Chat i'm cooked, this is a rant, idk if this triggers anyone so trigger tw for abuse (?), energy drinks, curses, threats. Sorry if it's too many warnings!
Today in school, I went with 2 friends of mine to buy balloons (to put water in it, since it's super hot here), but me and my best friend, let's call her DL, we both brought 2 energy drinks, I brought Monster and DL brought red bull, but my teacher saw it and he just stole it from us both, maybe he wrote something to my parents and my father might actually hit me. He's not abusive, but he tends to threaten me when he's angry, last time he said he would slap me so hard my head would fly off, I'm fucking scared
summary: your monster brings you a bottle of wine and you drink it together.
content: mostly sfw, monster x reader, male monster, gender neutral reader, alcohol consumption, licking, comfort/fluff. not proofread.
word count: ~1.9k
top banner: cafekitsune
Your monster brings you all kinds of gifts, looted from the campsites that serve as his hunting grounds. So much so that they've accumulated into a pile in the corner of the den. You've done your best to organize it into categories, but he so often carries back armfuls of random items that it's become difficult to manage.
Today's gift is a bit different. Rather than an assortment of indiscriminately selected camping supplies, he has a large wicker basket clenched between his teeth. There’s also a gingham blanket draped over his shoulder, but you can see he’s accidentally torn it to near shreds and stained with blood.
It should concern you that you consider the uselessness of the fabric before the grimness of the evidence of a brutal death, but you’ve learned to compartmentalize.
He stalks towards you, looking pleased with himself, before plopping down on his hind legs opposite you. You gently accept the offering in your arms, the weight of it throwing you off balance before his large hand catches your elbow to steady you.
“Thank you,” you say, setting the basket in front of you before reaching up to ruffle the fur on his cheek.
He lets out a pleased puff of warm air that tickles your arm and makes you laugh.
The basked contains pretty much what you expected. Carefully wrapped sandwiches, a wedge of fancy cheese, chocolate covered strawberries. The more you dig through the contents you start to realize that some poor couple’s romantic date—and relationship—was permanently cut short. You wince at the thought, and the monster immediately leans towards you, tense with worry.
“It’s okay,” you hurriedly assure him before he can fuss over you, “I’m fine, I promise.”
This seems to assuage him and he relaxes again, watching expectantly for your reaction to his gift. It used to send a chill down your spine, how he so closely hovers, but now those predatory, yellow eyes staring down at you is a strange comfort.
You feel a glass bottle tucked in the corner of the basket, and your excitement must have shown because he’s scooting closer to you with interest. Shuffling the other contents to the side, you wiggle the wine bottle and pull it out. Chardonnay. Fuck, you haven’t had a drink in god how knows long.
Even before the monster dragged you into his life you hadn’t been much of a drinker, but the idea of a glass of bubbly wine suddenly sounds extremely appealing.
Downy fur and the staccato intake of air tickles your fingers, causing you to nearly drop the bottle. You giggle, realizing the monster is just inspecting whatever has you so excited. He sniffs the bottle as he looks between the wine and your expression, clearly curious what you’re thinking.
“It’s wine,” you say, knowing it probably means little to him. He leans back and nods anyway, filing the meaningless information. “Do we have a bottle opener?”
Stupid question. You don’t think he knows what most of the items in his hoard are for. Not the ones you haven’t taught him about.
You smile and set the wine down, “Wait here.”
He doesn’t, following as you stand up and walk over to the mountain of lovingly obtained junk.
You have a system, in theory, and search in the places you think you would have probably put a corkscrew. The monster patiently supervises.
After a while of digging around, you're getting frustrated. You can't find even a multi-tool that could get the job done, and you're starting to give up.
The monster leans over your shoulder now, sensing your dismay, with his heavy hands hovering on either side of you like he's debating if he should pull you into his arms for comfort.
You turn to face him, letting out a sigh. His gaze flicks over you to check that you're alright.
"I'm looking for a..." You motion with your hands, twirling your index finger in a downward spiral and twisting with your other hand. "It would be shiny metal, sharp," He's watching closely as you explain and mime what you're searching for. He reaches over to the pile you had just sorted through and pulls out a loose fork, dangling it between his fingers.
"No, it's not—" You cut the thought off, wracking your brain for how to explain what you need.
You retrieve the bottle of wine and hold it in front of him, tapping the cork, "It pierces this, see? Then you twist it and pull."
He lifts a hand, flexing his sharp claws and miming the same motion. You nod, glad to know he gets the gist of it. He extends that same hand, palm up, and you hesitate.
"Gentle," you say softly, carefully placing it in his grasp.
He huffs, and you think if he could roll his eyes he'd definitely be doing so. With overly careful hands, he inspects it closer. His claws tap the glass, and the little tink tink tink it makes cause his ears to twitch.
After fumbling with the bottle for a minute, he finally raises a hand and extends his sharp claws. He presses the tip of his index to the cork, slowly piercing it and sinking until it’s embedded. With a twist of his talon, he pulls the cork out and examines it still speared above his finger. He sniffs the open bottle with a couple breathy inhales before holding it out toward you.
“Hold onto it for just a second,” you say, turning towards the pile to fish out some cups. He watches with his head curiously tilted as you pull out two metal camping mugs and sit down cross legged. He joins you with a thud, then questioningly holds out the bottle once more.
“Thank you,” you say, accepting it gently. You pour a sizable portion into each mug, taking one for yourself and holding the other out to him. “Small sips,” you instruct, demonstrating with your own cup. The wine is dryer than you usually prefer, but it would get you buzzed all the same.
Your monster watches your motions carefully. Then, with comical levels of care, he opens his maw just a fraction and tries to do the same. It’s clumsy and awkward with his anatomy, so he ends up tipping it till just a splash comes out. Some of it dribbles down his chin as he swallows. His eyes blow wide and he retches dramatically. Those same eyes narrow as he glares at the mug pinched between his fingertips, a low growl rumbling in his throat.
You laugh, “Don’t threaten the wine, it’s not its fault. Maybe it’s just not your taste.” You say, amused by his reaction.
He settles, listening to you with thoughtful attention. His eyes flick between you, sipping your own again, and the cup in his hand. With far less prudence he opens his jaw and tosses the rest back, as if to get it over with. His long, wet tongue slithers out to catch and stray droplets wetting his fur. He still curls his lips back, baring his sharp teeth in a grimace, as the taste blooms on his tongue. He looks to you for approval.
“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to,” you say gently, “Humans sometimes drink this to celebrate, or when they just want to relax.”
He considers this information with the same closeness he always does when it comes to you. Seeming to have made a decision, he lifts his mug again and wiggles it in front of you. You laugh softly, grabbing the bottle to refill his cup.
By the time the bottle is empty you’ve had a couple mugs full, but the majority of it was poured down the monster’s gullet. You feel giddy and light with a pleasant buzz, which the monster seems to notice. He can see how loose you are and leans forward to nudge your shoulder with his snout, just to watch you sway. “Wait, don’t do that!” You say, though it’s more lighthearted than actually scolding.
You think he looks amused, having learned to read his expressions. Then he does it again, just to see you nearly fall to the side. You reach out and wrap your arms around his neck just in time to prevent hitting the ground. He takes it as an invitation to gather you in his own arms and pull you into his lap. He’s warm and soft. This beast who has inflicted so much terror on so many people is always so tender when it comes to you.
You tilt your head back and brush a hand over his furry cheek, looking into his eyes, “You really don’t feel anything? It was a pretty big bottle.” You ask, searching for any sign of change in his demeanor. Of course for a creature of his size the alcohol was probably easily metabolized.
He carefully pets your thigh, considering your question before shaking his head. You snort out a chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Shoulda known. It would have been kinda cute, though.”
He seems surprised by your comment, but he puffs out his chest in pride when he realizes it’s a compliment. He loves it when you’re charmed by him. He moves his hand to trail up your torso before pausing to lightly press a finger to your chest.
You let out a bright and unfiltered laugh, “Me? Are you saying I’m cute?”
His yellow eyes are round and amused, his response an eager nod.
You roll your eyes again and pout playfully. “I’m not cute, just small—really small—compared to you, big guy.” You wrap your hand around his wrist and guide him to press his palm flat above your heart.
A deep sound in his chest rumbles against you, something like a purr. The sensation always puts you at ease.
You lay there, curled up in his lap, for a long while. The buzz of the alcohol and his careful embrace keeping you happily subdued. You ramble about your day, thoughts and feelings. Just whatever comes to mind. Even though he doesn't speak, you know he's listening.
You're starting to drift to sleep when you feel something warm and wet tickling your neck. You open your eyes to find your monster leaning in with his long, sinuous tongue hanging from his mouth. He drags it up to your jaw and over your cheek, despite your squirming.
"Stop, that tickles!" You protest while giggling. He merely grunts and continues to lap the same path from clavicle to cheek. When you lift your hands to push his head away, he finally relents. As you lift your shirt to wipe away the trail of saliva, he lets out a mildly annoyed chuff.
You pout, crossing your arms, "It's slimy, makes me itch." You mumble. If he could effectively roll his eyes, you imagine he would.
Without warning he secures you in one large arm and carries you over to the pillows and blankets in the corner of his den. He had kindly let you build a little nest to sleep in as a small human comfort. His back hits the pile with a thud and he arranges you to lay more comfortably on his chest. With steady strokes he rubs the whole of your back. It's his way of telling you to sleep.
"Bossy," you say softly, "Fine, fine, I'll sleep." Though you feign being reluctant, you are pretty sleepy. The effects of the wine have faded, replaced by drowsiness. You worm up his chest until your head is tucked under his chin. Leaning back, you nuzzle him affectionately. With a resonant purr, he returns the favor.
You fall asleep, held and thoroughly adored by your monster.
[ 4. ] sender shoves receiver out of the way of a projectile.
━━ ❝ 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧..𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧..❞ The worst type of Yokai Yusuke could find himself fighting against were the one that resembled human women..or in this case, taken over the body of someone else. WHICH OF COURSE MEANT it was a life he could have protected..and he could only fight the guilt with ‘humor’ or careless remarks.
Like every Yokai before this,it had its very own gimmick, and that was spawning 10-20ft tendrils from its back and using them as extra limbs or even weapons. Lashing them at the duo with blinding speed, enough to chop their bodies into two if they made contact. But Yusuke was able to dodge and dodge and even uses his jacket AS A SORT OF NET to catch one of the tendrils and speeds himself forward and delivers a series of swift punches and kicks and sends the yokai flying through the wall of the house into another room through the walls.
Without warning it launches one of its tendrils towards Yusuke, separating it from its own body as it flies like a steel spear. However, luckily enough HIKARU WAS THERE TO DIVE and get them out of its trajectory as it easily pierces through the walls and crashes outside. “Never gonna have me complainin’ bout havin’ ya ontop of me.” He spoke teasingly. “Thanks for the save.”
Said Yusuke as the woman then shrieks in anger as her attack missed, her screeching continues as its youki began climbing through the roof, creating powerful gusts of wind which threatened to blow them away if they weren’t careful. All the while, the Yokai’s human suit began to dissolve into nothing but a puddle of crimson muck. And just like its TRUE FERAL FORM was visible with its tendrils spouting out of its back as jagged teeth faced them.
“Funny..when the woman who gave me this job told me about her neighbor actin’ weird, she never mentioned I’d be an exterminator too..but either way..this is why I hate yokai who dress up as women..” He’d say it’s a waste of a good body.
