your head. You were a badass. Maybe not a smart one when it comes down to being rational, but a badass nonetheless.

Daryl shuffled out of bed, his throat feeling dry. His feet patted against the cold floor, hand coming up to rub at his eyes.

He stopped when he caught sight of the couch. You were probably asleep. Anger wore you out easily, he had noted very early on.

“Look, I know you're pissed at me, but I'm just tryin' to keep ya safe. I can't lose ya.”

The vulnerability was evident in his voice. Usually, you would comfort him, knowing he doesn't show his emotional state to just anyone.

It was true, he couldn't lose you. He fears he might actually go insane without you.

Ever since you two moved into the house of Alexandria, a fire burned in Daryl.

A fire that told him he could lose you at any moment, but also told him that he had to make it where he couldn't lose you. To try everything to keep you safe.

Negan was out there, in the shadows, waiting. He was waiting for one little slip up. He wasn't one to be merciful. Yet another threat on your head.

Daryl leaned forward, bringing his hand to find your body warmth, something to soothe him before he spirals. “Honey?”

He was met with cold silence.

—

“Well shit.”

You swirled around, gun aimed to kill. Daryl dropped his arm that held the bow, raising his other in surrender. A grin tugged at his lips, pure pride at seeing you take care of yourself like that.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

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irkimatsu · 8 days ago

Note

🍒

I gotta know... the start of it all. He's been around the block and back—experienced so much—but his first time? I crave this man's history.

- ⭐ blue-dream-boye

His first time was definitely when he was alive - maybe when he was relatively young, mid-teens?

Husk could have been a real lady killer in his teens if he wanted. Of course the girls were crawling all over a man with that singing voice. He easily won over a crush within a couple dates and got her into bed. It wasn't much to talk about - average teenage first time - but he enjoyed it, both the physical satisfaction and the emotional connection. He had a couple sexual relationships in his teens, all pretty vanilla, but he always cared about his partner's pleasure, and slowly got better at what he was doing. It was always clumsy and awkward, nothing like the dirty stories he read in magazines... but it was fun. It felt good, loving someone and being close to them like that...

In his later teens/early 20's, though, that's when he started getting involved in the seedier sides of Vegas and beginning his descent into the addictions that ruined his life. This is when he started experimenting - one night stands, kinks, experiences with other men and people outside the gender binary. (He already kinda knew that gender didn't factor much into his attractions, but it took the anonymity of the night life to make him comfortable enough to try it.) Husk is a man who lives for thrills and excitement - he loved those soft nights with his first girlfriends at the time, but now he had this new world of sex and drugs and danger, and he wanted to explore every facet of it.

He tried to settle down a few years later. He genuinely fell in love, he had kids, he wanted to make it work... but the thrill just kept calling. I can't confidently say he was totally loyal in his marriage. There was never anything emotional in his affairs, he swears it was the booze and the heroin making those choices for him... but it happened, and he only blames himself.

He looks back on those first encounters with a sort of nostalgia. He was so much more innocent then. Still believed in love, still thought love and lust had anything to do with each other. It's different now. He knows he's only capable of extremes now, incapable of loving anyone, unable to find sexual satisfaction in simple acts with someone he cares about. It's better with strangers. You can ask them for whatever shit and they won't judge. Do whatever shit they want and they won't tell. It's so much easier with that distance. Less vulnerable. He's had some "relationships" after his marriage and after his death, but those were closer to fuckbuddies than anything actually emotional, and never lasted very long.

...so that first time he opens his heart again, feeling his heart flutter with nerves he hasn't felt since he was a teenager...

It's nice... maybe it's better like this after all...

(He still likes kink, though. Kink with someone he cares about is the perfect sweet spot.)

(...that went on a tangent. Average teenage first times, Vegas nightlife turned him into a whore, please love this man)

@blue-dream-boye

#irk blubbers about nothing #irk got asked a thing #irk huskposts #irk talks to strangers

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ananke-xiii · 9 months ago

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More on the power of resurrection as the "apple of discord": Chuck vs Billie.

In Chuck's mind Death is not a problem because he controls space and time... he's actually right. I mean, he's definitely shitting his pants at this point but he has never respected Death enough to be worried about her (and his narrative shows just that since Death dies four times in SPN lol).

Chuck manipulates space and time and he's clearly pro resurrection. In his world people can resurrect either through demon deals or magic. Or if he says so, obvs. There always seems to be a price to pay for this, though, because Chuck is obviously the type of god that likes human suffering "for the plot".

Amara in all her "evillness" has a different point of view on the matter, for her resurrection is a gift. Which is still problematic ("what you are regarding as a gift is a problem for you to solve") but offers a new perspective: no deal, no magic, you need it? You get it.

Then there's Jack whose command of the power is still wobbly but shows all the potential to disrupt Chuck's narrative. His take on resurrection is closer to Amara: he doesn't know it but it's his desire to see Dean getting what he wants that sparkled life back into Castiel. You want it? You get it. Dangerous.

Billie, on the other hand, is NOT part of Chuck's family, so to speak. She's very ambivalent about rules: she doesn't like it when others bend them but she really enjoys being the one who bends them. Her initial affiliation and perhaps romantic connection with Crowley while many reapers "sided" with Castiel in s9 tells us that she has her own specific ideas about basically everything.

When she becomes Death, she doesn't want humans performing resurrection spells because she wants to be the one who decides who lives and who dies, thus taking on a role that is not hers to take.

S14 shows us her hypocrisy brillantly: Dean wants to die but she says that he will live; Rowena wants Crowley back (to which she should have, perhaps, been amenable as per above) but she says NO. She hides herself behind the "death books" or whatever they're called and the "natural order" for whatever it means in SPN but Rowena calls her out: it isn't fair.

And she's right. Billie ignores Rowena, doesn't care about reapers dying (she even kills one herself) and only shows up because Rowena held Sam hostage and planned on killing him.

What Billie wants, though, is very much in tune with her role as Death: she wants things "as they were", heaven and hell, humans back on the "normal" timeline, "everything in its place and a place for everything" type of mentality. She wants something she can't have in a world where God, who controls time and space, keeps changing the plot.

A mentality that clearly contrasts with her s11 rebellious streak where she would have loved to toss a Winchester into the Empty, reap God and ultimately fucking harvest the Veil for souls! THAT girl had 99 problems but being conservative was not one of them.

So why does she change? Well, becoming Death would do that to a girl but I don't think that's it. I think she kinda likes it, to be honest.

No, my conclusion is based on what she can't stop repeating at least once per season: Castiel stabbed her in the back. Billie is holding a massive grudge that she very wrongly takes on Dean. Well, maybe not so "wrongly" per se since we know why Cas acts like he does, but when she blames Dean for being chaos incarnate and a disruptor of order she's sooo off target.

If there is one character who wants order and "everything in its place and a place for everything" is Dean Winchester.

No, there is one disruptor in SPN and it's Castiel. And HE stabbed her in the back.

And his resurrection (via Jack) is what should have tipped Chuck off (as I've been trying to demonstrate with all these yappings about cas and resurrection).

Basically Chuck's mortal enemy is Jack who bestows or revokes resurrections as he pleases. But he doesn't see him. Billie's mortal enemy is Castiel, creator of cosmic consequences that dismantle the coveted "balance". And she doesn't see him. Like snakes in the grass.

#i fucking love billie so much #for my series: cas and resurrection #on resurrection #supernatural #spn #castiel #dean winchester #jack kline #amara #chuck shurley #billie spn #rowena macleod #spn s14

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bbyjenks · 10 months ago

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Cha Hyun-Su x Reader

Notes from the writter:

I am not the best writter and I preffer first person. Enjoy though!

I have been a monster since the beginning. I have taken out my share of threatening people and terrifying monsters. I have gained the ability to fly. I am assuming that is because during life I ran toward danger rather than away. I have always been what others would call an "adrenaline junky." I volunteered as a rescuer on Mount T'aebaek and worked as a Helicopter pilot. I don't know, I have always felt like I was meant to do something more. I soared whenever I felt a slight sense of danger and I just kept chasing after it.

Well, here I am now, laying on this dumb roof, My black wings stretched as I am burning spam, watching the clear skied sunset. I guess that is something good about the death of so many people...Less pollution. It really does seem like the earth is taking herself back and then some with these hostile monsters.

Yesterday night, I heard a massive explosion and a series of small explosions near the stadium. It's about a days walk. I plan on walking there today. Look through the wreckage, take whatever I can, maybe help some people. It's kinda hard to come up to people with my wings now. People automatically start shooting at me. I mean, I get it but I am friendly... Most of the time. I chose to walk places to help not be obvious. I wear a giant leather jacket to hide my wings.

I happened upon a greenhouse the next day on my way to the stadium. I haven't seen something this beautiful that wasn't tainted by monsters in months. I go in and pick some yellow Canola Flower. I piled them all next to me and take a seat on a blanket that just happened to be sitting on the ground. I start making a flower crown. I haven't done this since I was a kid. Half way through my crown, I hear a crunch. I stop my work and look around the parameter. I slid my jacket off to be more agile. Through the brush, I see the face of what looks to be a small human girl. I become less tense and settle back onto the blanket. She doesn't seem a match for me. I look at her with my crown and hold it out.

"Do you want this when I am done?"

The girl turns her head slightly in confusion.

"Why are you sitting on my blanket?"

"Didn't know it was yours kid. How are you okay out here all by yourself?"

I continue making the flower crown. The little girl starts walking away from me and makes a chirping type of noise. From around a bush, I see a monster. It's very small and looks to be a baby. "They're reproducing now. what an ugly little thing" I think.

Unbothered, I look up.

"I don't have enough for all of us."

The girl laughs.

"You are like me."

Quizzically, I look up at her. She looks normal. Holding my flower crown, I get up for a closer inspection. I walk around her, looking her up and down. She looks normal but something in me tells me she isn't.

"Hm, it's not often that you find people that have held their human form. You must be one strong willed kid."

I place the finished flower crown on her head. The baby seems to jump at the act like I was going to hurt her or something.

"You guys must protect each other, huh?" I gather more flowers to make another crown. She looks at herself in a pc of broken glass and smiles.

"We do and my oppa takes care of us too." She says

"Oppa? Is he like us?" I sit back down and get back to work.

I notice that the baby has disappeared. I look around and at what seems like the back of the greenhouse through some broken glass I see a somber looking man with the baby on shoulders. By this time, the sun is starting lower in the sky. He looks normal. I finish the crown and putting on the babies head. The baby jumps off his shoulders onto the ground and starts inspecting the flowers with curiousity.

The girl goes to the man and hugs him. "Oppa, I found a friend."

I laughingly say, "I don't know about friends but friendly. I have to work my way up to friendship." I turn to look at him. "Are you guys actually related?"

He shrugs and looks at me quizcally and then laughs. "No, I knew her mom."

"Oh... I am Amai Saito. What are your names?" I blush a little. He is a very good looking man.

He rubs his neck and sits down next to me on the ground.

"Cha Hyun-su" he says quickly. "You can just call her Dongsaeng." he says with a slight frown.

i finish the crowns and plop one on his head and one on my head. He smiles and Dongsaeng comes up and hugs him. Shortly after, she runs away with the monsters baby. They play in the street.

Shyly, I pace around the greenhouse looking at the wildflowers. finding that my eyes, keep wondering to him. It's been awhile since ya know. This sickness really puts a damper on meeting men. Looking at a purple flower and not paying attention, I accidently run into his tall frame.

He looks at me through his hair. "why are you here?" he says sternly.

I backup, and stretch out my wings a little and smirk. "the better question is why are you here? But honestly, I heard some explosions at the stadium and I am making my way there for resources and to see if there are people I can help."

He turns away to look at Dongsaeng. He shrugs and says "Oh... I would stay away from the stadium if I were you."

I out stretch my wings and look at him with a smug face. "I think I'll be fine." I say sarcastically.

Dongsaeng comes up to me and starts touching my wings. I didn't see or hear her so I jump from suprise haha. Then, my stomache gurgles so loud everyone hears it. I laugh, " Well, I am hungry. You guys know of any places I can get some food."

Hyun-su shrugs and says " I guess I can show you. I have to get us food anyway." and starts walking away. He looks back and yells "Dongsaeng, stay here."

I jog towards him and start keeping pace with him. Hyun-su and I walk the streets on high alert. He takes me to a beaten down mall. It looks deserted but scavengers have gone through everything. We walk to the food court part of the mall. He jumps the counter of Tonkatsu House and I follow suit. We get to the back of the store where food storage is. There really isn't much there but there is enough for us.

"Well, I guess this will do. Too bad we can't use any of the appliances."

He looks at me and shhhs me. I hear rustling far off in the mall. I crouch and start looking for something hold the door to the front closed. I pick up a broom. When I pick up the broom, the mop against the wall falls. making a crack sound. I hurriedly close the door and lock it with the broom in the handles.

He shakes his head and looks mad but crouches down to the ground with me. We both sit in front of the doors to keep weight on them. I can hear a monster lurking in the food court. The excitement making me think a million things a min. We wait for the monster to go away.

He relaxes, release tension from his shoulders. He looks at me and says "we should wait here for a little before we head back." I shake my head in agreement.

He turns to face me and I stare at his handsome face. Admiring his cute little smirk. Immediatetly, I think of how pretty he would be smirking up at me while I was on top of him.

i think "well, we have time to kill. So, why not." I take his hand and put it on my waist and get on top of him. He is confused and looking up at me. I look down and give a quiet laugh. I put his other hand on my other side. I take my hand and bring it up to the nape of his neck and start kissing him. I move my hands to feel his body. Rubbing them down his abs as we make out. I get to the edge of his shirt and start pulling it up over his head. He lets me but for a slight second when I look into his eyes they twinkle blue.

I start untying my make shift tye shirt while rolling my hip on his heat. He helps me untie it all the way and remove. He grabs my neck and kisses me passionately. Pushing me back and fondeling my breasts while kissing me down to the floor. My wings acting as a cushion. He starts kissing my neck, my stomache, and my waist. He stops and looks up at me and smirks. It's exactly what I wanted. But there was something different about his eyes.

He takes of my pants kissing my waist, getting lower with every kiss. I starts kissing my other lips, teasing me. I push his head into me to show what I want. He licks my clit repeatively grasping my ass. I moan with pure pleasure. My legs start to shake and I know am about to cum. My panting increases. Then, all the sudden he lifts his head and wipes his face.

He laughs and winks at me with one blue eye. "Not yet." He takes off his pants and starts rubbing his dick on my wet opening, hitting my clit every time. I am squirming with the need of his dick. finally, he slowly slips into me, riding me slow. He kisses my breast and then my mouth. I grab his ass and push him further into me. I pull my legs clower to my face to get him in just the right position. I explode all over him.

He turns me around and starts playing with my clit from behind and I squirt everywhere. He slides his dick back in and this extasy is too good. He starts ramming me hard from the back. My ass bouncing off his body. He grabs my breats and then my face to turn back to him. He kisses me and he lets out a sound of completion.

I roll over exhausted and a mess bare chested trying to catch my breath. He lies next to me. I look at him and I was right. I think "why did his eyes change to blue."

#Cha Hyun-Su #sweet home #song kang #cha hyun su x reader #dystopian

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7upslut · 3 months ago

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7, 8 and 9, please? 🥺

you got it bestie 🤞

7. Thiam #6 After Death: this is gonna be a one shot ghost/cemetery worker AU!! I'm very excited about it and my friends keep yelling at me to finish it lol. Basically, Theo has just died and his ghost is now roaming the cemetery that Liam works at. Liam works at a flower shop on the premises and for some reason can see Theo (and only Theo). And fun fact I actually did side work at a cemetery for a while so the cemetery I'm describing in it is actually real!!

“Okay, sure, I shouldn’t be here. I’ll go–” the man walked a bit closer to Liam. It should have freaked him out, but it didn’t.

“Good.”

“– but only if you tell me your name.” Liam was taken aback. That was not at all what he had expected.

“What?” Liam knew it was probably stupid, but he took a small step forward. This was one of the strangest experiences he’d ever had, and it was making him feel a bit off balance. Physically and mentally.

“Your name. It’s what people call you. If you need help, it’s probably on your ID, too.” The condescending tone was back in his voice, and he had a callous smile on his lips. The man was obviously pleased with his stupid jokes and comments.

“Fuck you!” Liam said, as he snapped out of the odd daze he had been in. He took a significant step back and started swiveling his head, looking for Parrish.

“That’s a terrible name. Shame on your parents–”

8. Thiam #11 My Bloody Valentine AU: again this is going to be a one shot AU and this one is going to be based off the movie My Bloody Valentine (specifically the Jensen Ackles version) with Liam as Sarah and Theo as Tom. (I unfortunately don’t have a whole lot written for this so I’m not gonna add anything)

9. Thiam #9 Found in the Dark: straight up this is just gonna be like 4 chapters of like kinda violent smut. If you wanna get deep about it you could say it's about Liam allowing himself to engage in "safe violence" with Theo and be vulnerable like that but also it came about from a bunch of my friends picking out tags and I made a fic from that lol

That seemed to be the better way to think about Theo. Just violence and blood and no weird fluttering in his stomach. Whatever mind games Theo was playing, Liam wouldn’t be tricked by them. He’d stay focused—Theo was the enemy. Even if sometimes he would help the pack, or pull Liam out of the way of something dangerous.

Then Theo glanced at him and Liam felt a hot blush run across his face in embarrassment. He hoped no one was paying attention to him. They should all be too preoccupied with the murder that happened. Liam should also be thinking about it, or at least care, but he couldn’t focus with Theo there. All he could think about was being held down, fingers pressing against his lips, and tasting his own blood mixed with Theo’s cum. He thought about every time he’d touched himself after that night. He’d also started to fantasize about blood and bruises on his skin being soothed over by rough hands.

#ao3 wip #teen wolf #thiam #liam dunbar #thiam fanfic #theo raeken

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rosesradio · 9 months ago

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I know this sounds kinda weird but I think Lukeabeth would feature some age play? Like a ddlg kinda thing

...

yk what fuck it i'll have what anon's having

let me do one of those half-yap half-drabble things for You 🫵

so the...i guess pseudo-incest of lukabeth coinciding with all of the other layers of their relationship is really fucking facinating to me. you have luke feeling almost fatherly towards annabeth in the early demigod diaries days, then she says he's like an older brother to her in tlo...but ofc you also have her crush on him in tlt, and Whatever his death speech was that's gonna be debated about until the end of time.

so how do luke & annabeth feel about each other?

& what if it's all of the above?

so in this scenario you've given me anon, i kinda crafted together an AU in a similar space as my power of neptune lukercy college AU. i'm imagining a percabeth breakup pre-college, though they both go to New Rome Uni, & luke is the resident advisor for percy's dorm (per his sentence of service to the gods for sparing his life, Or Whatever). luke & annabeth meet again, and although it's been years and everything is different, they both have this desperation for things to go back to the way they once were. they find themselves in a bubble of unspoken peace, growing closer than ever before, especially given the aftermath of the war & annabeth's distance from percy. she finds herself in need of an old friend turned...whatever they are.

& luke has good intentions. probably. he probably wants to, at least.

i think at a certain point in something-or-other semester, annabeth & luke have done...some things together. it doesn't even feel like a natural progression to their relationship—it feels like just another piece of the puzzle, just another equal element to all the late-night study dates and in-depth talks. they haven't done all the things—& probably at luke's insistence, too. he wants to be sure that she's making good choices, & although he knows he's Not a good choice, he can't help but give in to how much he wants her sometimes.

luke would probably be very...apologetic in bed, & take his time, using his experience with only annabeth in mind. iykyk 😵‍💫

& annabeth knows that percy already knows about their relationship. he wants to drown luke in the little tiber, & it's only at annabeth's insistence & an urge for normality that he doesn't.

thalia would probably hunt luke for sport if she knew. so she doesn't.

needless worldbuilding aside, i can picure a day like any other in which annabeth is getting ready to go to lecture. luke is lounging on her bed, catlike, reading a book but not really reading so much as watching annabeth change clothes. she puts on a skirt and one of piper's crop tops, just because she likes to feel cute sometimes. she can feel luke's eyes on her before she meets his gaze in the mirror.

annabeth asks if he has a problem. luke tells her he doesn't want her going out like that.

of course, she laughs. that had to be a bit. she could wear whatever she wanted, anyone's opinions be damned. she tells him as much, and that she ought to cut his tongue out if that was how he was going to speak to her.

luke tells her she likes his tongue too much to do that. annabeth's face flushes, momentarily at a loss for words. touché, castellan.

still, they continue this little disingenuous game of cat & mouse. at one point, annabeth asks something along the lines of "who do you think you are, my dad?"

and this is one dangerous poke at the bubble. if this goes wrong, it could shatter this beautiful space of denial that they've created.

luke just gets to his feet, walking towards annabeth. she backs away, further and further until her back hits the wall. she's not scared. she's curious, and excited. and maybe a little nervous, the edges of her emotion tinted with nausea.

luke stands about a half a foot taller than her. he used to be even taller. annabeth wonders if she misses it, or if she wants to get heels to meet him.

he leans towards her, kissing along her jawline, up to her cheek and down to her lips. he kisses her like he's still dying sometimes, and she's the last of his holy ambrosia.

"i just wanna take care of you, babygirl," luke murmurs. he kisses down her neck, hands roaming to explore annabeth's exposed skin as if he were being allowed to for the first time. "let me take care of you, like 'm s'posed to..."

annabeth's stomach drops. she swallows. luke was supposed to take care of her. he failed. and annabeth had picked up the pieces, taken care of herself for the last seven years. in what world should she give luke another chance?

but she does. goddamnit, she does.

she nods. luke drops to his knees like he's praying for his fucking life, more urgently than he'd ever had for a real diety.

annabeth runs her fingers through luke's hair as he puts his mouth to work. his hair is just as soft as she remembers from when she put bows in it as a kid. it's just as soft as she remembers from when she was nursing him with ambrosia after the war.

she doesn't know when or why exactly the word "daddy" slips from her lips, though it does. it's never something they talked about doing. they probably should have had a conversation about that. but fuck it, right? she never called her own dad that, so it was fair game.

luke's efforts falter, the moment possibly the longest in time before he doubles his efforts. he moans against her, the vibrations spurring her to pull his hair harder, to murmer "daddy" between just about every plead and moan of her own.

and then annabeth's hips jolt, and she's coming so intensely that her stomach hurts. she pants, grasping luke's hair like a lifeline, grinding down on his lips and tongue until she's milked every last drop of her high.

annabeth recollects her thoughts and breath, wishing she could stay in post-orgasm bliss forever. she wishes she didn't have to address what just happened.

luke stands, licking his lips, the sight leaving annabeth a little weak in the knees.

"don't you need to be getting to class?" luke asks hoarsely.

thank the gods. he's giving her an out, some more time before they could no longer hold this dynamic up, & everything would come crashing down.

annabeth nods. "you don't mind that i'm wearing this?" she asks, unsure of why she cares.

luke shrugs. "i just like riling you up, babygirl," he grins, grabbing her ass from under her skirt and over her underwear. "wear what you want. i'm the only one who gets to touch you, anyways."

annabeth's attendance at lecture is essentially useless. she can only think of luke & what it all meant—the word "babygirl" on his lips, and the word "daddy" on her own.

#idk how i'm posting this sober tbh #& right before bed too #but fuck it let's go #lukabeth #luke castellan #tw smut #i've pretty much fucked up my relationship with the maintag right #yeah #annabeth chase #pjo #asks

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lexusrouge · 7 days ago

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After replaying deltarune a couple times now for eggs and the shadow mantle, along with whatever else I’ve ended up missing in terms of flavor text, I’m really leaning toward the theory that the RK is actually Asriel. MASSIVE spoilers ahead btw

Let’s go ahead and break it down in a couple steps here by crossing out suspects

1.Dess, the most notorious suspect mainly because it just fits, disappeared “supposedly” and has not been seen anywhere, was known by the 3 other titular characters (Asriel, Kris, Noelle). The main issue is it’s just too easy, and it really feels like a red herring from the RK’s appearance. Those horns are going to be the death of me because they just fit into the antlers we all love from Noelle’s family. But it doesn’t make any sense. Why would the RK knight or otherwise known as “Dess” be creating issues that would likely destroy their friends and family? Unless they know something or are doing it for shits and giggles which I honestly wouldn’t put it past them to do after replaying the Sword Game in chapter 3

2.Carole, or Noelle’s mother. This one makes more sense because she’s surrounded by a lot of unknowns. We don’t know her motive outside of attempting to find her daughter. The horns fit the profile, and she does have quite a fair bit of evidence stacked against her. She knows the password to get into the shelter which can only be access by the Mayor and Undyne. The last known place we saw the RK head into was the Shelter which they couldn’t have gone into unless they were in the know. I wouldn’t put it past Toby to have Carole as the RK, but the mannerism that they display during the Sword Game and the Super Boss Fight just rub me the wrong way. You don’t get that type of familiarity without living with someone or knowing someone for a long time.

Which leads me to believe Asriel is the RK which in this long as fuck post ill state my primary reasons,

1. during chapter 2 we get the first hint that the RK may or may not be much closer than they appear, as whenever Kris interacts with the large door that houses the server room, they make it a point that you can house a large person in here. Asriel by a genetic standpoint is predisposed to be fucking massive, his mother and father are both absolute units so it stands to reason a large person would only be able to refer to someone similar in stature to the RK who is literally fucking massive. Carole isn’t exactly a tall freaked out white boy and Dess we don’t know much about but based on Rudy and Carole’s heights and definitions I wouldn’t bet on her being a genetic anomaly and having massive moose definition

2. The mannerisms of the Knight who I am absolutely sure of appears in Sword Master game or whatever the title was that Kris plays to get the shadow mantle. They tease you exactly how an annoying sibling would, laughing whenever they get downtime during attacks, going so far as to keep the damn thing you wanted just out of reach just to mock you for a height disadvantage once you win against them ONCE. They also talk to Kris about that “red flame” of theirs in their eyes as if they had known Kris long enough to know their mannerisms.

3.Kris doesn’t fight as hard as someone should when keeping their mother away from potential danger. Either Kris has literally 0 choice in leaving their mother to die OR they trust whoever is taking her from their home for safe keeping. This can be sorta iffy because before chapter 3, Kris slashes the tires of the car as if meaning to force their mother to call the police in order for them to send their captain, which is kinda ballsy to do against a sibling. Either Kris didn’t expect the captain to show up personally, OR Kris doesn’t actually trust the RK to keep their mother safe. Regardless, I’m choosing to believe they didn’t expect Undyne herself to personally come and check out some slashed tires.

4. The Roaring would’ve been completed by now. Lets be for real, the RK is ridiculously difficult to fight and one shots the party in a cutscene after the battle ends, they don’t have an issue throwing out Dark worlds either, and clearly they can throw them out without a long cooldown too as shown in Chapter 4 when they create ANOTHER one in the SAME dark world. I’m sure Ralsei is strong, but they themselves dont fuck with titans, and the RK didn’t have an issue summoning one to hinder the party. it IS really dick if the RK actually is Asriel. Because why would you summon what is basically damn near a death sentence onto your sibling, but I would argue the same can be said if it was Carole or Dess, regardless the Roaring would’ve been completed a long time ago before chapter 2 even took place which leads me to my next point

5. The RK is LETTING Kris explore and seal the dark worlds as they see fit. Chapter 4 dropped one of the hardest bombshells that hit this theory in the nail for me personally, each dark world is affected by the perceptions of their creator. Evidence A. Is Gerson, a monster turtle that is quite literally already dead yet somehow turned up alive during the RK’s dark world. Ralsei explains that this is a rare quality of specific dark worlds, and it’s further proven when Susie attempts to create another dark world after sealing the one Gerson was in. Susie already saw Gerson ashes in a snow globe, and was shocked to see his statue less alive than usual because her Perception of Gerson was changed.

Dark worlds Operate under similar Persona 5 rules, and I say similar because of one Key Difference

The reason Susie even made the dark world with Gerson dead already wasn’t to see him again. she wanted the code to a lock she didn’t know! She made the correct assumption that if they unlocked the door through the dark world. They would unlock it in reality, but they don’t do what Persona 5 did. Instead something far more peculiar happens instead, the fucking fire hydrant tells them the code

The FIRE HYDRANT, a Darkner that should NOT know the code just knows it?? This leads to the massive implication that you can gain knowledge you wouldn’t otherwise receive through a regular investigation!

Final point and conclusion: Asriel and Kris have been in contact for a while know, it’s only at Chapter 2 that we learn there’s an internet outage, but they aren’t communicating just wily nily, Alphys, who tells us the internet outage exists at all, implys that we have been communicating with Azzy for a while know, and she would know this because she is co workers with Toriel, who is shown during a hallway seen to talk about how Kris is doing.

Asriel HAD to have known something about the dark worlds, and is helping Kris explore each location they had hung out with Dess in to get information regarding her disappearance. The roaring never happens because that isn’t the GOAL for the RK. Don’t get me wrong, it more than likely will happen anyway, but not because the RK wants it to happen. Asriel has been helping Kris explore each dark world and keeping a close eye on their adventures due to how many fucking doors we see that can house a large person in every chapter. Kris didn’t fight back hard enough during the end of chapter 3 because she TRUSTS asriel to keep their mother safe from harm.

Or it isn’t Asriel and is in fact Dess for some fucking reason due to the horns. Another thing that’s fucking me up is how the RK transforms into a marble, and we know Darkners typically are affiliated with some sort of personal or inanimate object.

Not sorry for the long post either, it’s fucking killing me to see a bunch of patterns that could end up not being anything in the end. I also want to include, when you recruit Tenna at the beginning of Chapter 4 and talk to The King, he mentions Seam betrayed Tenna a long time ago, and Seam was affiliated with a Lightner based on the dialogue of that butler that sells stuff in Queens Mansion. The butler specifically mentions how a lightner wanted to create something meaningful, which to me points towards either Asriel or some other person that is capable of creating dark worlds.

#deltarune #it’s no longer fun it’s insufferable #long reads #txt #asriel dreemurr #kris dreemurr #the roaring knight

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demoniccrowz · 9 months ago

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is it really prison if you're here? ASK!!!!!

OKAY I LOVE TJIS IDEA SO MUCH AMD IM GOING TO TELL YOU HOW I GOT IT BECAUDE ITS SO SILLY

SO MY BROTHER WAS JUST TALKING ABOUT ‘WHY DONT THEY JUST KILL VILLAINS’ AND MY DAD WAS LIKE ‘BECAUSE KILLING IS WRONG’ AND MY BROTHER WAS LIKE ‘THE ONLY MAXIMUM SECURITY PRISON IS DEATH’ AS A JOKE BUT. BUT BUT BUT. HEAR ME OUT.

PHILZA & KRISTEN [and probably SBI, maybe Syndicate] FIC WHERE HE’S THE MOST DANGEROUS VILLAIN IN THE CITY AND HE SOMEHOW GETS CAUGHT BY THE HEROES AND SHE’S THE WARDEN TO THE CITY’S MAXIMUM SECURITY PRISON AND HE GETS PUT THERE AND AND A-💥

anyway SO. I think she’d have to watch him specifically because he’s literally The Most dangerous, so they end up near each other a lot and Phil is super bored and basically just biding time until the others come to break him out, so he just starts talking about his kids and his civilian life and stuff. he’s careful not to tell her anything that could expose his actual identity, but yk, he wants to talk-

meanwhile Kristen is thinking he’s not actually as bad as people say, especially considering how sweet he sounds when he talks about how proud he is of his kids. she eventually starts talking about herself somewhat, mostly about how stressful her job is and stuff, and kinda just spills what’s happening in her life. she can’t really talk to any of the civilians she knows about this, and none of the heroes really count her as one of them, so there’s not really anyone she can talk to. then Phil comes along and he just. listens to her.

she’s basically the only one in the prison who’s allowed near him, especially considering that no one else really wants to go near him. so she’s bringing him his meals, and she finds herself sometimes just adding a bit extra, or sharing some of the food she brings for herself or something.

anyway, as expected, the rest of the SBI shows up to break Phil out after a bit. when they run into Kristen literally sitting by Phil’s cell, they immediately start to threaten her, and she’s starting to think that Phil only talked to her and got closer with her or whatever to learn more about the prison to escape, but Phil stops them from threatening her. SBI is really confused by this, but Phil just hurries them on their way and promises to explain later or whatever.

so Kristen is left with the knowledge that Phil could’ve [and probably should’ve] let the SBI kill her, but he didn’t. meanwhile the SBI is like ‘Phil wth’ and he has to come up with a quick reason why he saved her, besides the fact that he thinks she’s pretty and stuff and- 💥- he says that she wasn’t corrupt and that he thinks he can get her on their side, which would be great since she has a lot of insider information stuff.

Phil ends up showing up randomly at her apartment to talk to her, and they end up going on like. sort of a date? she orders food and they eat on the rooftop together, it’s very cute and stuff, yeah. :>

SBI probably goes to half threaten and half talk to Kristen, but she kinda wins them over so they’re chill with her

anyway so obviously the heroes eventually find out about them hanging out, and they automatically assume that Kristen is ‘evil’ nd shit, so they capture her and stuff. Phil & SBI find out, they collectively flip out and go to rescue her, fluff & stuff idk. Romance. Found family. Whatever. It ends cute :3

#Guys can you tell I love my wife #I love my wife #this is not a WIP this is a lie

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moongothic · 2 years ago

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So I have a Crocodile theory that I've been sitting on for a while. I have absolutely nothing to prove any of it whatsoever, and the only thing that really propels me to believe in it is that I think it would be cool if it were true.

I think Crocodile may have gotten his start as a cabin boy for the Rocks Pirates the same way Shanks and Buggy got their start with Roger. The trust issues would naturally follow from the way the Rocks Pirates probably turned on each other immediately following Rocks' death during the God Valley Incident. Seeing the crew you grew up on turn in on itself would make anyone wary of trusting others I think. It might also explain a portion of the animosity he had for Whitebeard as well. Obviously a lot of it comes from their clash during Croc's warlord days, but it might explain why he was so eager to go after Whitebeard in the first place. Him being at God Valley would also provide a solid point where he could have run into Ivankov, and potentially where Ivankov could have gotten some dirt on him, depending on whatever that dirt ends up being in Canon.

Even wilder speculation, but I think Mihawk might have been there as well. The two just seem to have this weird, unexplained rapport that doesn't yield itself to a whole lot of options other than a previous connection. They get in a fight at Marineford, and Crocodile walks away alive despite him being well below Mihawk's level. Croc feels it's enough to just let Mihawk know he's "in a real bad mood" and that seems to do the trick. Mihawk is the first person Crocodile talks to about his Cross Guild venture, and Mihawk doesn't take long to take him up on it. And Mihawk, in general, also just kind of lets Crocodile talk at him a lot for someone who was introduced to us as a person who would hunt you down for just interrupting his nap.

Like I said, I don't have a shred of evidence for any of this at all, but I do think it would be cool, and might explain a few things.

"Would be cool if true" THIS IS WHAT FUN THEORIES ARE BASED ON 👏👏👏 We're HERE to get EXCITED about COOL IDEAS

Honestly I much prefer "random cabin boy for Xebec" over Xebec's son on just vibes alone, but also it'd make Crocodile losing interest on Whitebeard in Marineford much more palatable. Because if Whitebeard betrayed his dad on top of kicking his ass then surely he wouldn't assist in saving Ace, regardless of what his relationship with Luffy and/or the Revs may or may not have been. But if he was a cabin boy, yeah, that'd give him the trust issues but without it being THAT personal

Not sure if Mihawk would've been on the same ship though... IDK looking at the bby Shichibukai art, bby Hawk looks quite messy and disheveled compared to bby Croc- if they were raised in similar circumstances on Xebec' ship you'd think their art would look about the same. Also if I'm not misremembering, Crocodile would've been 9 during the God Valley incident, and Mihawk is 3 years younger than him so he would've been just 6. I dunno, if anything I'd be more willing to bet money on Moria having been on the ship with Crocodile instead (since he would've been like 13, and based on bby Moria's art he looks like he kinda matches with Crocodile, that said there's nothing to prove the two have any kind of shared history whatsoever)... But yeah, if Mihawk was 6 at the time, I kind of doubt they were BOTH on Xebec's ship

That said. I'm fucking sure Crocodile and Mihawk have SOME kind of shared history. There's gotta be fucking SOMETHING, at SOME POINT, because yeah, as you said

Crocodile telling Mihawk he's in a shit mood is a passable warning to give to from like One Dangerous Warlord to Another, but it takes on a whole different tone if they knew each other a bit closer

Who knows, maybe they were both cabin boys on the same ship for someone else a few years later though, hell, for all we know Mihawk could've been on Crocodile's crew for a time

Also based on Kuma's flashback, we do see Kuma visit Mihawk's island in chapter 1099, and in 1100 when Mihawk sees the news of Kuma joining, he's awfully quiet. So if Mihawk and Kuma may have known each other even just briefly, yeah. Why the fuck couldn't Mihawk and Crocodile have some history too.

There's also this bit from Croc and Hawk's phonecall that interests me

The "..." in the flashback panel

Like it's very normal for Oda to signal a character is thinking about something without saying anything about it by doing the little "..." (for example, Robin would've been well-aware of Moria as she did work for a Warlord herself, making this panel from Thriller Bark quite interesting), hell the phonecall flashback both begins and ends with Mihawk having simple "..." thought bubbles as he's thinking back to it

But the fact that he's Having A Thought about Crocodile being like "we're the same bro"... Oh they gotta have somekinda shared backstory somewhere, they've gotta, surely

And indeed, despite the fact that the two aren't supposed to trust anyone, they sure seem to trust each other enough to start a marine hunting organization together

(Also an interesting detail that, since we know they both hate the Marines a lot, so them starting an organization with that shared goal is just. Yeah. Interesting.)

One additional note I wanted to make because I just noticed this while browsing the Wiki; of the OG Warlords Mihawk is one of the few who we have no idea when he joined the Shichibukai, the only other one being Moria

I really would be curious to hear when and how Mihawk joined, 'cause for all we know, he might've joined around the same time Crocodile did, which would definitely be interesting...

Man. Like I'm not particularly interested in Mihawk's backstory on its own, but if his backstory was somehow tied to Crocodile's... Oh I'd absolutely love to hear it. ODA PLEASE, SPILL THE BEANS

#Moon posting #OP Spoilers #OP Meta #Sir Crocodile #Mihawk #Asks #Long post #It would be like super fucking cute if it turned out the two were like childhood friends or something #Who just drifted apart with time #I dunno I am not immune to CrocHawk #Sidenote if I do get an Extended Crocodile Flashback I'd love to see the who were the actual original 7 Shichibukai WG hired #'Cause if I'm not mistaken the Government specifically came up with the Warlord system during the begining of the Great Pirate Era #Meaning it's very likely the system has only been around for 22-24 years #Which means it is very possible Crocodile could've been one of the OG-OG seven #Would love to see that line up one day just for the hell of it

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parkhaein · 1 year ago

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hi everyone o/ meet haein, your local flop loser very bad no good awful shitty superhero! he works as the bartender at the pool because he can't handle a real job and would rather spend his time rolling around on the ground than do something useful with his powers. i'll leave some actual info about him under the cut but like if you'd like to plot with him

so what's the deal with him? (parental death + emetophobia tw):

his mother was a kickass aeternal named gale who was super popular but she retired to give birth to him (a great shame, many would say). the public kind of hated his dad for it tbh

the moment his dad found out he inherited her powers, he made sure to raise him to be a proper superhero even though his mom wanted him to live a normal life instead

he was just a kid though so he was like of course i want to be a cool crime-fighting superhero!!!

and to his dad's credit, haein did get pretty damn good at controlling his powers, learning from watching old recordings of his mom at work

everything seemed to be going his way, strong powers, good reputation, pretty face, but everything went to shit the year before he was set to become an official aeternal

his mother passed away shielding citizens from an explosion. it was the perfect heroic death for someone like her, everyone said

haein hated that. why did she have to die for something like that? for people like that? someone as invincible and cool as her shouldn't have died at all

his father was devastated, and haein lost his sense of self as the deadline for his induction drew closer and closer

the day comes and he feels like throwing up- he does, actually. all over the floor as the onlookers pick up their jaws just to scream in terror as the villains fired at them. thankfully another aeternal had been with him and he managed to fight them off and save the civilians, but haein's reputation was stained forever

the son that the people's beloved aeternal gale had given up her career for was a fucking loser.

he's promptly removed from the group after that, and after over two years of hiding from the reporters, he seems to have faded into obscurity

his father has gone back to pestering him to not give up on being a hero, but just the thought of it makes him sick now. he joined the collective only to get his dad off his back, and has no intention of progressing this career at all. sucks to suck.

anyways now that you know him, what do you want from him?:

i want to be his friend / you better not recognize him from anything or he'll shut you out forever. you guys probably just chill and hang out together, and if you're cool, he'll even make you fly for a bit. for funsies

i want to be his enemy / you recognize him and refuse to leave him alone. for whatever evil reason, you will not let his past go and want to remind him of it over and over. he's a pretty easygoing guy, but just remember he can shoot air bullets at you

i kinda want him... / ok... good luck! he's pretty friendly and one could even say flirty, but you'll find he's very much closed off to the world once you try to dig deeper. he isn't against the idea of dating, but he'll never be the romantic he paints himself to be

been there done that / oh so you're an ex or ex-hookup-turned-feelings? sorry about him... i can just tell he was inattentive and secretive as hell. more worried about what's for dinner than any anniversaries coming up. you get one free punch on him before i call the cops

i want him to succeed / ....you want that guy as your hero..? are you sure? he starts shaking like a newborn deer the moment you put him in front of danger. that guy is not the one you want protecting your life!! .... you still here..? well your life your decisions! just don't expect him to cooperate

i just want him / talk to him then damn i'm not his (dead) mom!! *laugh track*

#rj:intro #( ooc. )

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da3dm · 2 years ago

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In the deep blue sea, there isn't a place for me

—

Got the second part done, yay! This time from Vara's perspective!

I didn't redo the tilted words this time I'm too tired to bother, but enjoy!

Taglist: @brick-a-doodle-do @i-am-beckyu @justarandomsloth @awkwardgtace @nobodywritingao3 @local-squishmallow (if you want to be tagged you HAVE to tell me, I can't magically know)

TW: Unintentional fearplay, begging to die (Noone dies), blood, one curse word...not sure what else, most is the same as last chapter

Word Count: 3.3k

Part 2/2

His days were slow and peaceful, any given second put thinking about what he'd do to help out next. For now, he planned on heading down to the beach to clean up the aftermath of the storm. Trash always washed up in the waves, but storms seemed to bring a whole truck full onto the usually beautiful sand. It made him sad to see it all dirty, so he was bringing some big trash bags and some gloves for the worst of the trash he finds. Alongside it, he stashed a small kit of first aid in the back…wouldn't be much he could do, but sometimes animals got stuck in the trash too. He wanted to make sure they were safe too, just as much as anyone else.

With not much else to do today, he went ahead and got started, climbing into his truck to drive down there. It was about half an hour away from his house, and his favorite place to visit. Not very many people went there…probably because it was hard to get to, kinda secluded. His ears and tail wiggled happily at the thought of that neat little spot being cleaned up. No need to do more than just picking up the trash. People never using it only made it an even better place to be, in his opinion. He loved helping people, but he didn't like crowds very much. Or being pressured into something.

His ears swiveled and he hit the brakes in time to avoid a rude driver, ignoring their horn and continuing onwards. His mood was soured for no more than a few seconds, as he hummed in delight over his thoughts again. Why stay upset when it was already in the past? Instead, he turned on his blinker to head off onto a dirt road. He glanced around to watch for animals, enjoying the lush plants all around him. It didn't take long for the truck to start bouncing, the only half made road ending as he entered what was mostly just a dirt path. A path worn by use rather than being constructed.

Soon, the trees ended and he was greeted by glimmering waters, a bright sun, and…a dirty beach. His smile faltered for a brief moment, but he went ahead and parked his truck after turning off, keeping himself to the side. With his truck safely out of the way, he shoved the gloves and keys in his pocket, then grabbed the trash bags and hopped out. The sun was beating down rather hot today for being past noon. He gave a curious hum and set about his self appointed task, gazing at the water every now and then, sometimes wishing he could know its secrets. He stopped. How could it be so beautiful, and yet so dangerous?

He turned away from the sea at that question to return to his repetitive task. There was no room for a question like that. He'd be stuck trying to know for the rest of his life otherwise. Although…there were a lot more seagulls than he remembered usually being here. This made him speed up a tad, looking for an injured animal they might be picking on. If it was still alive, the birds might peck it to death! That spurred him forward, searching for whatever might be needing help. Of course, he also knew it could be the trash itself, but harm in being on guard to be sure he helped instead of missing it. He'd rather do it for no reason than let one die.

However, he didn't look for very long until he came across a seagull attacking what looked like an empty bottle. He waved the bird off, including a few others that had been coming closer. The bottle just seemed empty to him, half buried and sand obscuring what might be in it. So as he reached for it, he instead looked at the birds, wondering why they were still sticking around. He was a cat beastman, and yet they weren't leaving? His attention returned to the bottle when he found that it was heavier than expected, strangely enough. Maybe it was full of water? He tilted the bottle to pour it out so he didn't get the trash bag wet.

Then a sound entered his sensitive ears. They swiveled toward the bottle and he tipped it back to how it was, confused. Was there something in there? His hand shifted so he could see in better and…froze up, eyes going wide. What he saw there, was a tiny person. He knew that there were plenty of nonhuman things out there, himself included, but tiny people?? Well, not entirely…it looked like it had a tail replacing legs. He'd almost thought they were a fish, honestly. All he could manage was to stare in silence, struck by this thing even existing.

He raised the bottle higher in a hurry to see it better. As he did, the expression was clearer and…was it snarling at him?? Then there was a quiet, muffled sound and he stiffened. It was hard to not find that, probably a growl, adorable. He knew it was a threat, yeah, but the sound was just so small to him. And yet the little thing didn't even try to communicate better and seemed to be trying to get away from him. Did pressing itself against the other side actually make it feel better? He could kinda feel something cold against his hand through the plastic from its new position though, leading him to tilt his head curiously. Why was it so cold?

He paused. Would it be better to try talking? "...hello? Can you understand me? Are you okay?" Just because it looked sentient didn't mean it was. Still…he wasn't getting a response. Not really wanting to believe this was just an animal yet and overall wanting to help regardless, worry filled him. "Alright…I'll get you out of there. Trust me for a few seconds, okay? I'm gonna tip the bottle." After warning, he prepared his free hand to catch it when dumped out. He was very gentle and slow with the action, but winced seeing it scramble for purchase, but steeled himself. He didn't have something to cut it open with and it couldn't be healthy to be in there. If it got in…it could get back out. Maybe he'd have to squeeze the bottle to get it out if it got stuck in the opening.

Except what it chose to do startled him and he stopped, keeping still. It…did it just spread its arms to get stuck? On purpose? That was…a much more intelligent action. Maybe they just didn't speak the same language? "Please, you have to get out before I can help you." When he saw no change, he decided to not move and wait it out. It appeared to have a rather stubborn personality. Well…so did he! He kept himself calm, remaining unmoving and entirely silent, even when it gave out an even angrier growl. This was starting to be make it harder to truly discern sentience. Everyone did something to survive, but was he really seen as such a threat? He wouldn't hurt anyone for anything.

Finally, his patience paid off and it landed right on his palm, the small body rather cold. He sighed in relief, but grew concerned when it didn't move at all at first. When he was about to try and prompt a reaction to make sure it was okay, the creature became so suddenly stiff he could've thought he held an ice cube. In this situation, he normally would've tried to comfort it, but when it looked up at him, his heart felt like it shattered. He chose to watch wordlessly as it sat up, then hung its head. Instantly, the beastman wanted to fret over the small being. Had he hurt it after all? What if it was so stressed it just died?

Soon it turned its gaze back up to meet his and hope blossomed—only to immediately get bitten really hard for something so small. As much as he wanted to, he could only muffle the sound of pain, but not stop his reactive flinch. In a hurry, he let his fingers curl up to keep it from falling off his hand, confused. Why was it biting him now? Before he could even try for an answer, it latched onto one of his fingers, drawing a suppressed whimper out of him. That was more painful than it had a right to be. In a way…it disturbed him to see how much blood was dripping off that bite. As much as he wanted to stop the bleeding, he needed to focus on the scared creature.

Gently, he tried to move his other fingers safely out of harm's way slowly, hoping to avoid eliciting another bad response. All he could think of to do now was attempt to speak again. "Uhm...will you please let go...? That...it kinda hurts?" It seemed to freeze and for a moment he thought it listened, only for just admittedly adorable snarl to ring out, followed by nastily twisting the bite. He winced, nearly gasping in shock at level of pain it could induce. Not a lot of damage, but definitely hurt. Still, he just bit his lip with a solemn nod, muttering, "Yeah, okay, that's fair." He'd scared it after all. It paused again, only to start clawing at his finger this time. He could only take so much, so this time he tried bending his finger to dislodge it.

It worked, but now he had yet another problem. It had a brief look of realization and changed. While its teeth were still bared, the angry look slowly shifted to a fearful one the more it stared at him. He kinda felt like he was being studied. Did it notice he was a cat based beastman? Though that fear didn't last long, and accompanied by what felt like pinpricks on his palm, it looked at him with rage, of all things. He planned to say something else, but it took a breath and screamed, "The hell are you even going to do?! Stop staring and just do something damnit! You're too loud and toying with me! If you're going to do something to me, just do it!" At the very least, he thought it was a scream based on the tone…it was still quieter than one to him.

Regardless, he was taken aback by the harsh implications of that shout. It…no, he, based off the voice, definitely had sentience. Then…what was this small guy? Why…did he sound so scared and angry? He hurriedly raised his hand up to his face, letting his fingers curl in to be sure the fish person didn't fall. It felt a little risky so he gently held them in place and only stopped when level with his eyes. He could feel his stress building as he started to ramble, "What?? You...do you think I want to hurt you? I'm sorry I was too loud...did I really scare you that badly? I wasn't trying really hard not to—" He faltered, trying not to be loud but struggling. "—but I...I messed up? What did I do? How do I fix it? Is there something you want?" Maybe if he got an answer he'd be able to make him feel safe…being seen as scary kinda hurt.

Then all at once, he ended up feeling worse. They had looked up to meet his eyes, only for them for scramble away with a rather heavy shiver. Those tiny eyes were full of so much fear he wanted to cry for them. They weren't answering his questions and they were only getting scared. How could he fix this? Stressing, he brought his hand a little closer to softly asked, "Hey, are you okay? Can't you speak?" He wanted to help if he could. Maybe they got hurt.

But he was interrupted by him snarling again, the tiny voice growling, "Get the fuck away from me." He blinked in surprise and guilt flooded him. Had he really messed up so badly? His voice sounded so weak. Seeing them lean away, he wanted to say something, but was cut off a second time. "Just...just leave me alone or kill me already. I don't want to play these games anymore." The voice was so frightened, but so full of anger that he almost whined.

Then he registered what had been said to him. "Kill you?! I'm not going to kill you!" He was horrified and quickly tried to fix this. Letting go of them, he cupped his hands together to be more gentle and keep them safer. His heart squeezed when this got him glared at. Was this even fixable? Or had he already ruined everything by just trying to help? He hoped not.

He was pulled out of his spiral when the tiny person snapped, "Why not?! You're bigger than me, you're a predator, I shouldn't even still be alive except to be a handy little plaything for your own entertainment!" This time, he was stunned enough he couldn't even begin to reply. How could he? When someone was so hysterical you couldn't reason with them. He probably had a look of pity mixed with his worry, but…plaything? Predator? What did being bigger have anything to do with it? Maybe it was just a sealife thing he didn't understand. Then he got bit. He winced, hand shaking briefly as he fought to not react. He gasped from the spike of pain he got when they twisted their head to make it worse with a growl.

Whining a little, he started to move his other hand. "Please don't do that…" He carefully cupped his hand over the other one, in a manner like a child might use to catch a butterfly. He'd been hoping this would work, but he felt a sharp pain only seconds later from a different spot. Right. Being bitten all over his hand now. Pleasant. He waited, but…the bite was still going. He sighed, "I'll just put you back in the ocean…" Maybe he just needed to free them. He glanced at the birds warily though, worried they'd come after the small man. There wasn't a response though, so he just started walking, keeping an eye on the birds while searching for a good spot to put him. He did notice he wasn't being bitten anymore and his steps seemed to almost toss them around.

He tried to walk a little more carefully, but found himself being amazed at the feeling of a tiny heart racing against his palm. Only for a muffled voice to ring out and startled him into freezing, his ears angling forward to listen. "Wait wait wait!" He could tell it was meant to be shouted really loud, but…he still didn't match that volume he was used to. He felt them move and needle claws grab his skin when he stopped, so he paused to listen in case something else was said.

When nothing came, only silence, he prodded for an explanation instead. "Don't you live there? I'll put you back, are you sure?" It didn't make any sense for them to be scared but not want to be in the ocean. The silent stillness wasn't very promising but he simply took a deep breath and waited this time. It might help to just give time to think.

Finally, it paid off. He could feel movement before the small voice carried to him again. "...I don't want to be in the ocean. Do whatever you want with me, just get rid of me already, but not the ocean…" The tone was faint and almost shaky…it must be stressful to say something like that.

Except he didn't hesitate to agree, though he was a bit regretful to. "Okay, I won't." He felt them stiffen, so he softly added, "I'll just...take you home. You're probably needing some water about now and my skin can't be helping that, not to mention it's really hot out today, huh? And it's not like there's any other water sources around...I don't even know what else you want if you don't want the ocean. Maybe you'll tell me once you're not so dried up?" Silence. He got a very long, drawn out silence. It made him stress all over again. Did he say the wrong thing?

There was a shift in weight before he heard a very soft, "...fine." He'd barely been able to hear it, but now he'd gotten permission. He nodded to himself and turned back around, leaving his trash bag for now. It was more important to help him than to clean the beach. While walking, it kinda felt like they were laying down now and he started to smile, only to feel pricks from claws. He hissed through his teeth but chose not to comment on it.

Rather, he took a deep breath and tried to be himself instead. "Alright, then let's go! I'll take and get a good look at you to make sure you're not injured and try to find a good place for you to stay!" It would be good to check. He wasn't sure what would happen if they dried out, but he doubted it was good. By the time he got to his truck though and went to open the door, they weren't moving anymore. He pulled his hands apart so he could grab the handle, only to see they were entirely limp. A lurch of fear sent cold down his veins and he immediately yanked the door open, jumping inside and reaching for his water canister. He watched them closely while carefully pouring a little bit of water over them, only to stop when he realized he'd run out of water to transport them.

He took a deep breath to calm down. It's fine. They were fine. The tiny fish man was fine. He could see the chest moving. Shaking his head, he decided to put them inside his water canister and set it in the cup holder. Now he just needed to remember not to drink it. With a smile, he shut the door and made his way back over to get the bag of trash he'd abandoned. On his way, he looked around to make sure there wasn't anyone else that needed help. Luckily there wasn't and the trip to his bag was uneventful, so he just collected some trash and dragged the bag away. He'd been out here cleaning the place…he didn't intend to leave what he'd already gathered. Though as he tossed it in the back, he wondered what he'd do with his new acquaintance.

Amidst his pondering he automatically got in his truck, following the smooth, autonomous actions of getting everything set up and started. He glanced to his water and stared, hand flexing as he remembered the feeling of holding such a small body. The cold touch of scales…the fear. He shuddered, his ears pinning back in discomfort. After a moment of staring again, he shifted around until he could drape his tail around the water while in the seat and nodded, satisfied. How long would he be stuck with them though? It wasn't like he could just keep them in cups all the time either…should he get a fishbowl? That seemed mean, the guy hadn't even said where they wanted to go, just away from the ocean. He studied their sleeping form for a moment. He'd probably get to talk to them for a long time, perhaps going on trips or simply being each other's company. Maybe they'd even become good friends.

——

The end

Part 1/2

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divine-death2 · 5 months ago

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WARNINGS!!!

violence, fluff, angst, implied smut, eventual smut, guns, death, blood, drugs, fear, language, if you haven't watched it yet; spoilers, romance, slow-ish burn.

Chapter 5:

The tension between you and Butcher had settled into something unspoken but ever-present. It lingered in the way he avoided looking at you for too long, in the way you caught yourself watching him when he wasn’t paying attention. He had drawn a line, made it clear that whatever happened between you was a mistake, but you knew better. You had seen the way he looked at you when he thought no one else was watching.

And if he thought you were just going to let it go, he had another thing coming.

The next mission was simple: recon. A supe had been spotted in a dingy club downtown, one of those underground places where they got away with whatever depravity they wanted. Your job was to confirm their presence, get some footage, and get out. No contact. No fighting.

“Don’t start nothin’,” Butcher had warned as you walked in together, but you could already tell this wasn’t going to be that easy.

The place was packed, the air thick with sweat, alcohol, and something more sinister. Supes mingled with regular people, their powers on display in ways that made your stomach turn. A man at the bar was using his telekinesis to keep a terrified woman from leaving her seat. Another was playing some sick game, seeing how long he could keep someone’s heart beating after snapping their neck.

Your grip tightened on the hidden knife strapped to your thigh.

“Steady, luv,” Butcher muttered under his breath beside you. He was close—closer than he needed to be—but you didn’t mind.

“I hate this place,” you whispered back.

“Join the club.”

As you made your way through the crowd, you spotted your target. A mid-level supe named Voltage, cocky and always looking for a fight. He was talking to a few of his friends, laughing as sparks danced across his fingers. You raised your phone subtly, pretending to check your messages as you recorded.

But then you felt it—a hand, gripping your wrist. Hard.

“Hey, sweetheart, don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

You turned to see some asshole with glowing red eyes leering at you. Supe. Fantastic.

Butcher was on him in a second. “Hands off,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

The supe smirked, looking Butcher up and down. “And who the fuck are you?”

Butcher didn’t answer. He just moved.

One second, the supe was standing, grinning like he had all the power in the world. The next, he was on his knees, gasping for breath as Butcher drove a knife between his ribs, just under the arm—one of the few soft spots supes still had.

“Shit,” you hissed as chaos erupted around you.

Voltage turned, noticing the commotion, and his eyes locked onto you.

“Time to go,” Butcher said, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the crowd.

You barely made it out the back door before a bolt of electricity cracked against the wall beside you. Butcher shoved you behind cover, raising his gun, but you could hear the excitement in Voltage’s voice as he followed you out.

“Billy fucking Butcher,” he laughed. “Didn’t think I’d run into you tonight.”

“Yeah, well,” Butcher cocked his head. “Guess I’m just lucky like that.”

Voltage raised his hands, electricity crackling between his fingers. “You got about three seconds to run before I fry you both.”

You glanced at Butcher, but he wasn’t moving.

“Not happenin’,” he said.

Voltage grinned. “Suit yourself.”

Before he could strike, you pulled your gun and fired. One clean shot to the kneecap. The supe screamed, electricity sparking wildly as he collapsed.

Butcher turned to you, eyes wide. “Didn’t know you had that kinda shot in ya, luv.”

You smirked, adrenaline still coursing through you. “Told you I was the best shooter in my unit.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed your hand again and pulled you down the alleyway. “C’mon, let’s get the fuck outta here.”

Back at the safe house, the others were waiting. Hughie looked relieved, MM looked pissed, and Frenchie just smirked like he knew something you didn’t.

“What happened?” MM demanded.

“Shit went sideways,” Butcher said, tossing his coat onto the couch. “But we got what we needed.”

You sat down, feeling the exhaustion settle into your bones. Butcher disappeared into the kitchen, and a moment later, he was back, handing you a glass of whiskey.

You took it without a word, sipping it as the others discussed the next steps.

Eventually, the room cleared out, and it was just you and Butcher again. He leaned against the counter, watching you.

“You didn’t hesitate back there,” he said finally.

You shrugged. “Didn’t have time to.”

He nodded, like he understood. Then he pushed off the counter, walking over to you.

“You scared?” he asked.

You looked up at him. “Should I be?”

His eyes darkened slightly. “Maybe.”

You smirked, setting your glass down. “I don’t scare easy.”

He studied you for a moment before stepping closer, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. “You keep gettin’ under my skin, luv.”

You tilted your head, holding his gaze. “Funny. I was just about to say the same thing.”

Something in him snapped then, and suddenly, his lips were on yours. The kiss was rough, desperate, like he was trying to get something out of his system. But you knew the truth—this wasn’t something he could just walk away from.

Neither of you could.

When he pulled back, his breathing was heavy, his forehead resting against yours. “Told you this was a bad idea,” he muttered.

You smiled, your fingers tangling in his shirt. “And yet, here we are.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah. Here we are.”

And neither of you were backing down.

#romance #billy butcher the boys #karl urban #billy butcher brainrot go brr #billy butcher x you #mm the boys #the boys #billy butcher #william butcher x reader #william butcher #slow burn #eventual smut

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12radish · 2 years ago

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Hello! I was struck with inspiration while reading Tim fanfics. Here’s the link to the story! It’s an odd crossover of DC and Coraline but in my opinion it’s really good. Sorry if anyone is out of character or if there are any mistakes, I just brain brain dumped this on a doc with no plan.

It was a dreary night, which wasn’t much of a surprise. Gotham was always dreary. It was dark, unforgiving, bloody, dirty, horrible, but it was home, it was where he, despite all logical sense, felt safest. And nothing would stop Jason from seeing it that way, death certainly hadn’t.

He had been patrolling crime alleys, watching over his people and making sure those who ignored his presence in this lawless land were put in their places.

Then he saw her. A girl standing on a rooftop in a bright yellow raincoat. Even though there was a light drizzle the hood wasn’t up, giving him a clear view of her dark, ocean blue hair. She was very obviously scanning the surrounding rooftops, and as her head swiveled in his direction he made sure to duck behind a generator.

Now he wasn’t one to look at a kid and think, danger. But he has a whole gaggle of bat children, including himself, to prove that kids, especially suspicious kids who were clearly trying to look for him, probably merited some form of caution.

That being said, when a young girl's voice, closer than expected, (she had been two rooftops away? right?)

Said, “hey, can you help me?”

He most definitely did not jump. He did, however, tense up.

Red hood stood to his full height, a good two heads taller than the girl. She gave him a steely gaze that he returned. But he forced himself to relax his posture. This was a kid. She needed help. Then again she was asking him for help.

“Depends, why do you need the help of a crime lord?” he asked back.

She gave him a look before she shifted, rain boots stomping lightly in a small puddle. He took notice of the satchel that rested at her side, and the way she held it close, like it held the world.

“Depends,” she said with an assessing look. But he noticed the way one of her hands was clenched in her coat pocket, probably around a pocket knife. “What does the name Tim Drake mean to you?”

The suddenness was like a stab to the gut. But Jason Todd has lived a long life, long enough to know that reacting impulsively when a clue like this fell onto his lap, would get him nowhere, he kept his posture schooled and easy-going. Kept himself from surging forward and demanding answers. Kept himself from shaking as the hole in his chest grew and hope sparked into a flame that hurt.

“Nothing much-” he lied, “why?”

The girl stood. Staring into his soul as she mulled over his words. Her grip on the satchel tightening. He almost missed the way she fiddled with whatever was in her pocket with her other hand. He was too busy holding his breath. Waiting for an answer, an explanation, a breadcrumb, a clue. At that moment, as a girl in a yellow raincoat stared him down on the top of a building as rain drizzled down from the foggy, polluted night sky, he couldn’t help but feel something akin to desperation.

Now Jason has been desperate before, desperate for family, desperate for help, desperate for revenge, desperate for rest. But this? This felt like a caged beast that wouldn't stop, no, couldn’t stop. Because stopping? stopping meant it was over. Stopping meant it was hopeless. And he would take death again just so he could hold onto the hope that he would see one Tim Drake again. That he could have a whole home again.

His attention immediately zeroed in on the girl when she let out a humm.

“You suure?” she drawled while rocking back on a heel. “Because if not, I'm kinda in a hurry, sooo..” she gestured in the opposite direction and made an exaggerated step back.

The words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Wait, I know him, we were sorta close. why?”

He regretted it immediately when the girl smiled, a sharp smile that reminded him of a particularly sinister looking cat. (or Tim, supplied his treacherous mind.)

“I do, and he needs help, help I can’t give him.”

Green encroached on his vision as he spoke, “take me to him, I swear i’ll help.”

She huffed. “Well I know that, idiot, but I already have him so can we go to your base or something? Privacy is important. Tree’s have ears after all.”

He bristled at her wording. “You have him?” wasn't a question and they both knew it.

She took a step back and gripped the satchel closer, tensing at his tone, Her voice, however, stayed calm and unfazed. “Yeah, but tree’s have ears.” she stressed.

A quiet sound escaped Jason. “Please don’t tell me he’s in the bag.”

“I said we need privacy, so either take me to your lair or I will get help from less conventional means.”

—

It took a hot minute to get to his bike, another five to get the girl to put on a helmet and another six minutes of driving for him to realize that dropping this on everyone without any warning was not a good idea. He slowed at an intersection and turned to the girl, She had introduced herself as Coraline.

“I gotta call some guys, be quiet.”

“Yeah, just keep your eye on the road Red-man.”

He let out a breath of a laugh before turning on his com.There was a faint crackle before O spoke,

“What's up? I noticed you're heading to the cave.”

Instantly three more voices joined her.

“Hey Jaybird! Nice of you to join us!” Came Dick, who was swiftly followed by Steph.

“Eeey! Jason!”

Damian butted in, “Todd.” he acknowledged.

A grunt came from Bruce.

“How fast can everyone get back to the cave?”

He could feel the way everyone tensed at his words.

Bruce was quick to take command of the conversation. “Hood, what's wrong?”

A cacophony of voices tangled together, seconding Bruce's question.

Jason grunted as he pulled a tight turn, “gotta a lead.” was all he provided.

“On what?” asked Batman.

It took Jason a second to find the words. To tell them.

And when he did it was bit out, edging on angry and closer to a growl than speaking.

“Why else would I of all people call a meeting?”

It was quiet for a moment as everyone put the pieces together. But it was the quiet,

“Tim.” from Babs that got everyone moving.

After that it didn’t take long for the Batclan to get to the cave. Even though he had headed out first, Jason was the last to arrive. And as his motorcycles rumbling echoed into the cave he couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease at the silence. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, screaming he guessed. But not silence. Steph perked up at the sight of him, but otherwise everyone immediately locked onto Coraline.

She slid off first and clearly took great relief in taking off the helmet. Jason took off his own. Shortly basking in the surprised look on Coraline's face before she took in the domino that he wore underneath.

“Is she our lead?” asked Damian. His nose wrinkled as he took in her attire.

Dick nudged him, “Be nice babybird,” then he turned his attention onto Coraline, “Hello! I'm Nightwing, and you are..?”

If Coraline noticed the underlying way the group looked at her like hungry wolves, she didn’t acknowledge it. Instead she nodded curtly at Nightwing and answered,

“Coraline Jones,” then she pulled out a green triangle stone with a hole in it, causing everyone to briefly panic, thinking it was a weapon.

“Uh kid, what's that?” Jason asked.

Coraline held it up to her eye and gave each and everyone of them a scrutinizing look before seeming satisfied. She pocketed the stone and answered, “A rock. Now do you guys have a med spot?”

Steph laughed lightly, “med spot?”

Cass covered her grin and Damian let out a huff.

The tense air retracted, if only slightly.

Jason was the one to answer, trepidation bubbling his chest. “Yeah over here.”

He went to lead her to the med bay when Bruce spoke up.

His voice laced with caution that only the rest of the vigilantes noticed, “Why do you need medical attention?”

Coraline answered as she hurried past Jason to the med bay, “I don’t.”

That was definitely not what everyone wanted to hear, But Coraline was quick to dodge their questions, and even quicker to dodge Damian who had attempted to block her path. That got the group moving, not just anyone could dodge the demon brat. They all crowded into the med bay after the girl. Who for the most part looked undisturbed by their presence. It was either that, or she was too focused on whatever she was doing to acknowledge them. Jason stopped a fuming Damian from tackling Coraline as she hurried over to one of the beds.

“Hood-”

Jason cut Bruce off as he stepped past him and to Coraline’s side,“it's fine.”

“What do you need?” he asked the girl.

“Yeah I'd like to know what this has to do with Red.” butted in Steph.

“I second that.” Stated Babs.

Cass raised her hand in agreement.

Coraline took off her satchel and gently, very gently placed it on the bed.

“You can stop with your code names,” she stated, “he told me all about you guys.”

That got everyone to perk up.

“Do you know where he is?” interrogated Bruce.

Dick and Babs spoke at the same time,“Is he okay?”

“F*ck.” muttered Steph in surprise.

Damian only stiffened and Cass shifted her weight.

“Okay. so. I don’t want anyone to freak out.”

Steph interjected on instinct, “Jokes on you, I freak out all the time.”

Coraline only gave the other girl a look and Steph winced, “Sorry, habit.”

“Continue.” prompted Bruce.

Coraline only rolled her eyes before picking up where she left off. “So. Tim is here. In my bag. He has definitely changed since you last saw him. He might be unresponsive.”

Before anyone could get in any questions she flipped open the satchel and the room's atmosphere tensed as everyone zeroed in on the sleeping, black cat that rested in Coraline's satchel. She then proceeded to bulldoze over any questions as she launched into an explanation.

“So there's something called the Other Mother, she got Tim, sorta, but he managed to escape her. But he was still tethered to her. Anyway, I came along because the Other Mothers gotta eat somehow and Tim decided to help me escape, we were successful and he escaped with me. But, because he is still connected to the Other Mother, who is still kicking somewhere in a well, he shares her health. Well half of it. I'm not too sure on the details. Anyway a couple days ago he just got sick and froze up. It took me a bit to come up with a plan but then I was like, "Other Mother preys on desperate kids and families” so I thought maybe giving him his old family back might work?” Coraline took a deep breath and shifted from foot to foot. “I'm not sure though. But you guys know magic guys so maybe they can help?”

She then turned to look at them with pleading, tired eyes. It was all the family needed to spring into action. They had a girl in need and Tim back. It had been years and they would be fools to let this chance at having a piece of their family back, slip through their fingers.

#I was possessed by the writing demon #red robin #tim drake #batfam

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