#*mournfully shakes head*

[nonbinoclard]

this is dumb, sorry (original post)

[retributory]

to me himbo does not mean male bimbo. people have changed it. is has a different connotation. when people say "himbo" it's like when white women say they have a "golden retriever boyfriend." they are not thinking of the idea of a vapid silicone toy. they are thinking of a man they would like to date (that is to say, handsome, kind, and slightly unintelligent, but never baselessly stupid). it's not the same. when i say a male character is a bimbo i mean it. if he wouldn't get breast implants and filler on command he's not a bimbo. that is a sacred word to me. himbo could never be her. with all that being said ☝️ binghe has the potential to create ye olde bimbofication if only he accesses the right memories in sy's skull

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

fanfic of the young valar before creation running amok as they explore the void. amused father eru makes occasional appearances

Why isn’t there more fanfiction that focuses on the Valar?! They’re a family of primordial deities who either run around like headless chickens or dissociate for 5000 years or destroy entire continents. Just the comedic potential is off the charts! I want to know where is my 10,000 word road trip au crack fic starring these chaotic weirdos??? 

[scarlet-star-witch]

His Sacrifice

Summary: Aemond makes the decision to save the one he loves over his brother.

Reader is Rhaenyra's daughter and is in a secret relationship with Aemond

WC: 1.5 K

Tumblr is a piece of shit that deleted the request but to whoever sent this, hope you enjoy xx

Part 2

~~

The screams of men below were almost inaudible over the roar of her dragon. She felt powerful, she felt vindictive, a smug satisfaction washing over her as she decimated the Green army below, the traitors who dared to usurp her mother.

Yet her heart was aching. 

Her eyes scanned the skyline, nervously awaiting Vhagar’s presence, awaiting his presence. 

Her throat tightened and she blinked rapidly to stave off the tears that threatened to fall. She’d cried enough tears over him, over the divide that wedged between them, threatening to break them apart completely. She had to be done. 

A trill made her perk up, looking over her shoulder, her eyes wide, her chest aching, but as she caught sight of the smaller, gold dragon headed her way, her devastation soon turned to anger. 

Aegon. 

Her face shifted, her agony now hatred. Her teeth grit with effort as she pulled at the reins, swooping dangerously close to the soldiers below her, a smirk painting her lips at their cries of terror. 

“Vermithor… attack.”

The dragon below her roared, a mighty sound that shook the bones of those who watched from below. 

She distantly heard Aegon’s call and held onto the handles of the saddle in a white-knuckled grip as she swerved out of the way of the stream of fire Sunfyre spat at her. She winced, flinching away from the barrage of flames that met her too closely. 

The dragons fought a vicious and bloody fight, Vermithor’s talons tearing Sunfyre across her belly, her cries echoing, shaking the ground below. 

Over her dragon’s head that now had the other poor dragon’s neck in his jaws, she met Aegon’s eyes, her gaze alight with hateful glee as she noticed the fear in his eyes. 

But suddenly, his expression shifted, a smile growing as he breathed out in relief. 

Turning, she saw the enormous figure of Vhagar looming forward, like a killer stalking its prey, ready to devour her with ease. 

Her heart dropped, the grip on the reins slipping from her hands, as if she already accepted her fate. 

Swallowing against the lump in her throat that grew, she closed her eyes, refusing to see the look on her lover’s face as he ended her. 

~~

They met in the dead of night, as they always had, meeting on a nondescript island halfway between Dragonstone and King’s Landing. 

He was already waiting for her as she descended from the skies, landing Vermithor beside the hulking figure of Vhagar. 

He was approaching her before she could unsaddle herself. 

His hands were on her before her feet met the ground. 

She was brought into his arms before she could say a word. She embraced him as she always did, desperately, as if it would be their last. With the state of their families, it might just be. 

“Are you alright?” She asked worriedly as she pulled out of his arms, her eyes frantically searching for his face, finding only despair.

“You cannot go tomorrow.” He told her swiftly.

“What-”

“They commanded me to take Vhagar to Rook’s Rest.”

Her face remained impassive as she took in his words, though the storm that raged within her was devastating, shattering every ounce of hopeful excitement she’d felt when she received his raven to meet her that night.

“Aemond, I-”

“You cannot go. Please.” He begged her. 

Her gaze met his and the frantic desperation she saw in his lone eye stirred sadness within her, the divide between their families that had slowly been tearing them apart delivering another fatal blow. 

“I have to. You know I have to.” She answered quietly, mournfully, as if she was already accepting her fate. She couldn’t fight Vhagar, she couldn’t win against him. 

He cursed and took a step away from her, placing his hand over his mouth as he tried hard to rein in his anger, his fear of what would happen to her, to them, as they met on the battlefield.

They always knew it would happen eventually, but it didn’t mean they were ready for it. They had been content to live in a fantasy together, as if they could pretend they weren’t living their reality, that they could’ve lived a happy life together. 

He stepped towards her again, taking her face in his hands. 

“Please, you cannot- I cannot-” He stammered and let out a shaking breath, his tortured gaze locked on hers. “Love, please, don’t go.”

“We always knew this would happen.”

His anger flared at the resolution he heard in her voice, at how quickly she was willing to accept this, that they were to meet on the battlefield, with only one of them returning victorious. He couldn’t accept it, he wouldn’t.

He shook his head wordlessly, his brows furrowed as if in pain. Her arms wrapped around him and he was quick to return the hug, holding her to him tightly. He let out a shaking breath, his eyes squeezing shut as he held her, silently praying it wouldn’t be for the last time.

“We should’ve left while we still had the chance.” She spoke with a small laugh that held nothing but sadness. Aemond nodded, his hands gripping her firmer, his thoughts a mirage of what their life would be if he had taken her up on her offer to escape to Essos all those years ago.

He desperately wished he had agreed. 

“Whatever happens tomorrow-”

“Don’t.” He begged, his heart already aching at the thought of what they would face. 

“Whatever happens,” She repeated more sternly as she looked at him intently. “It won’t change what we have. Nothing will change how I feel about you, even if I cannot feel anything at all.”

He practically shuddered at the thought, the mere notion of losing her too much to fathom and bowed his head until his forehead met hers, their shaking breaths shared. 

“I’ll love you even after the end.” 

He couldn’t hear any more. He kissed her firmly, pouring every bit of love he had for her and had felt for her for years into every caress of his lips, every tantalizing swipe of his tongue, every heated touch that he bestowed onto her beautiful body he had worshiped in secret. 

~~

I’ll love you even after the end

The words echoed in his mind all night. As he left her side to return to King’s Landing before the sun rose, they wouldn’t leave his head, torturing him over and over again, until he felt as though he couldn’t take another breath. 

Now, as he sat atop Vhagar, eyeing the battle in the skies above with bated breath, he knew he had only one choice to make. 

A choice that came all too easily, a choice he would make again each and every time. 

He commanded Vhagar to fly, her large frame taking to the skies slowly, his eye locked onto Vermithor, his heart in his throat as he saw her small frame duck out of the way just in time before Sunfyre’s jaws locked onto her. 

He felt nothing but relief as Vermithor trapped Aegon’s dragon in his jaws, he felt nothing as his brother’s dragon cried out in pain. 

But the blinding rage he felt as he watched Sunfyre swiped her claws against Vermithor’s face, dangerously close to her, made his blood boil.

His hands clenched, his jaw tight, his lone eye dark with resolve as he soon accepted the consequences he would face, the judgment the Gods would place on him. 

But he didn’t care. He would slay his brother if it meant she lived. He would slay millions to save her, without thought. 

“Dracarys!” He yelled, his eye remaining on Aegon who tried to shield himself from the flames that descended upon him. He grunted as Vhagar crashed against Vermithor, harshly nudging the dragon out of the way, Vermithor growling menacingly at Vhagar, before jerking to the side, her command of the reins forcing her dragon not to engage. 

He watched, his heart racing, as she flew away from the scene, away from Aegon as he fell alongside Sunfyre’s broken and burning body. 

He paid little mind to anything else and followed after her. They flew for a few minutes, away from the chaos of battle, away from any prying eyes that would reveal their secret.

He descended just a second after her, landing Vhagar next to Vermithor, his hands shaking as he undid his ties, jumping down his dragon’s frame unsteadily. 

“What the fuck was that?!” She yelled as she stomped towards him, tears in her eyes, unsure of what to make of the emotions overwhelming her. “Do you know what you have just done?”

He ignored her yells and grabbed her hands, pulling her to him, his arms wrapping around her tightly. She squirmed in his grip for a moment, her adrenaline still thrumming through her veins,  before finally giving in as she felt him shaking against her. 

She let out a trembling breath, her arms coming up to wind around him. She let her eyes fall closed as his hand rested on the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. 

“What did you do?” She asked wearily, her voice hoarse and weak with exhaustion.

“What I had to.”

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Yandere Slasher x Reader

Staring down at the icy water below, you sobbed. How could you have known? How could you have possibly known that your life would unravel in a single, dazzling instant? Life was strange that way, you supposed—one moment, you were laughing with your friends, paddling down the river, and the next, their bodies were staining the current red.

You wiped your eyes with trembling hands, the stickiness of sweat clinging to your fingers. Carefully, you stepped over a corpse, its glassy, unblinking eyes staring up at nothing. Your stomach twisted, bile clawing up your throat, but you swallowed it down.

The wind howled through the trees, a bitter, keening sound, and crows cawed mournfully from their shadowed nests. A shudder wracked your body, and you swallowed your anxiety with a gulping, desperate whimper.

That man—that awful, blood-slicked masked man—was still out there. Lurking. Waiting. Watching.

Hours dragged by, and he hadn’t found you.

You were shivering in a tree’s gnarled embrace, the rough bark biting into your arms and legs, when you heard it—the slow, crunching of heavy boots against dead leaves. You froze, breath caught in your chest, fingers digging into the mossy branch beneath you. Your heart hammered, each beat a desperate, panicked drum. Maybe he wouldn’t look up. Maybe he’d think you’d run further. Maybe—

A creak. The tree shuddered. You bit your tongue, stifling a gasp, but your terror gave you away. The masked man’s head tilted up, the crude, dirt-streaked mask covering his face. His clothes hung in filthy tatters, stained dark with mud and crimson blood.

You didn’t even have time to scream. A massive, calloused hand shot up, fingers closing around your ankle like a steel trap. With one brutal yank, you were wrenched from your perch, the world spinning in a blur of twisting branches and sky. You hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. Pain blossomed in your side, but before you could even curl in on yourself, that iron grip seized your arm.

He dragged you, half-limp and stumbling, through the forest. The world around you blurred—tangled underbrush, clawing vines, the endless, shadowed trees whispering in the wind. You tried to fight, digging your heels into the dirt, clawing at his hand, but it was like trying to pull against a mountain.

The cabin appeared out of the mist, an ancient, sagging thing with rotting timbers and a door that hung crooked on its hinges. The windows were black, smeared with filth. Your heart sank.

Inside, the air was thick and stale, the darkness pressing close. The man shoved you forward, and you stumbled, hitting the warped, splintered floor. Rusted chains hung from the wall, and without a word, he looped one around your ankle, snapping the iron cuff shut with a brutal finality.

You scrambled back, pressing yourself against the wall, breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. He loomed over you, his breath a slow, rasping growl behind the mask. For a moment, he just stared—those wild, animal eyes boring into you. Then, without a sound, he turned and left, the door slamming shut behind him.

The hours stretched into a sick eternity. The darkness seemed to pulse, shadows crawling at the edges of the room. Panic gnawed at you, your fingers scrabbling at the iron cuff, but it was hopeless. The metal was old, but solid.

Then, the door groaned open. The masked man entered, a dripping, bloodied slab of raw meat in his grasp. He approached, crouching in front of you. Slowly, he held it out—pushing it toward your face.

Your stomach twisted with a sick, frantic revulsion. The smell was sharp, metallic.

“I-I can’t…” Your voice was a broken whisper, shaking so violently it was barely audible. “Please. I… I can’t eat raw food.”

His head tilted, the mask’s rough edges catching the dim light. He didn’t speak, just stared at you for a long, unbearable moment. Then, slowly, he stood. The raw meat dropped from his hand, smacking wetly against the floor. He turned and stepped out, the door creaking shut behind him.

Silence. Time crawled by, thick and choking. Then, the door opened again. The man entered, now carrying something that was charred black, still sizzling. He crouched before you, holding it out again. The meat was overcooked—burned in places, tough-looking. But it was no longer raw.

He waited, head cocked, those wild eyes watching you with a strange, expectant intensity.

Your shaking hand reached out, and you tore a piece off. It was like chewing ash, but you forced it down, wincing at every bite. His gaze never left you. He didn’t move. Not even a twitch. His unblinking eyes bore into you, tracking every slow, hesitant bite you took. The charred meat was bitter, crumbling between your teeth, each swallow scraping down your dry throat. But you ate. You forced yourself to, your gaze never daring to rise fully to his.

And he never looked away.

When you finally finished, your stomach twisted, but you fought against the urge to throw up. He leaned closer, and for one dizzying moment, you thought he might reach out and touch you. But he didn’t. He only stared. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he stood and walked out, the door creaking shut behind him.

Darkness swallowed the room. Silence wrapped around you. You tried to fight the exhaustion gnawing at your bones, fear pricking at every nerve. But eventually, sleep dragged you under, your body crumpling against the cold, splintered wall.

You dreamed of blood.

Red, staining the water—your friends’ laughter twisting into screams. Their bodies drifting beneath the surface, limbs tangled like twisted reeds, faces pale and empty. The man’s hulking shadow loomed behind them, the crude, grinning mask dripping dark, sticky trails. He moved through the river like a monster, slow and unstoppable. And then he saw you. He lunged—

You woke with a choking gasp, the dream’s claws still raking at your chest. Panic crushed you, your breathing coming in frantic, ragged bursts. Your vision swam, the darkness of the cabin feeling thick, pressing close—

A weight settled on your forehead. A massive, calloused hand, rough and filthy, pressed against your skin.

You froze, your breath caught, your heart a pounding thunder. The masked man was crouched in front of you, his dark eyes fixed on your face. His hand was hot against your sweat-slicked brow, the pressure firm but not painful. He leaned closer, head tilting slightly, as if studying you.

Your breath trembled, but your body was locked in place, paralyzed by fear. He didn’t speak—he never spoke—but something in his gaze seemed to shift.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d appeared, he pulled his hand back. He stood, the old wood creaking beneath his weight, and walked away. The door groaned as it opened, then thudded shut again, leaving you shivering, the ghost of his touch still burning on your skin. You stayed awake after that, too shaken to sleep again. The darkness felt alive, pressing against you from every corner of the decaying cabin. Your breaths were shallow, your pulse a frantic rhythm in your ears. You rubbed at your forehead, trying to scrub away the sensation of his touch.

Hours must have passed. Time twisted strangely in the darkness. Your throat was dry, your muscles stiff and aching. Hunger gnawed at you, but the thought of that charred meat turned your stomach.

The door creaked open again.

Your body tensed instinctively, your hands gripping the cold chain around your ankle. The masked man stepped in, his hulking frame filling the doorway, blotting out the thin slivers of pale light behind him. His mask seemed even dirtier now, streaked with dried mud, one edge cracked, exposing a bit of dark, matted hair. His wild eyes found you immediately.

He carried something in his filthy hands—an old, metal cup, its edges dented and rusted. Water sloshed inside, some of it spilling to the rotting floor as he crossed the room. He knelt in front of you again, and without a word, thrust the cup forward.

You stared at it, then at him. Your mouth felt like sandpaper, your tongue sticking to the roof. But you hesitated. Was it clean? Did it matter?

His head tilted slightly. When you didn’t take it, his thick fingers wrapped around your wrist. He guided your hand to the cup. You flinched but didn’t fight. Slowly, you raised it to your lips, tipping it cautiously.

The water was stale and metallic, but you drank it greedily, too desperate to care. Some of it dribbled down your chin.

When the cup was empty, he didn’t pull away immediately. His hand still gripped your wrist, a faint, pulsing pressure against your racing pulse. Then, his thumb brushed against your skin.

You froze, breath caught in your throat.

He released you, rising in a slow, heavy motion. The cup clattered to the floor, rolling a little before settling. Without a word, he turned and walked out, the door groaning and slamming shut behind him.

Your heart thundered in the silence. You stared at the rusted cup, your wrist still tingling where he’d touched you.

Was he trying to take care of you? Or was this something else—something darker, something worse? Your mind raced with possibilities, each one more desperate than the last. You were his prisoner. His toy. His… his what?

You couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t live in this darkness, in his strange, silent shadow. Your eyes fell to the chain at your ankle, thick and rusted but solid. Your fingers probed the iron cuff—cold, heavy. No matter how you twisted, it wouldn’t slide off.

But there had to be a way. Some weakness. Some escape. Even if you had to…

The door crashed open.

You flinched, a startled gasp escaping you. The man stormed in, faster than before, and your heart lurched. His breathing was louder, harsher, almost a growl beneath the mask. His shoulders heaved, and something dark and wet dripped from his hands—water? Blood? You couldn’t tell in the murky light.

He moved directly to you, and before you could even think to shrink away, his massive hand closed around your jaw. The pressure was firm—not enough to hurt, but enough to lock you in place. His eyes blazed down at you, and his head tilted, that animal curiosity returning.

You whimpered, a tiny, broken sound muffled by his grip.

Then, slowly, his other hand rose, his thick, filthy fingers brushing against your cheek. A dark smear trailed across your skin. His thumb pressed gently, almost as though he were wiping something away. It was water. His hands were dripping with water. But the water on his hands was murky, tainted with dark streaks of grime. His attempt to clean you only smeared the filth across your cheek, leaving a sticky, mud-streaked cheeks. Panic clawed at you, your skin crawling beneath his touch, but your body remained rigid, locked in place by his iron grip on your jaw.

You tried to turn away, but his fingers tightened slightly, forcing your gaze back to him. His eyes searched your face, the erratic flicker within them giving no hint of reason, no trace of humanity. His breathing grew slower, his chest rising and falling like the tide.

“P-Please,” you whispered, barely daring to speak. “Please, let me go.”

His thumb brushed over your lips, smearing another streak of muck across them. He seemed almost… fascinated, watching the way your skin yielded beneath his touch, the tremble of your mouth against his rough, filthy thumb.

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears burning behind your lids.

“Please…”

For one dreadful, endless moment, you were sure he wouldn’t stop—sure that he would press harder, force you to endure the filthy, clumsy attempt at… what? Comfort? Control? You didn’t know. You didn’t want to know.

But then, abruptly, he pulled away. His hand fell to his side, leaving your skin streaked with dirt and cold with lingering dampness. He stood there for a moment, staring down at you. Staring.

Masterlist

[pathologicalreid]

caretaker | s.r.

in which you take care of your fiercely independent boyfriend after he gets shot in the knee

margotober

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: canon compliant injury, gun violence, alludes to spencer's past addiction, alternative pain relief, spencer's anthrax poisoning word count: 1.03k a/n: oh spencer reid who at certain points had to raise himself and never learned to let himself be cared for. i love you. this was a request <3. i hope you enjoy

A crash very rudely wakes you up, sharing the same level of poise as a cartoon cat while your heart very nearly bursts out of your chest, you jolt up from the cushions. Trying to catch your breath, you scramble on the couch and peer over the back of it, looking to the ground to find your boyfriend with a desolate look on his face, “What are you doing?”

Your eyes wander to his knee, secured with a complicated black brace, which he was supposed to be staying off of for the next week so that it could properly heal. “Lying on the floor,” he answers, staring blankly at the ceiling as he does.

Raising your eyebrows, you start to untangle yourself from the crocheted blanket you fell asleep with, “Why?”

Spencer sighs from his spot on the floor, “Felt like it,” he mumbles, bringing his arms up to cover his face.

“Did you fall?” You ask, getting off of the couch and crouching down next to him, noticing the way one of his crutches was twisted in the tassels of your area rug. Quietly, you pick both of his crutches off of the floor, resting them against the arm of the couch before reaching out and gently shaking his shoulder. “Do you wanna get up?”

All you receive in response is a groan, so you sit fully on the floor, maneuvering your hand around his arms so that you can smooth his hair back. “I want to walk,” Spencer complains, putting his arms down to his sides.

You frown at him, your ministrations on his head faltering, “Well, I can help you walk back to bed.” He insisted he was fine when you left him to go lay down on the couch, but obviously he had decided he needed something else.

“I want to walk alone,” he corrects himself, finally glancing over at you.

The tears in his eyes are enough to break through your cheery demeanor, “Oh, Spence.” You pout at him sympathetically, reaching out your arms to help pull him to a sitting position. “I’m sorry, baby,” you whisper, cupping his cheek in your hand.

He simply held no familiarity with being taken care of. Spencer was an independent being first. Once a caretaker, always a caretaker, but now, the roles were reversed, he simply couldn’t get around without your help. “I just wanted to do something on my own,” he admits mournfully, “I can’t even get a book without…” his voice trails off, “Did I wake you up?”

You shake your head quickly, “No.” The lie easily slides off of your tongue, saving him from the guilt of waking you up. Honestly, it was time for you to make your way to bed anyway. “Ready?” You ask him, eyeing him cautiously as he leans to the side in order to put all of his weight on his good leg.

Taking both of his hands in yours, you pull him gently to a standing position, helping him hobble over to the couch so he can lean on the back of it for support. “Thank you,” he mumbles bashfully, ducking his head so that his hair covers his face.

“Do you want some tea before bed?” You ask, skimming your palm up and down his upper arm. You had scoped out a tea that was used in herbal medicine, ordering a bunch of it off of a sketchy website to help Spencer try and manage his pain.

He foregoes a response, shaking his head, “I can make it.”

You smile softly at him, “I’ll make it, Spence. I know you don’t like it, but I really need you to rest.” You squeeze his upper arm comfortingly, “You got shot a week ago, please let me take care of you.”

He looks up at you, “I don’t want you to have to take care of me.”

“Fine,” you acquiesce, “but you owe me.”

Spencer raises his eyebrows in confusion, “I owe you? What do I owe you for?”

Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you tilt your head back slightly, “Letting me take care of you is the ‘My co-worker had to call my girlfriend on a seemingly random Tuesday afternoon to tell me I had been shot in the line of duty’ tax,” you inform him dutifully.

“Okay, yes, Garcia could have worded that phone call better,” he cedes, flicking some of his hair over his shoulder.

Looking at him in disbelief, you cock an eyebrow at him, “Yeah, it’s right on up there with the anthrax poisoning phone call. You’re already on thin ice with me,” you warn him, mostly meaning it in jest.

Each of these phone calls had sent you into such a tailspin that the BAU had to send someone to get you, and they weren’t experiences you were likely to forget. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, studying your expression with sad brown eyes.

“Don’t be sorry,” you instruct him, “Just let me take care of you! You take care of me all the time—it’s only fair.”

He chuckles lightly at your comment on fairness, the sound enough to make the butterflies in your stomach flutter, “Okay,” he says, “Okay.”

Ducking your head and having him loop his arm around your neck, you beam up at him, “See how much easier things are when you agree with me?”

He lets out a breathy laugh, using you and the wall as support as the two of you make your way back to the bedroom, getting him down on the mattress with practiced dexterity. “I’m certainly seeing the benefits,” he says, smiling up at you as you sweep his hair behind his ears.

Leaning down, you press a tender kiss on his forehead before stepping away, “I’ll go turn on the kettle. What book were you trying to get? I can grab it and maybe you can read me to sleep tonight.”

“You want me to read you to sleep in Russian?” He asks after rattling off the title to you, a smile on his face even though you can’t see it.

You laugh from your spot in the kitchen, “God, yes. I can’t think of anything better.”

[shaunamilfman]

turning into something you are not

pairing: Shauna Shipman x f!reader Summary: You end up on house arrest after Shauna spits in your soup, no thanks to stupid Mari. It's not like you want Shauna Shipman, of all people, to be on your ass. So you come up with the well-thought-out idea of visiting her hut in the middle of the night to apologize. No ulterior motives at all. Smut ensues. note: minors dni. spitting involved.

You eye Shauna anxiously as she walks toward you with the rest of the losers from today's game, something settling heavily in your chest as you realize she's coming straight toward where you're sitting. You curse your luck: of course you would end up getting Shipman to serve your food personally. A part of you wonders if Shauna has done it on purpose, but you decide that it's probably more humiliating for her than it is terrifying for you. 

Just about anything has been setting her off lately, and the throbbing pain from the bite on your hand reminds you succinctly of that. You remember from school just how nasty human bites could be–just how much bacteria is in the human mouth. It would serve you right to die from an infection garnered from Shauna Shipman's mouth after surviving nearly a year in this hellhole. 

Your heartbeat starts to settle as Shauna stops beside you, a broody look on her face that doesn't look any different from normal. That is until she holds the bowl out, making sure you can see her as she spits into your food. You almost gasp, just barely able to keep the reaction from becoming audible.

“Go ahead,” Shauna adds, a dangerous look that almost makes you want to push just to see what she would do. “Just give me a reason.”

You look down at the bowl she sits in front of you in surprise, not expecting her to do something so public. With the way Mari sits forward in her seat, you can already tell that she’s taken notice. Which, arguably, was the worst possible thing that could have happened to you today. You grab the bowl, fully intending on just eating it spit and all, but Mari isn’t going to let that happen.

“What the fuck? Shauna just spit in her food,” Mari points out loudly, drawing the attention of all the other girls. 

God, she was such a shit stirrer. 

Your eyes widen, and you rapidly shake your head at Mari. Almost pleadingly. It doesn't seem to matter if she even notices your protests. Shauna certainly doesn't. Mari keeps grouping you in with her lately. Just because you weren't on Shauna's side doesn't mean you were on Mari's. For fuck’s sake, she was going to get your ass kicked. 

“Jesus Christ. Shauna, did you spit in her food?” Nat asks exasperatedly. 

“What? No,” Shauna lies. 

Someone should tell her she wasn't good at that. You were almost embarrassed for her at how painfully thin her voice sounded. She might as well have just confessed. 

“The fact that you even think I would is insulting.”

“You should eat,” Shauna says quietly, in that soft yet deadly tone of hers. It's more unsettling than if she had actually screamed at you instead. “I worked hard to make it.”

Mari reaches across the table and smacks it out of your hand, leaving you to watch it fall in what feels like slow motion. 

You look down at the ground mournfully. It doesn't even matter that Shauna had spit in it. You were still willing to eat it. It's not like you'd find food anywhere else. How quickly Mari seems to have forgotten that awful winter. 

Shauna immediately tenses up, and her lack of access to Mari across the table means that you're the one who ends up face-first on the ground with a mouthful of dirt and what used to be your dinner. 

“I said eat, bitch,” she hisses in your ear before being pulled off, leaving you to stumble back onto your feet as some of the other girls help you up. Your eyes are wide as you look back at an enraged Shauna Shipman, face smeared with dirt and food. 

You spit dirt out of your mouth absently, trying to get the taste out. All it serves to do is anger Shauna again as she lunges at you, held back only by the grip the other girls have on her as you stumble back and away. You open your mouth to stutter out an apology and an excuse because you really did not need this right now, but the glare Nat gives you silences you before it can come out. 

“I've fucking had it with this shit! Starting tomorrow, you're both on house arrest,” Nat says, glancing between the two of them meaningfully. 

You barely notice Mari storming off, too busy wiping dirt off of your face. 

“You know what?” Nat pauses, looking over at you. “You too, actually.” 

You just sigh. 

How has this become your life?

Locking Shauna away in her hut? She was going to come kill you in your sleep. You wouldn't even see it coming. All your friends would be out looking for you when you went missing and would be completely unaware that Shauna probably fed you to them to hide the evidence. 

You were fucked. 

… 

You wait until you're sure the rest of the girls in your hut have fallen asleep before you creep up and out. Both because you're not technically allowed to leave and because you know they would try to talk you out of what you're sure is a monumentally stupid idea. But it's the best one you've got. 

Show up to Shauna's hut, try to apologize, and probably get roughed up a little. At least it would probably get her off your ass afterward, if you looked pathetic enough. Shauna didn't tend to bother the more passive girls, tending not to find any joy in trying to break their spirits. Maybe if she got it out of her system, then you could sleep soundly for the next few nights before you inevitably pissed her off again.

All you have to do is walk in and try to explain–

Oh shit.

She was already up on her feet and coming toward you before you even managed to take more than a step into her hut, almost like she was waiting for you. Not even just waiting for you. Hoping, probably. What was it she said to you earlier? Just give me a reason. It seems like you’ve definitely done it now.

“Wait–” you try, but Shauna doesn’t care to listen as she lunges out for you. You’re already expecting her fist to make contact with the side of your face, so you’re pleasantly surprised when she just grabs onto your arm.

Shauna holds on tightly to your wrist, her thumb digging in hard enough that a whimper of pain escapes your lips and your knees buckle. The look of sheer glee that crosses her face tells you exactly what she thinks of that little reaction. 

“You’ve got some fucking nerve, showing up here.”

“I just wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?” She asks angrily. “You came here in the middle of the night, while I was probably sleeping, to apologize?”

“It sounds stupid now that you say it like that,” you acknowledge with a nervous laugh. Shauna doesn’t laugh with you.

“Why the hell are you here?” She asks again.

“Maybe I wanted to… give you a reason.”

You don’t realize how true the words are until they leave your lips, and the momentary flash of surprise that crosses your face is as genuine as Shauna’s.

“Shauna–” 

“Don't fucking speak to me,” she hisses through gritted teeth, shoving you back into the walls of her shelter hard enough that the whole thing wobbles precariously. 

You look around anxiously, terrified the structure will collapse down on top of you. There's no way that scenario doesn't end with Shauna beating your ass in the wreckage. That's if you were as lucky as Lottie. After what happened last winter, Shauna was more likely to end up serving you for dinner. 

“You're fucking nothing to me,” she continues, stalking toward you. 

You nod quickly, hands held up in some gesture of appeasement that only seems to set Shauna off again as she grabs you by the collar of your shirt to send you sprawling onto the cold, uneven ground as all the air in your lungs rushes out with a pained huff. 

It has been par for the course of what you have been expecting so far. There was something about the look in Shauna's eye that unsettles you, something that you aren't sure you've seen before. You consider just going limp and lying on the ground, but then you remember how many times Shauna had kicked Lottie in the side, and that gets you moving again. 

You start scrambling up onto your knees, but Shauna's too quick for that, settling onto the back of your thigh and pinning your arms behind your back before you manage to get any leverage. 

It's humiliating to be pinned like this, face down in the dirt with your arms held behind your back. You buck your hips frantically trying to get her off, even resorting to try squirming out from under her, but nothing works until you hear her little grunt. 

You still immediately, unsure of what caused it and afraid she's going to hurt you for accidentally kicking her or something. It's not like you're unaware of how vulnerable you are right now, so unprepared to fight back if she decides that she's going to hurt you more. 

“Stupid bitch,” Shauna taunts, sitting firm on your thigh. “Stay fucking still.” She squeezes your wrists painfully in reminder, making you freeze beneath her. 

Slowly, enough that you wonder for a moment if the action was unconscious or not, Shauna rolls her hips down against the back of your thigh. When you don't immediately protest, she tries her luck again, another slow roll like she's testing the waters. 

“Shauna,” you murmur, turning your head to rest your cheek against the dirt as you go limp beneath her. 

It's terrifying to let yourself be so prone on your stomach with Shauna around, knowing she could take advantage of it at any second. But the little sounds that leave her lips and the feeling of just how warm she is above you convince you to let yourself do something reckless. 

How long has it been since you've had this kind of contact? Something not out of necessity or violence. Something out of nothing more than desire. 

How long had it been for her? 

You try to look back at her, but Shauna growls under her breath, and you let your eyes fall back to the side of her hut. She starts humping the back of your thigh in earnest now, her knee bumping into your other leg and forcing it wider to accommodate her stance. It's not questioning, not even tentative. It's a command to move your fucking leg. And you do, without question. 

Back and forth and back and forth until the feeling of her sweatpants rubbing against your thigh turns into a wet glide. Shauna fumbles her grip on your arms, finally wrenching them up to pin them on the ground so she can get a better angle.

She's not trying to muffle her ragged breathing so much as she's trying to stop something louder from coming out. Something needy that girls might be able to hear just one hut over. 

The huts had given you some measure of secrecy that the cabin never could, but there was no real privacy out here. Shauna's hut, the one that belonged only to her, was the closest place you could get. 

There was no doubt in your mind that if Shauna got even a bit louder, then everyone else would know what you were doing. You weren't entirely opposed to the idea. The part of you that would've been horrified to be heard like this died in the plane crash. Now, the thought of everyone knowing you were in here with Shauna was thrilling. Beyond even just the protection that it would give you with the other girls. 

No one wanted to piss off Shauna Shipman. 

You would like to say that the whole thing had been strategic, but you've really stumbled into the whole thing. And that was if you managed to survive the encounter. That was still up in the air. 

She bites down hard where your neck meets your shoulder, making you cry out even as you try to stifle it. It's like you can feel every individual tooth as it tears into your skin, quickly making you realize how playful that bite on your hand had been in comparison. Shauna grinds her teeth from left to right, making you shudder as it brings tears to your eyes. 

Shauna sounds feral. Fucking you like a wild animal while you're prone on your belly and exposing your neck to a predator. It's enough of a rush for you that you know it must be driving her fucking insane. She pulls away just enough to talk threateningly into your ear. 

“I could kill you, you know,” Shauna says, her voice heavy from exertion. It doesn't seem to slow her hips down any. “Put my knife right through you and tell them you came to my hut and attacked me.“

You tense up at the words, and Shauna moans as it gives her a sturdier surface to grind against. 

Stabbing a person in the back with a thigh soaked with your arousal. The most obvious self-defense case you've ever seen. That, in combination with how obvious she was lying about spitting in your food, almost makes you laugh. But you manage to choke it down with the knowledge that she might actually kill you if you do. 

“Fuck, just like that,” she mutters distractedly, like the threat was already forgotten. 

At a loss for anything better to do when pinned to the floor, you keep your muscles as tense as you can. Shauna doesn’t bite you again, so you decide to take your wins where you can find them. 

Almost unbidden, your eyes fall to the corner of her hut where her knife lies almost inconspicuously. It’s just barely within reach if you could manage to shake her arms long enough to lunge for it, close enough that you could probably manage to reach it with the tips of your fingers. One of the benefits–or downsides, when you share with three other girls–is that almost anything within the huts is in reach.

Despite how distracted she seems, it doesn’t take her long to notice where your attention lies. She laughs against the curve of your shoulder, nipping at the skin almost playfully. If you didn’t know how hard her jaw could snap down, of course.

“Are you thinking about it?” She asks, digging her nails into your wrists. Shauna sounds like she thinks it’s funny.

You don’t answer, knowing there’s no real way to placate her. If you say no she will just call you a liar, if you say yes… Well, you aren’t in a hurry to find out.

“You’re no fun,” she says, almost to herself, but the tense moment passed almost as quickly as it began.

Her teeth graze your jaw again, a promise more than a threat. Shauna doesn’t speed up or slow down, maintaining that steady drag like she has all the time in the world. She’s not threatened. Why would she be? Her breath is coming out quicker now, short little gasps as she nears the edge she’s been chasing.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she murmurs, a sigh that sounds suspiciously whiny falling from her lips as her hips slowly come to a stop. You can hear her breathing heavily above you, her hands holding on tightly to the back of your arms.

“Shauna?” You question hesitantly as the silence starts to edge on uncomfortable.

She huffs loudly, the sound sharp with misplaced anger and frustration. You can feel her weight shift on top of you, but she can't seem to find words angry enough to express herself with. Finally, she straightens up to glare down at the back of your head. You can't see her, of course, but you can almost feel her burning anger. 

“Don't fucking move,” she warns. 

Shauna slowly lets go of your arms, watching you like an animal ready to strike as she sits up to fumble her way out of her sweatpants. You don't dare to do more than flex your fingers as you lie in wait. You're afraid to move your arms when her location is up in the air. It could be anywhere, and you've seen how effectively she can gut things. 

“Now you want to be a good listener?” She asks from somewhere behind you. She clearly isn't expecting an answer, but you couldn't help yourself. 

“Shauna, I didn't–”

“And you were doing so good.”

You tense at the words and at the way Shauna starts to enter your field of vision as she moves closer. Her face is just barely visible, her eyes blown in a mix of rage and sheer arousal. For a brief moment you allow yourself the luxury of sneaking a peek down past Jackie's shirt that she hadn't bothered to take off to the bare skin of her thighs. 

But you don't get long to really enjoy the view. 

“Too good to eat my fucking food,” she mutters, leaning closer to press something into your mouth. “Eat this instead.” 

It's dark enough that it takes you a moment to feel out what it is, a blush rising to your cheeks as you realize she's stuffed her panties in your mouth. Your head feels foggy at the realization, almost lightheaded from the experience. Or maybe that was the way you struggled to breathe, every breath short and sharp as you struggled to get your lungs to fully expand. 

Shauna grabs on tightly to your arm, wrenching it around to flip you onto your back like it was nothing. 

You stare up at her dazedly, only to be met by the sight of her fierce glare. As if it was your fault that she couldn't fuck herself properly with the back of your thigh. She settles down into your lap, thighs spread wide to keep you pinned as she leans forward to plant a hand on your shoulder to brace her weight. 

Shauna holds eye contact with you as she spits on the palm of your hand, smirking when you tense in surprise. She brings your hand between her legs, sighing when you make contact. God, is she wet. It shouldn't surprise you with everything that's happened since you entered her hut, but you still find yourself gasping at the warmth of her as you slide two fingers home. 

She clenches around you immediately, like she's just been waiting for it all night. As soon as you start to thrust your fingers, she moves along with them, matching the rhythm the best she can and digging her thumb into your shoulder warningly when she decides she would rather you match hers. It's not like you care, not when you get to watch the way the muscles in her thighs flex with each move. 

You almost forget how to breathe as you look up at her, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses her face faster than she can quench them. It's a subtle thing with how hard she's trying to suppress it, but a little twitch of her mouth is all it takes to give her away when you're scrutinizing her so closely. 

Shauna surrounds you. 

Her weight on top of you, her body so solid and immovable despite the nearly a year you've been starving. Her scent filling the air, the familiar smell of dirt and animal blood and something uniquely Shauna that you've grown so used to in your time in the wilderness. The wet heat of her wrapped around your fingers and pressed against your lap, a warmth that's more than welcome in the chill of the night air. Then there's the taste in your mouth as your tongue brushes the wet fabric of her panties. There's nowhere to go beneath her, pinned as thoroughly as you are. Nothing to think about but her. 

Just how Shauna likes it. 

You can feel even more of the warmth of her pressed against you as she leans forward, body trembling with adrenaline and something else as she seeks out more contact. You have to adjust the angle of your hand, which Shauna doesn't appreciate until she does. Letting out a little sigh as she rolls her hips down. 

“Couldn't just eat. Had to go get me in trouble with her majesty.” 

So it was your fault now? 

“Who the fuck does Nat think she is?” Shauna doesn't wait for an answer, just continues on mockingly, and ignores the way her breath hitches when you curl your fingers. “I don't want to see either of your faces for a week. Or what?”

You hope the question was rhetorical. It would be just like Shauna to gag you and then get pissed you wouldn't answer. 

The continued angry muttering under her breath assuages that fear, but you don't have much time to think on it as Shauna brings a hand to your face. 

There's a glint in her eye that promises nothing but bad things as she brushes her thumb across your lips, slowly plucking the fabric of her panties and pulling them free. You lick your lips nervously, trying to soothe the dryness of your mouth now that they're gone. 

“Open your mouth,” Shauna commands, and you do so with more than a little hesitance. She hooks her thumb over your bottom teeth, just enough to keep your jaw open as she looms over you. Slowly, taking her time so that you have to watch helplessly, she tilts her head down and parts her lips. She doesn’t spit–nothing as simple as that. Instead, she just lets a thin, glistening string of saliva fall from her mouth to land squarely on your tongue. It’s warm and wet and so unbearably intimate.

You jerk away almost instinctively, but Shauna clenches her thighs tightly around your hips and digs her fingers into your jaw to keep you right where she wants you. Her eyes glance down, watching the way her saliva sits on your tongue and mixes with your own.

“Swallow,” she commands, voice sharp. Your cheeks burn red as you do, struggling for a moment to do so with your mouth held so far open.

She nods slowly, this time just spitting into your open. Her head tilts to the side like she’s studying you, and she seems pleased when you swallow without being asked this time.

“Good.” Her voice is low, gravelly in a way that makes you squirm as she traces her thumb across your jaw. ”Now, hold onto this for me.”

This time, as her spit reaches your tongue, you do nothing. You don’t jerk, you don’t flinch, you just keep your mouth open wide as the string of saliva lands. She leans close enough to kiss you, breath brushing hot against your lips, but she just pulls away again with a pleased hum.

You think she might say something else, but all she does is let go of your jaw to press two of her fingers in your mouth. She doesn't push, doesn't even try to choke you like you were prepared for. Just rests the weight of them on your tongue as she watches the way your lips close around them.

Shauna starts riding your fingers in earnest now, fast enough that you struggle to keep up with her. God, could she fucking move. You knew from watching her on the field, and lately from watching her in the chase, but it was something else to witness it while two knuckles deep. 

Her thighs tremble with the effort of it, but a part of you suspects she's still holding back. The squelching sound fills the air, loud and unmistakable in its simplicity. There's no doubt in your mind that everyone knew what you were doing if they hadn't already pieced it together from the sounds leaving Shauna's lips. She wasn't quiet or shy like you might have shamefully imagined her being before the crash. 

It was like the thought of shame never even crossed her mind. 

Maybe after a very public birth and subsequent well-deserved crash out, little things like all of your former teammates knowing you're getting fucked one hut over don't register as much in your mind. 

You can tell by the way she's clenching around your fingers that she's getting close, but if Shauna's aware of it, she doesn't acknowledge it. Even when your thumb presses against her clit to rub quick little circles, the only response you get is a sharp intake of breath as she presses into the touch. 

It's different now that you can watch her start to fall apart. Different now that you're actually participating instead of just letting her use you as a means to an end. You hadn't minded, obviously, but you much prefer to watch the way her eyes slip shut as her head starts to tilt back. 

When Shauna comes, it's violent, thighs snapping around your waist as a loud cry tears itself from her lips. Tears was the right word, as it sounded like it cost Shauna something as it came out. Pride, maybe. Or something else entirely. 

Either way, Shauna looked wrecked as she lazily rode out the last of it–eyes almost black as she stared down at you. 

… 

You stare up at the ceiling of her hut after everything's said and done, slick with sweat and short of breath. Shauna hasn't said anything in a while, just silently rolled off, and laid down. 

Turning on your side, you sneak a glance over at Shauna, whose eyes are already closed. You slowly reach over to rest your arm over her hip, starting to draw it away as Shauna tenses. She grabs at your arm with her hand, saying nothing but not allowing you the chance to pull away. You hold your breath as you scoot closer, but Shauna doesn't comment one way or another. 

That's the closest to an invitation you're going to get. 

[appocalipse]

heyy if ur taking requests could u maybe do like bestfriends steve + reader where steve, eddie, nancy and robin have to pick up reader from a party and she’s like REAL drunk and just idk super clingy w steve and doesn’t wanna not be touching him. maybe eddie, nancy and robin all make fun of him for it but they acc find it rly cute.

thank you for your request! ♥♥♥ | 2.2k words

"Stevie!"

You collide into him suddenly, nearly knocking him back a step or two with the force of your momentum; there's a smile on Steve's face when you look up at him through eyes that are more than a little hazy with inebriation. You're drunk. Probably way past drunk, if the way the world won't seem to hold still is anything to go by, but you don't care. There are other things vying for your attention—like how warm he feels against you, how safe he makes you feel, how pretty he looks from up close...

"Whoa," Steve says as you lean even further into him and loop your arms around his waist in a tight hug. "How much did you have to drink, exactly?"

He doesn't mean it in a mean way, which is why you grin up at him from where you've got your cheek pressed firmly to his chest. You can feel his heart beating under the palm of your hand now, a steady and calming rhythm that soothes something inside of you.

"Dunno," you reply, grinning stupidly when you catch sight of maybe three copies of Eddie Munson standing off to Steve's left; all of them have identical amused looks on their faces. "Might've had, like, a couple..."

Steve sighs deeply, though there's no exasperation or disappointment to be found in his expression when he tilts your face upwards to look you over properly. You just beam dopily at him, because he's so pretty right now you don't know what else to do.

"Dude," Eddie speaks up, drawing Steve's gaze away from you while your own attention goes back to pressing yourself even more snugly into him, "she is totally sloshed."

You frown, shaking your head in fervent disagreement.

"Am not!"

"Sure you aren't, sweetheart," Eddie agrees placidly, but you get the impression he doesn't really mean it.

Before you can point this out, however, the blurry shape of Robin Buckley steps forward. The room is dark with flashing strobe lights and smoky with incense and cigarette smoke, but you'd recognize her voice anywhere.

"Who let you drink this much?" Robin asks as she lifts a hand up to brush some hair back from your forehead.

It's oddly soothing and so you lean into the contact with a happy hum. Robin and the others laugh — but then again, it sounds kinder than mean, the kind of laugh that bubbles up when you find something unexpectedly endearing, and so you don't mind as much as you maybe should.

"Nobody," you mumble as you press your face into the side of Steve's neck and take a deep breath in; his scent is the same as always, earthy and warm with an underlying hint of that stupid spray he likes to use sometimes. "I'm here alone. 'Cause Steve here blew me off for you guys, but that's okay," you say, even though, to be fair, it sort of isn't true — he didn't blow you off.

"Hey," Steve starts, sounding half-indignant and half-apologetic all at once. He's got an arm around your shoulder now, supporting you and keeping you upright, which makes you want to tangle yourself up in him completely. "You didn't tell me you wanted me to come hang out with you tonight!"

You sigh mournfully against his skin, feeling wistful all of a sudden. It's true. You hadn't told him. That was partially due to the fact that you had been trying to prove to yourself that you weren't so desperately and helplessly infatuated with him that you needed his presence constantly, but that plan had obviously backfired on you spectacularly.

"No," you mutter unhappily as Steve moves the two of you towards a nearby couch. "But I missed you. Don't wanna miss you."

Nancy, Robin, and Eddie, who are watching the two of you with expressions of varying degrees of amusement, exchange looks. Steve pretends not to notice, probably because he knows he won't like what they have to say if he hears it, and instead guides you down onto the cushions next to him. "You're drunk."

"You're pretty," you reply without hesitation, even though you're very clearly changing the subject. "It's unfair, y'know?"

You hear Robin snort, followed by a quiet thud like someone's just been slapped on the arm, and you know it's her who laughed, and that it must have been Nancy who'd shut her up. You don't know where Eddie is; you're not even sure when he wandered off, to be honest. You're too focused on Steve and the way his face looks under the colorful flashing lights.

"Oh yeah?" he asks, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too widely at your comment. His eyes are bright with laughter when you meet his gaze and nod confidently. "How do I get 'unfair', exactly?"

"'S all in the face," you say matter-of-factly, your own fingers trailing down his cheek in an almost absentminded gesture. "Kinda makes it hard to think about anything else sometimes, if I'm being real here. Like, it's not really fair, 'cause then what are we supposed to talk about? Oh, oh—and then there's your hair!"

"My hair?"

Robin wheezes somewhere behind you, which would have made you giggle if you were still paying attention to the people in the room besides Steve, but you're not.

"Mmhmm," you hum, your eyes running over the soft brown locks on top of his head. "Love it. Wanna touch it all the time. Y'see, Steve? You see? This is why it's not fair at all. And, and—" you trail off here for dramatic effect, squinting at him theatrically before leaning closer with your hand cupped to the side of your mouth, as if you're about to share something private. "—the way you make my insides feel? So, so unfair. Totally your fault, buddy."

"Wha-" Steve croaks out, looking alarmed and caught off guard by your drunken confession. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh," you regain your serious tone, frowning at him in a somewhat bemused manner when he continues to gape at you. "Not 'sposed to tell you. S'not the rules."

Eddie barks out a laugh somewhere off to your left, but Steve ignores him. "Rules?"

"Yeah, 's against the rules, dummy," you say, like he should've already known that. "Gotta follow the rules! Duh. Steve."

"Yeah, Steve, duh," Robin pipes up, earning herself a glare from Steve as well as a smirk from Eddie. "Oops, sorry. Please, continue."

"Can I touch your hair? Like, please, 'cause I might die if I don't, 'kay? If that's okay. Gotta test the theory. Just a little bit, though." You can tell by his expression that he wants to laugh, and that he's also mildly worried that you've lost your mind. "Please?"

Robin, Eddie and Nancy have their hands clapped over their mouths to contain their laughter. You're too drunk to notice, but Steve narrows his eyes at them in warning. "Yes," he says. "Just—yeah, go ahead."

With a little noise of excitement, you reach out to card your fingers through his hair. He smells really good — like clean laundry and fresh pine trees — and the feel of his hair in your palm is exactly what you had imagined, though you're loathe to pull your hand away now that you've felt it.

Steve goes unnaturally still as you press your face into the juncture between his neck and shoulder, a move he should have expected but didn't, and you sigh happily when the scent of his cologne hits you full force. He's like a living, breathing, cuddly teddy bear, you think, a combination of warmth, softness, and comfort all rolled up in one gorgeous, handsome, unobtainable package.

"You're warm," you mumble, feeling like you could fall asleep right now. "So, so warm. 'S like you've got a space heater in your chest, 'n that's like, so awesome."

He blinks a few times, momentarily speechless as he tries to come to terms with the fact that you are, in fact, drunk enough to be saying whatever the hell comes to your mind. "Uh, thanks?"

"Smell nice too," you murmur, hugging him tighter to you. "Like, wow. Love your hair, like, love love."

His cheeks are burning hot now, his heart beating erratically in his chest when he notices Eddie staring at the two of you with a knowing gleam in his eye. "That's—thank you, but, hey, come on now," Steve says, his voice faltering a little. "Let's get you home, okay?"

"I don't wanna."

"Don't you wanna sleep in your bed?"

You pause, considering his words, and eventually concede that, yes, your bed does sound lovely right about now, so you give him a brief nod in response. "I guess, but can you come too?"

He chokes on air, but manages to play it off by clearing his throat. "What—to your bed? No!"

"Why not?"

Steve shifts a little under your intense, alcohol-addled scrutiny; he feels strangely guilty, as though he's letting you down by saying no. "Because you're drunk?" he says, feeling flustered and unreasonably nervous all of a sudden.

You scrunch up your face in a pout. "Oh, that's a dumb reason."

Steve chuckles and you sigh happily again, because you love his laugh and everything else about him, and he seems to realize this, given the way his expression softens. "Come on, you drunkard. Let's go home," he says gently, tugging on your arm in an attempt to get you to stand.

You resist at first, shaking your head stubbornly as you hold onto him. "Can't. My legs don't work anymore. They're all wobbly."

Steve closes his eyes for a moment, huffs out a soft laugh, and you can't help but grin up at him. He's so pretty that, like, how is that even allowed? How can you be around him and not spontaneously combust or something?

"Well, what if I carried you?"

"Like a princess?"

Steve looks at you with an expression you can't decipher — it's halfway between incredulous and endeared, and it makes your heart feel too big for your rib cage.

"How romantic," Nancy observes.

"So long as she doesn't throw up on him," Eddie adds, nodding sagely in agreement.

"Oh, I hope she does," Robin says, with a devious smile, "he'd deserve it for being such a coward."

"I'm...right here, guys, and I can still hear you." Steve finally says, throwing them a scathing look that only makes them laugh. "If you're not going to be helpful, you can wait in the car."

"As if," Eddie counters.

Steve opens his mouth to tell him where exactly he can stick his opinions, when you grab the front of his shirt and drag him closer.

"Steve," you say, the smile falling from your face as a sudden thought occurs to you. "Are you mad at me? Because I can go home by myself. That's okay."

"Hey, no," he replies softly, "I'm not mad at you, sweetheart. Not ever."

"'Sweetheart'? Really?" Eddie mutters to Nancy, who elbows him in the ribs when he doesn't lower his voice in time. "Ow, okay, okay—just saying. Don't want them to keep dancing around each other forever, is all."

"I'm not dancing," you tell him, completely unaware of Eddie's snickering, "I don't have any shoes on, Eddie. Wouldn't be able to dance without shoes on. Silly."

"My bad," Eddie says, his lips twitching with badly concealed laughter, "forgive me."

Steve scowls at him before turning his attention back to you, his face so close to yours that you can momentarily feel the tickle of his breath against your skin. "Okay, come on," he says, "up we go."

And then, in one swift movement, he slides his arm under your knees and scoops you up into his arms. You let out a squeak of surprise and automatically wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself.

"Oh, oh, oh," you say excitedly, "you really are gonna carry me."

"Told you so." Steve adjusts his grip on you and makes his way towards the exit. "Are you good? Am I hurting you?"

You shake your head slowly, grinning as you stare at him from a whole new angle. "No," you tell him, feeling much more awake than you were moments before. "This is...this is like, actually kinda cool."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you repeat, smiling shyly back at him. "Feel like a real life Cinderella now. Whoa, you're, like, super strong."

"Yeah, Stevie, you're 'super strong.'" Eddie teases, waggling his eyebrows when Steve sends him a quick glare. "Aw, don't look at me like that. It's cute. The two of you."

Nancy doesn't tease like Robin and Eddie do. She walks behind Steve, making sure to stay a couple steps behind to give the two of you some privacy. Even so, when you look over your shoulder to make sure nobody's listening, she gives you a wink and a small thumbs-up that makes you smile.

The parking lot is filled with teenagers all wandering aimlessly in groups, so it takes Steve a while to navigate his way through the crowd. By the time he finds the spot where he parked his BMW, you've grown drowsy enough to rest your head on his shoulder.

Eddie immediately pops open the door to the backseat, slapping it a few times as he looks over at Steve and grins. "Hurry it up, lover boy," he drawls out, "she looks half-asleep already."

"She's fine," Steve shoots back, frowning in annoyance when Eddie and Robin both pretend to yawn exaggeratedly, "shut up. I hate you guys."

[hannie-bees]

Sad Bread || c.hs

Pairing: Vernon × reader

�� You wake up to your bf eating sad lonely bread like he isn't loved. »

Wc: 861

Genre: fluff

You woke up to silence.

The room was quiet, unusually so, save for the occasional shuffle of movement from the kitchen. You blinked sleep from your eyes, recalling just how late you’d stayed up working last night. Your limbs were still heavy, your brain foggy. You rolled over instinctively to find an empty spot where Vernon usually curled beside you.

He must’ve let you sleep in.

That’s when the faint sounds reached your ears—the clink of a plate, the dull scrape of a butter knife.

You yawned, pulling on a hoodie as you padded into the kitchen. You were expecting him to be cooking something, maybe even reheating leftovers.

And then you saw him.

Vernon. Sitting at the breakfast table. Shoulders hunched, hair still messy, eyes half-lidded as he stared mournfully at the single slice of bread in his hand. Next to him: a half-empty jar of jam and a butter knife. No toast. No eggs. Just... a sad, plain slice of bread.

He looked up when you entered—and you swore you saw his ears droop like a cartoon puppy caught doing something pitiful.

“Morning,” he mumbled, caught mid-bite.

Your heart cracked.

“Han,” you said, voice already trembling with offense. “Are you eating sad dry bread right now?”

He blinked. “I didn’t want to wake you. You were up really late...”

You stood there in the doorway for a beat, just staring. This wasn’t just any breakfast. This was the breakfast of someone who had lost all hope. Of someone who had resigned themselves to fate. He looked like a soaked puppy left at the doorstep of your heart, nibbling bread like it was the only thing left in the world.

You crossed the kitchen in a flash and stood beside him. “Vernon. Look at me.”

He hesitated but turned, crumbs still on his lips. You gently cupped his face in your hands. His cheeks were warm and soft, and his eyes were confused, but quietly pleased at the attention.

“Never do that again,” you whispered seriously. “Never eat sad, flavorless bread in front of me like a lonely little orphan.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Shh.” You pressed your forehead to his, then kissed him there softly. “This is a no-dry-bread household. Especially not for you.”

He blinked, looking like he was torn between laughing and melting.

“You looked like a puppy,” you muttered, ruffling his hair before standing. “An abandoned one. It physically hurt me.”

“I wasn’t trying to be dramatic.”

“You weren’t trying,” you echoed, already pulling out the pancake mix. “And yet here we are.”

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he watched you. “You really don’t have to—”

“I want to. Sit. I’m making breakfast for both of us.”

He obeyed, a little stunned, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself now that he was no longer stuck with jail-food-level bread.

You moved easily through the kitchen, cracking eggs into a bowl, mixing batter, and heating up the pan. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon started to fill the air as you added little touches—pushing your sleep-mussed hair out of your face, tapping your foot as you waited for the pancake bubbles to pop.

Behind you, Vernon leaned his chin on his hand, just… watching.

“Can I help?” he asked.

“You are helping. You’re existing. That’s all I need from you today. Just sit there and look pretty.”

He smiled, small but real.

Soon enough, pancakes were stacking on a plate, syrup was ready, and you dropped fresh strawberries into the blender with ice cream and milk. The whirring filled the kitchen like a happy hum, and Vernon’s face lit up when he saw the pink swirl.

“You made a milkshake?”

“For us. I’m not gonna sit here and drink something cute while you gnaw on bread.”

“I feel like this is a full-on intervention.”

“It is. And it’s not over yet.”

You set the plates and tall glasses down at the table, nudging him gently. “Eat. Like a loved man.”

He laughed, shaking his head as you both sat down. “You’re too good to me.”

“Someone has to be. You clearly weren’t being good to yourself.”

He picked up a fork, took a bite, and then let out a noise so soft and satisfied it made your heart do a little flip.

“I missed this,” he said between bites. “Us eating together.”

You smiled around a strawberry. “Then don’t skip it next time just because I sleep in. If I catch you eating sad bread again, I swear…”

“What? You’ll cry?”

“Worse. I’ll film it and send it to your mom. Caption it: ‘Look what your son’s resorted to.’”

He snorted mid-chew. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

He leaned over the table, brushing a crumb off your cheek with his thumb. “Thanks for this,” he said quietly.

You looked at him for a long moment, your heart warm and full. “Anytime. Always.”

You clinked your milkshake glasses together like it was toast, and dug into breakfast, wrapped in the kind of comfort that only came from being with someone who made even jam and bread emergencies feel soft and funny in the end.

See more...

[wendichester]

Dearest,

Once you have the time and are in the mood, would you be so kind and write a little piece about the reader dramatically mourning the loss of Sam’s beard in season 14? Like, “Who’s this stranger?”, while absolutely forgetting he was like that for most of the time, or “I won’t kiss you till it grows back” while already kissing him…

Thank you so much,

Len

｡𖦹°‧⭑ in loving memory,

summary. sam shaved. you were not expecting it.

pairing. s14!sam winchester x reader genre. silly fluff

wordcount. 502

notes / warnings. obsessed with this idea. thank you oh so much for requesting, len 🩷

You gasp so hard it echoes through the halls of the bunker.

“Oh my god.”

Sam turns around mid-step, brow furrowed, lips parted. “What—?”

You stagger back, hand to your chest like you’ve been struck. “Who are you?”

He blinks. “What?”

“Where’s Sam?” You look him over, horrified. “Oh my god. You shaved.”

Sam touches his now-smooth jaw like he forgot. “Yeah. This morning.”

“No.” You shake your head. “Not this. This is—this is treason.”

Sam sighs, amused, but clearly not surprised. “It’s just a beard.”

“Just a beard?” You walk a slow, dramatic circle around him like he’s a ghost you’re trying to banish. “That was not just a beard. That was a character arc. That was emotional support facial hair.”

Sam crosses his arms, clearly fighting back a smile. “You hated it when I first grew it.”

“Yeah, and I hated spinach too, but I evolved. I grew. I fell in love with it. With him.” You gesture mournfully to the memory of the beard, eyes misting. “He was strong. He was wise. He made you look like a rugged lumberjack philosopher and now…” You pause, squinting up at him. “You look twelve.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I do not.”

“You absolutely do.” You cross your arms. “What even possessed you?”

“I just… felt like shaving.”

You clutch the wall. “God. The betrayal.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m grieving!”

“You saw me without it for years,” Sam points out, smiling now. “Like, most of the time we’ve known each other, I didn’t have a beard.”

“And I didn’t know what I had back then,” you whisper solemnly. “I was blind. I didn’t understand the gift that had been bestowed upon me.”

Sam steps closer, looming with his usual gentleness. “You’ll survive.”

You look up at him, narrowing your eyes. “I won’t kiss you till it grows back.”

He tilts his head. “Sure you won’t.”

“I’m serious, Samuel.” You poke his chest. “No kisses. I’ll pine. I’ll write poetry in its honor. I’ll light a candle in the bathroom where you trimmed it.”

Sam just leans in and kisses you. Full, warm, slow. And goddamn it, you kiss him right back.

When he pulls away, you blink up at him, stunned. “That was cheating.”

“I don’t hear you complaining.”

You huff, scowling half-heartedly. “Fine. But you’re on thin ice.”

He brushes his knuckles down your cheek. “Want me to grow it back?”

You pause. “Yes. But also, no. I mean—you’re hot either way, it’s just…” You trail off, scrunching your nose. “I miss the beard. He was like a friend to me.”

Sam chuckles. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You knew what this was when you fell in love with me.”

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in again, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Next time I’ll ask before I betray your heart and your jawline loyalty.”

You sigh, defeated and already nestled against his chest. “You better. Or I’ll hex you with patchy regrowth.”

He laughs. “Noted.”

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[stevieschrodinger]

Link to Part Two

Part One

Eddie stares down at the plastic doodad. It proudly declares the word ‘pregnant’ on the little screen, cheerily oblivious to the fact that it's just ruined Eddie’s whole fucking life. It’s a word as well, the actual fucking word, ‘pregnant’ shown oh so confidently on the little screen. Eddie’s done a test before, one time when he had a scare as a teenager, that had been the sort that showed one line or two.

One lines for not, two for...are. Two would have looked like prison bars, which would have been ironic given being saddled with a pup is probably pretty equivalent to 25 to life.

Anyway. Eddie shakes it. Looks again. Throws the fucking thing in the bin.

Well fuck.

Eddie contemplates, very very briefly, getting rid of it. His mind and body recoil from that thought the same way it would from, like, rotted tuna. Or someone else's puke. Or like...salad.

Eddie’s Omega’s got a lot of needs and no Alpha willing to fill them. Eddie gets by, fobbing his Omega off with with a couple of short term friends with benefits arrangements and the odd one night stand. Mostly his Omega can’t tell the difference between having an Alpha and having any Alpha, so he makes do. It scratches the itch.

Unfortunately, that means this pup could have been fathered by any one of three dudes, and Eddie doesn’t have a fucking clue which of them it would be. Eddie would really rather not it be Alpha A, Alpha B is a piece of work with a big dick, and what's behind door number three would be potentially catastrophic.

Anyway. Eddie makes a decision at two am in his apartment bathroom, and it starts with two text messages, an email, and a phone call.

“Thanks for doing this so on the spur man,” Eddie tells his landlord as he hands over the keys. Ex landlord. It was only a room in a shared place. Had to share the bathroom on this floor with two other dudes, but, meh. It had been perfect for what Eddie needed, and more importantly, within Eddie’s budget.

His whole life is sitting in the back of his van, barely filling a third of the back. Which is ideal really, made clearing out quick and easy and Eddie’s uncertain about weather or not he should be doing any heavy lifting right now.

He makes three stop offs before he leaves for good, shifting the very last of his product at discount prices. He mournfully throws in his last two boxes of cigs with the last deal; going cold turkey is going to be the opposite of fun, but Eddie’s in it to win it, and he’s going to try his best as of right now.

Wayne already has the door open when Eddie hops out of his van, beer in hand, eyebrow raised, “heya old man.”

When Wayne sees Eddie dragging bags out, he lifts the brim of his cap, puts it back again, and heads inside. Eddie sees him move a couple of things out of Eddie’s old room, and although it’s empty and the bed is stripped to nothing, it’s untouched, “how long you back for?” Wayne asks him, offering a beer.

Eddie looks at the offered bottle, dripping condensation, and very pointedly doesn’t take it “so, about that.”

There’s a long drawn out moment, and Eddie’s sees the realization dawn, “oh Ed.”

“You like kids!”

Wayne sighs, pulls Eddie into a hug, “I just hope they sleep better’n you did. Don’t think I can go through that again.”

Eddie snorts a laugh into Wayne’s shoulder, all relieved. He hadn't doubted for a second that Wayne would back his play, Wayne's always been unshakably team Eddie, but to hear it said in no uncertain terms is still a huge weight lifted.

Eddie’s got a slightest curve of a bump, small enough that it’s not nearly noticeable yet, especially with Eddie’s usual wardrobe. To go along with his bump, he’s got a scan booked at the Omega Health place, an insatiable craving for garlic mushrooms, and a job.

An actual honest job. Alright, a temp job, because he’s pregnant and no one in their right mind is going to hire a pregnant Omega for a full time permanent gig. So he is, conveniently enough, covering maternity leave for a beta girl at the record store. But that doesn’t matter right now, the moons aligned, and Eddie jumped at the opportunity. He’s going to have a secure pay check for the next seven or so months, and right this second, that’s what counts.

He can’t drink. He can’t smoke. He can’t do drugs and he’s most certainly not going to party. Eddie does the next best thing he can think of; he goes to the library. This is his reward now, his fun, his safe space; he’s going to reward himself with a good book. A good free book.

Turns out registering himself for a library card is a ten minute thing, and then he’s done, bit of plastic in hand, he wonders the shelves looking for the fantasy section. He rounds the corner into the main room only to find a dude reading and signing along to a bunch of little kids. He has the book propped up on a thing to keep his hands free and the pages open so the kids can see.

He’s encouraging them to sign along with a bunch of the words.

He has good hair...like, really good hair. There’s something familiar about the guy that Eddie can't place...until he does.

Holy fucking shit. That’s King Steve.

And he’s in a library...wearing fucking gold rimmed spectacles and a sweater vest.

And he’s hot. He’s still hot. He laughs at something and leans forward to help a toddler with the placement of her chubby little fingers and Eddie’s ovaries fucking explode.

He walks away. For self preservation he walks away. He forgets what he just saw because there was no way it was real. He’s been going through a dry spell, hasn’t got laid since he moved back to Hawkins and now he’s seeing mirages of his high school crush, that’s all.

That’s all it can be.

Until Eddie goes to the fancy scanner machine to check out his little pile of four paperback fantasy books and a deep Alpha voice is asking if he needs anything and he’s, like, right there. And he smells of library and Alpha and whatever nice thing he washes his fucking sweater vests in.

Jesus.

“No,” Eddie squeaks, “I’m okay.”

“Eddie?” Steve frowns at him, tilting his read and looking over the top of his glasses in a way that should be fucking criminal, “Eddie Munson right? I thought you moved away?”

“I have. Did. I mean, I did do that. Previously. Back now. Clearly.” Shut up shut up shut up and Steve can probably smell his embarrassment because he’s standing closely enough to clearly scent Eddie and Steve’s senses must be absolutely pinpoint because his eyes drop to Eddie’s stomach, then spring up to his neck. He frowns, like, the tiniest bit.

Eddie’s pregnant, and unmated, and Steve’s clocked that in about four seconds flat which, great. Humiliation complete.

But Steve’s face clears as quick as it had clouded, the whole thing passing so fast Eddie’s now not even sure he saw it, “so it’d been cool to catch up, you wanna wait a minute, I’m just about to have lunch?”

“Errr…I mean. I wouldn't want to impose or anything-”

“Steve!” And holy shit, if Steve is the ghost of Christmas past or some shit, the second ghost just rocked up in the form of Robin fucking Buckley of all people. Eddie doesn't even understand why they’re even friends, Steve was a topnotch jock and a total fucking dickwad, and Buckley was a band nerd.

This makes less sense than Steve’s sweater vest.

“Yeah, come on Eddie, lets go sit outside,” Eddie gets tugged along in their wake, somehow, and ends up sitting on a bench outside in the sun.

Robin had a bag of take out in her hand which she gives to Steve, and he takes out a carton of something that instantly makes Eddie’s mouth water, Eddie looks back up in time to catch Steve widening his eyes at Robin, tilting his head off to the side sharply in silent gesture for her to fuck off over there. She signs something, real quick. Steve nods.

Eddie doesn’t know a single lick of sign language, but he's pretty sure that even if he did, what happened was so fast he would have missed it anyway, “so, Eddie, great to see you, but I, shit, pretty sure I’ve left the...stove on.”

Eddie frowns at the take out and back to Robin but before he can point out what a steaming pile of bullshit that is, she’s already power walking off and shouting, “byyyyeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

“I, ah, got garlic mushrooms and broccoli and some stirfry-”

It’s too late for Eddie. He’s done. Stick a fork in him. He has no idea what’s happening here but he zones in on the garlic mushroom part of that like a heat seeking missile. A secondary part of his brain is screaming loudly that the Alpha has provided, the Alpha wants to share his food with Eddie. Alpha Alpha Alpha.

Eddie takes the container and the bamboo spork thing Steve hands him, “sorry, I never get chopsticks, no fucking clue how to use them.”

“I can show you,” Eddie says, without thinking it through or registering the implication or stopping to swallow, which means he just spoke with his mouth full of food.

“I’d like that,” Steve tells him, “when can I take you out for dinner?”

Which, Eddie’s brain does stall out there. Because. Well. Lots of things. But he was pretty certain Steve had clocked his specific circumstances earlier, but now he’s not so sure, “I’m pupped,” his mouth supplies without his permission, so he shoves a whole thing of broccoli in there to try and stop it happening again.

Steve hums, eating his beef thing very neatly, “no bite though,” he points out, and Eddie makes an agreeable noise, “maybe we can fix that,” Eddie nearly chokes.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drabble Roulette: F*ck Machine - Bucky Barnes

Hey hey! This weekend (July 6 -7) I’m going to be playing drabble roulette! I’ve curated a list of characters, tropes, AUs, and kinks and I’m spinning the wheel! Hopefully I can do this once a month as a little writing exercise.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Warnings: this drabble includes BDSM elements, sex toys, sexual acts. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Explicit, 18+.

“You have to trust me, baby,” Bucky’s calloused fingertips brush down your spine. 

You whimper again. Every inch of you is overwrought, speckled in goosebumps, your veins hot but your skin chilled. The mingling of sensations and lack thereof has you close to mindless.  

His touch lingers along the curve of your ass. The imprint of his hand stings there still, thrumming as he tickles the tortured flesh. He snickers as you twitch. 

“Oh, baby doll,” he purrs and gropes you meanly with one hand as your lashes flutter against the dark fabric. The blindfold makes everything so much more intense; his voice, his touch, his very presence. “Don’t you trust me?” He pinches your ass and you squeak, thighs clenching as the stickiness cools in the creases. “You can speak.” 

“Yes, Sergeant,” you babble. 

“Good girl. Now keep the pretty mouth shut,” he slides two fingers between your cheeks and swipes down to your cunt. You spasm as he delves inside without hesitation, burying himself once more to his knuckles. The noise your flesh makes around him sets you alight. “Mmm, listen to you. You just can’t get enough.” 

He slides out and smacks your ass again. You yelp and your legs give out, your arms bending as you barely keep from hitting your stomach. He hisses and grabs your hips, lifting you to your knees. You push your arms straight again. 

“Up. Bad!” He spanks you again, the sound reverberating in your skull. 

“Sorry, Ser--” 

“I said mouth shut,” he snarls. “You want more? Fine. You’ll get more.” 

He moves and you quiver again. His footsteps are all that’s clear. The heavy treads landing decisively. Then a squeak and an odd rolling. Friction on the floor. You want to look so badly but you have to obey. Keep your hands flat and your knees locked. 

“I should do it myself,” he drones mournfully, “but you didn’t earn that.” 

There’s a coolness that trickles between your cheeks. You shudder and his fingers follow the flow. He smears the lube around your ring. 

“You should thank me for that at least.” 

“Thank you, Sergeant.” 

“Now say please,” he draws his hand away. 

“Please, Sergeant,” you babble. You don’t even know what you’re asking for. 

“Hmm, baby doll,” he tuts and you feel something along your ass. The hard silicon pokes at your puckered hole and you gasp. He growls. You seal your lips, biting down as you brace yourself. He rubs the top of your ass, “better ease up.” 

Click. A switch flips and you’re stretched by the artificial tip. Deeper, deeper, deeper. Slow but certain. You shake as it dips to your limit and your stomach knots. As it pulls back you quake out a breath. It starts again, in, out. Torturously. 

Bucky hums and his fingers crawl down your thighs. There’s another click. The dildo moves quicker. Not much, but enough to notice. He feels along your cunt as your insides clench. In, out, in, out. 

Click. The hum of the motor continues as he pushes the machine up another level. As he does, he pushes into you with his other hand. Two fingers, then three. He works in tandem with the toy. 

“Good girl,” he coaxes as he lines up the next finger and the machine clicks again. You pant in time with the dildo’s intrusion, shaking as you push your head back and arch your spine. “You like being full, don’t you, baby doll?” 

[literaila]

gojo is the type of scare kid megumi that the teeth that just fell out will never grow back again

“i need the first aid kit,” megumi says, a scowl already in his voice.

does satoru flinch away from the seven year old? well, um… maybe a little bit. but to be fair he was very distracted trying to pick out a new photo to set as his home screen.

should it be you wearing his glasses with a dopey smile? or tsumiki holding that kitten you said they couldn’t keep? he still can’t decide.

…and he’d forgotten that megumi was even home.

(when satoru decided to become a father, he didn’t think it would include several heart attacks and being physically tormented every day.)

after a moment of reflection, satoru scoffs, readjusting his glasses and sparring megumi a glance—the frown was expected honestly. “what happened to ‘hi, how are you?’”

“i don’t care,” the boy answers, shaking his head. “it’s not under the sink.”

“what isn’t?”

“the first aid kit.”

the look megumi is giving him is a little bit insulting, actually. it’s not satoru’s fault he wasn’t blessed with telepathy. or that someone lost the first aid kit (it was him).

“what’d you need it for?”

megumi huffs, gesturing vaguely to himself. he is a boy of many words.

satoru raises a brow. “do i need to call y/n?”

“no,” megumi’s arms are crossed, defensiveness a personality trait. “i just need some gauze.”

“for what, kid?”

“i lost something.”

satoru snorts, inspecting him. he doesn’t look all that different—he could use a hair cut but that’s nothing new. “your hand? an eyeball? elaborate.”

“i lost… my tooth.”

satoru blinks.

and then he leans himself on the arm rest, a smile making its way to his face. it’s a bit devious because satoru can’t remember the last time megumi had to concede to anything. or answered a single question, actually.

he’s so lucky you’re not home right now.

megumi is looking at him blankly, a slight pink to his cheeks—he absolutely hates it when satoru gives him that look. which satoru knows very well.

satoru gestures at the boy, tilting his head.

megumi sighs, looking towards the wall. and then, very reluctantly, he opens his mouth, leaning his head back so satoru can see.

the boy had already lost his front teeth before satoru ever got the chance to torment him about it, but he’ll take what he can get now.

there’s a little bit of blood coming from his mouth—which you would tell him is a tale tell sign that megumi has been messing with his teeth—but it doesn’t even look that bad.

satoru has seen plenty worse from cursed spirits, and besides, he doesn’t care.

“yup,” satoru makes a face, shaking his head mournfully. “looks rotten to me.”

megumi automatically snaps his mouth shut, eyes widening at him. “what?”

“where’s the tooth? i need to check it for disease.”

“what disease?”

“if you grind your teeth too much they start to deteriorate,” satoru says, tone overly condescending. “they can’t get infected. don’t you know that?”

megumi takes a step back, still crossing his arms. “i don’t grind my teeth.”

satoru laughs, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s hair—ignoring the push he gets when he does (he’s seven. why is he so strong?) “keep telling yourself that, kid.”

“i don’t.”

“your attitude problem is no secret, bud.”

“i’m not your bud.”

“you better go get that tooth,” he leans back on the couch, feigning indifference. “so we can mail it to your doctor.”

“that’s gross.”

“okay,” satoru shrugs. “if you want to die, it’s whatever. less work for me.”

“i’m not going to die,” megumi goes to stand in front of him, staring a hole into satoru’s head.

“we’ll see.”

“i’m not,” megumi kicks his foot, indignantly. “that’s not even how teeth work.”

“i think i would know how they work. you know, since im older than you?”

“and dumber.”

satoru only laughs—very entertained by the slight panic twinge to megumi’s voice—and doesn’t respond.

it works on megumi the same way it works on you—the silence absolutely must be filled.

satoru is a little gleeful, honestly. megumi very rarely falls victim to his tricks—or, at least, unintentionally victim.

“can you call a doctor now?” he asks, gruffly. “to get it checked?”

satoru glances at him, a tiny smile on his lips. “i thought you didn’t want to get it checked. i thought that wasn’t how teeth worked.”

“you just said that—“

and megumi is basically whining, foot stomping on the ground, anger something more like worry—but then the front door opens and he stops.

satoru throws his head back in a silent groan. of course you would show up just in time to ruin all of his fun.

“hey, megs,” you say as you walk into the living room, bag slung across your shoulder. “how was school? is tsumiki back yet?”

megumi goes up to you, frowning. “do i need to go to the doctor to get my teeth checked?”

you tilt your head, giving satoru a knowing glance. “did something happen?”

“our boy is turning into a man,” satoru says for both of them, standing up. “losing all of his teeth, greying hair. they grow up so fast.” a hand goes to his chest, and megumi pushes off the arm he tries to sling around the boys shoulder.

you give megumi a small smile, ignoring satoru. “did you lose a tooth?”

“gojo said that it’s infected. do we have to send it to the doctor?”

you frown, hard eyes meeting satoru’s. “why would it be infected, gojo?”

his hands immediately go up in defense. “hey, i’m just trying to teach the kid about the importance of dental hygiene—“

“he’s messing with you,” you tell megumi, patting his head. and then you look back up to satoru with a scowl. “and what would you know about dental hygiene?”

satoru crosses his arms. “i know all about—“

you shake your head, pushing past him. “does your mouth hurt?” you ask megumi. “is it still bleeding?”

“a little.”

“where’s the first aid kit?” you turn back to satoru, unamused.

he grins. “what’s that?”

you flick his forehead and turn away. “show me the tooth, huh? we’ll have to put it under your pillow so the tooth fairy comes tonight.”

you’re both walking away, heading towards the bathroom, and satoru hears megumi say, “i know that’s not real.”

“you know nothing,” you’re telling him, and satoru gasps as you both disappear.

“what do you mean ‘not real!?’” he calls, but no one is listening.

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Was having a conversation with a friend about Old League lore. It got me curious, is Garens character still basically analogous to a genocide general, what with the mage hunt and all that, or has that largely been retconned away? I'm as familiar with league lore as I used to be.

It's more or less as it was. Mageseeker and the Lux comic have attempted to cast him as a reluctant soldier trying to resist bad orders to the best of his ability, but they haven't ever actually reckoned with any of his culpability and hypocrisy. It's one of those situations where the actions he is depicted as undertaking are astonishingly heinous when you think about them for even two seconds, but the story is invested in making sure you know that he personally feels very bad about doing it, and that in the name of nuance and fairness you should therefore be willing to be sympathetic with him.

Which. Y'know.

Asking us to hold sympathy for a guy who is dragging Extremely Obvious Metaphor For Queer People off to concentration, forced conversion and extermination camps is... I mean it was always a bit of an ask to make of a literate audience, but it's becoming ever more so as Current Year drags on.

idk I just don't have a lot of patience, in the present moment, for stories that try to leave heroic narrative space for people who hold pathetic loyalty to bad institutions, and commit atrocities in their name while shaking their head the whole time so everyone knows they mournfully disagree with what is currently being done, by them.

And if Garen was actually meant to be understood as some of the lowest scum of the earth: someone who knows better and does evil anyway, then that would make for an interesting story, but he's pretty consistently framed as a tragic figure doomed by his noble loyalty to a higher ideal, and oh don't you relate to his deep and complex struggle, such difficult moral questions he faces.

It feels telling of the audience that the story is written for, and the perspective it is written from.

[p0orbaby]

Would you do a blurb with Leah getting the flu while your on holiday?

i went with stomach flu cause i’ve already done a few colds

TW for mentions of vomit

-

This was not the dream getaway you’d planned. The Maldives had promised pristine beaches, crystal-clear waters, and candlelit dinners. Instead, you’re crouched in the bathroom of your luxury villa, holding Leah’s hair back as she dry-heaves into the toilet.

“Kill me,” she croaks between retches, voice echoing mournfully off the marble tiles.

“You’re not dying, Leah,” you say, even though she looks very much like someone auditioning for a low-budget zombie film. Sweat sticks to her forehead, and her skin is pale with a greenish tinge.

“Feels like I am,” she mutters, slumping against the wall. Her eyes are half-closed, the faint light overhead casting unflattering shadows on her gaunt face.

You pass her the glass of water you’d been holding, which she takes with trembling hands. “Sip, don’t gulp,” you remind her.

“I know how to drink water,” she snaps weakly, then immediately coughs like a toddler who’s just choked on juice.

“Clearly”

You lean back on your heels, surveying the scene. There’s a pile of damp towels in the corner (your failed attempt to mop up earlier mishaps) and an untouched plate of crackers on the sink ledge (your optimistic effort to reintroduce food).

“You’ve ruined my holiday, you know,” you say lightly, breaking the silence.

Her head snaps up, eyes wide with indignation. “Your holiday? I’m the one throwing up my soul here!”

“And I’m the one living with it,” you counter, smirking.

“Wow,” she deadpans, leaning back against the tiles. “Someone call the Vatican, my saintly partner is really showing their true colours”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Sorry, would you like me to write a sonnet about how much I love mopping up sick at 2 a.m.?”

She tries to glare at you but ends up burping instead. You both pause, her face shifting from mortification to panic.

“Bathroom bin,” you say quickly, shoving it into her lap just in time for another round of misery.

By the time she’s done, she’s groaning like an extra in a war film. “If I survive this, I’m never eating shellfish again”

“That’s what you said after your last stomach bug,” you remind her.

“This time I mean it,” she mumbles, slumping sideways until her head rests against your thigh.

You stroke her hair absentmindedly, feeling a flicker of guilt for teasing her earlier. Sure, she’s dramatic, but there’s something endearing about how utterly pitiful she becomes when she’s ill.

After a few minutes, she speaks again, voice muffled against your leg. “You’re going to wash those pyjamas, right?”

You look down at the now-questionable state of your favourite sleepwear and sigh. “You owe me new ones”

She grins faintly, despite everything. “Deal”

[bandgie]

Dolly From the Garden | Ep.4

MASTERLIST | Kink: Overstimulation

🗝 Reality is often cruel, much like the thorns you pick from the abandoned garden. The man who lives on the other side of the hill decides to pay you another visit, but this time, he brings gifts.

6.3k words

warnings! MDNI 18+, fem!reader, reader is a bit of a dom/mean with han, finger sucking (m!), cowgirl, mating press, PIV, no protection, sex outside, cumming on tits, pussy eating/play, multiple orgasms (f!), face riding (m!rec), hair pulling (m!rec)

notes! chat, I did not mean to make it this long 😔 we're getting near the end so there will be a bunch of info dumping sorryyy. is the smut as good as I wanted it to be? you tell me.

It’s been a while since you’ve had a nightmare. Not the kind where you wake up scared or in a cold sweat, but when the dread of your dream sits in your stomach. 

Something isn’t right.

Trying to shake off the feeling is harder than you thought. Even when kissing Chan and Changbin goodbye, you watch almost mournfully at the front door. The car engine runs and they soon drive off to the studio.

You wish they didn’t leave. Maybe if you kissed them harder and held onto them a little together, they wouldn’t have left you alone in the apartment. Each groan and crack of the old building sounds like laughter, mocking you in a way that feels silly and shameful.

You need to get out. 

You planned to clean the garden. The sky might not be the bluest, but you almost find relief in the dull colors. The sun is covered by clouds, which would be gloomy in any other instance, but cools down the sweat dripping down your back.

Pull by pull. Weed by weed, you tug the plant from its roots.You’re not wearing any gardening gloves, but the dull pain of thorns helps your mind from wandering to your nightmare. The black cat. The blue eyes. His warnings.

If you come back here again, we won’t let you leave.

But they can’t keep you hostage in a dream. All you have to do is open your eyes and be back at home with Chris and Changbin, safe and sound. You’re the one dreaming about these guys. You're making them up in your head because you can’t keep it in your pants. The thought of them being real, of everything being real, that’s just not possible.

Is it?

“You’re gonna need way more than one person to clean up this garden.”

You scream before the words register. You hadn’t even heard Jisung’s footsteps. Not if they crunched the dead leaves or squashed rotten fruit. His wide eyes are all you see when you whip your head, arms out like you're ready to shield yourself from the threat.

“Jesus fucking christ! You scared the shit outta me!”

He puts his arms up in surrender. “Fuck! Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Jisung brings his hand to his ear, rubbing it in soothing circles from your screech. You only feel a sliver of guilt, but when you remember this is the second time he’s scared you in a matter of a week, it fizzles away.

“Are you following me again?”

His cheeks flush. “No! Stop saying that! This garden doesn’t belong to you!”

“I live here! So it does, actually.”

“You’re wrong. I own the Pink Palace, so technically, it’s mine.”

You would like to keep going back and forth just to see his cheeks pout, but you raise an eyebrow instead. “I thought you said your grandma did.” 

Jisung blinks, “Same thing.”

Weirdo. “I don’t see your little cat anywhere.” You look around the garden. “Did he finally grow a brain and run away?”

Teasing Jisung is too much fun. You grin when he lets out a huff and crosses his arms. “He didn’t run away and he’s not my cat. He’s on time-out.”

“Time-out?” You laugh a little. “What’d he do?”

Jisung’s fingers squeeze his biceps anxiously. His eyes dart around before they land on the ground. “Just be a bad kitty.”

They like things that listen. They want a pet. And I’m hardly one to behave.

And you have to ignore the mischievous glint in Jisung’s eyes when he says ‘kitty.’

You clear your throat. Memories of your…dream rush back. As creeped out as you were when you woke up, your underwear was still drenched. “A-anywho, help me clean this garden up. An owner is supposed to take care of their things, right?”

He shrugs. “I try.”

Jisung rolls his sleeve and grabs a garden shovel, kneeling on the dirty ground just like you.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. The point of his tool hits the hard dirt, barely making a dent. He stabs the ground with murderous intent but only specks of dirt fly.

He notices you watching him. “What?”

“You’ll need a way bigger shovel, but I can have my roommates do that part. Just get the hose.”

You hear him mumble something about the fact that he can do it himself, but he listens anyway. Jisung reaches for the hose and hands it to you. “Now what.”

“Turn it on, doofus.”

“Oh.” 

You giggle when he stands, walking towards the edge of the garden to twist the faucet. It doesn’t take long to hear the water running, but nothing sprouts from your end. You hold the pipe to your face and close one eye.

“Is it on?” Jisung’s voice carries in the air. 

“No.” You shake your head. “There might be a kink-”

“Oh shit. I’m standing on it.”

Water shoots on your face almost immediately. You open your mouth to yelp, but you end up choking. You can feel the coldness run down your neck, soaking your shirt and the top of your shorts.

At least you aren’t sweating anymore.

“Oh my god.” Jisung’s approaching steps are cautious. “I’m so sorry. I- I didn’t know you were holding it.”

The hose now lies on the ground, turning the dirt into mud. You stand and wipe your eyes, flicking the droplets off your fingers. The shirt clinging to your torso feels uncomfortable but you don’t notice how Jisung’s eyes fall to your chest. The first thing you see is his blushing face and gawking stare.

Your bra is evident underneath. Although wearing a white top isn’t ideal while gardening, it was an old shirt you didn’t care to dirty.

You didn’t plan on it turning transparent.

“What? Never seen a girl in a bra before?” You try to sound snarky, but it comes off flirtatious. 

Jisung gulps and struggles to make eye contact. “I just- I didn’t expect that- I didn’t mean-” His brain goes haywire when you step closer, smiling like you caught his hand in the cookie jar.

“You’re a real perv, you know?” You prowl towards him. “Stalking me, watching me, accidentally getting my shirt wet...”

“It-it-it was an accident!”

“Now look,” you ignore his panicking. “You can see everything.”

You have to keep yourself from laughing when his eyes bug from you pressing your breasts together. Water drips off your shirt from the squeeze, but the sight is arousing. You grip yourself in slow circles and let the material hug your body as it pleases. 

“You could have just asked, you know?”

With your hands trailing to the bottom of your shirt, you peel the dripping shirt off. It lands on the dirt with a wet plop leaving you in your bra.

A bold move you would never do so openly, but there’s no one for miles. There’s only you, Jisung, and his half-boner poking through his shorts.

He covers his eyes and walks backward. “Wait! I didn’t- this wasn’t my intention.” You can see the flush in his neck as you stalk towards him. “I-I’m not a perv and I said I was sorry!”

“Oh.” You pout. “So you don’t like them?”

“Well, I mean, I didn’t say that- Ah!” He trips, falling on his ass with a thud that makes you wince. You kick the loose brick away and get on your knees, straddling Jisung’s lap and pushing him down until he’s flat on the dirt.

His entire face is red. He’s still hiding his eyes behind his hand, but you can see his quivering lip and pink ears.

“Aww, are you okay?” You mock sympathy, rubbing your hands up and down his torso. “You should really look where you’re going.”

You laugh when he whines, pathetic and anxious. Jisung has enough bravery to lower his arm just slightly, revealing his teary eyes. 

“I feel like you’re making fun of me.”

You grin. “Maybe a little. But your dick’s poking me pretty hard, so I think it’s safe to say you like it.”

It’s been a while since someone’s looked at you so submissively. You’ve been on the bottom for so long now that you can’t help the way your cunt buzzes from Jisung’s doe eyes.

A grind from your hips makes him gasp. 

“Right here?” He has to whisper it. “Don’t you live with roommates?”

Geez. Maybe he is a bit of a stalker. “They’re at work, but I can call them to come back if you want.”

“No!” Jisung shouts this time. “D-don’t be mean.”

But it’s hard not to. He’s too easy to tease. Jisung can only whimper when you slowly rut against his cock, gripping onto his pecs for leverage. He opts to cover his mouth instead of his eyes, muffling the mewls that sound like music to your ears.

Jisung only moves his arm away from his face when you reach for his elastic band. You think he might stop you, but his fingers dig into your waist instead. Jisung helps you hover just enough to pull his shorts down, his bulge prominent in boxers.

“For me?” You laugh when he blushes again. All that scaring you and whining about how mean you are was simply him trying to hit on you.

The pitiful attempts are almost cute.

Jisung doesn’t say anything as you reach into the slit of his boxers and pull his erection out, hot and heavy. He hisses from the cold air, but your warm hand is quick to soothe it. 

There’s a dab of precum on his flushed tip that you roll over with your thumb. His hips buck from the sensitivity, but he keeps his hands on your hips obediently.

“Such a good boy, huh?” You tug upwards on his cock, watching his back arch and thud on the ground when you stroke down. “Good boys are my favorite. You know that?” 

He shakes his head, a bit of drool seeping from the corner of his mouth. Your free hand reaches for his pink face and scoops the saliva back into his mouth, popping your thumb between his lips.

Your shorts are loose enough to pull them to the side, abandoning his cock for a moment. You pull your underwear along with it and plant your bare, wet pussy on him.

Jisung sucks your thumb with a groan.

“Yeah.” You find momentum easily. “Keep sucking it, baby.”

You briefly think about how much fun Chan would have with him.

Jisung’s tongue rolls over your digit encouragingly. It must taste like sweat and dirt, but he moans at the flavor nonetheless. The tip of his tongue flicks your thumb quickly, mimicking how he would if it was your clit.

You can feel how your pussy throbs at the thought. His cock is more than hard enough beneath you, but his mouth is so warm. If you close your eyes, you can perfectly picture his tongue and cock rubbing on your cunt, licking at your nub, and prodding your entrance.

Moving into a squat with your feet planted on the dirt, you angle his cock upwards. His eyes lock with yours and he squeals with your thumb in his mouth.

“Don’t cum too quick.”

Jisung’s lips release your digit when you sink down. Every vein, curve, and dip of his cock drags between your walls. You break eye contact and watch how your cunt opens for him, folds spreading and lewdly squelching.

His cock is the perfect medium from Chan and Changbin. Not quite as thick, not quite as long, but still good. It makes you clench around his length when you settle fully on him, thighs burning.

“Oh! Oh oh oooh.” His eyes roll back and he can’t help but press his hips up, flush against you. It makes your legs quiver, but Jisung has the mind to move his hands under your thighs for support.

“Tight. Y-you’re so warm. Mmm.” He lifts his head to see where you connect. “D-don’t move.”

You scoff. He’s twitching inside you, pulsing rhythmically. His hazy eyes and drooly lips make it seem as though you’ve been bouncing on his cock for hours when in reality, he just slipped in.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Slowly, you raise a few inches. He thrashes his head side to side when you slide back down.

“Wait! Please! I wanna be good. Let me be good! I can’t- I’ll cum.” His voice breaks off in a whine when you keep bouncing.

The slide of his cock is too addicting. The last dick you had inside of you, awake, was almost a week ago. As much pleasure you feel with your cunt gripping and leaking, there’s a sense of relief having sex outside of your dream world.

Both of your hands land on his shoulders. Your legs scream for a rest, but putting some weight on your arms helps. It’s easier to rock rather than bounce this way. Your hips roll deeply until Jisung begins to move with you.

“Thought you said you didn’t wanna finish.” You pant. The sun beams on your back uncomfortably, sweat gathering on your bra. You use a hand to swiftly pull your tits from the cups, right in Jisung’s view.

Eyes lock with your breasts immediately. A guttural sound leaves his chest and the grip on your thighs tense, making your body bounce again. Jisung’s skin slaps on yours harshly until your tits jiggle uncontrollably.

You moan so loudly it almost sounds like a scream. Jisung’s thrusts force you to match his pace, to feel his tip hit the deepest part of you repeatedly. Even if your legs burn, it’s nothing compared to the fire building in your stomach.

He doesn’t have to use both hands to support you anymore, choosing to use an elbow to prop himself up until his mouth can swallow one of your tits.

Thrusting into you is a lot harder in this position, but you’re grateful for the slowness. You can feel how his cheeks hollow and suck. Even when his teeth lightly bite on your nipple, tugging until he can feel it harden in his mouth. 

And when he flicks his tongue on it harshly, you clench around him.

“Fuck. ‘m trying. I’m trying so hard not to.” Jisung sits up more, popping your breast from his lips and wrapping his arms around your torso. You don’t have an option other than to wrap your legs around his thin waist and let him guide you down, reversing the position until he’s on top of you.

He licks your boobs again. “But your pussy’s too good.”

You nearly laugh, but a sharp thrust has you keening instead. Your ankles cross around his torso and you arch your back, having his cock hit a gummy spot that makes you see stars.

Jisung’s doesn’t have to rub your clit to bring you close. He fucks you so deep that his pelvis rubs your peak perfectly. It makes that desire in your belly grow, clenching and leaking until you think you‘re going to finish first.

“Yesyesyes. Fuck me, Hannie. Feels so good.” You tug on his hair as he sucks on your nipples.

A desperate whine leaves him, looking up at you with boba eyes. Jisung licks over your boob one more time before he lets go, eyes shining. “Yeah? Am I good?”

“So so so good.” You pull him up until he’s inches from your face. “Gonna make me cum.”

Maybe it’s the close proximity or the heat of the moment, but Jisung kisses you. His lips crush yours uncoordinatedly, but you welcome it happily. You can taste your sweat on his tongue. He runs the muscle over your own and swirls his tongue.

The two of you pant and moan into each other’s mouth until he pulls away, strings of saliva connecting your lips. You chase him for a second, looking up at him in a daze and biting your lower lip.

“Can I- can I cum on your tits?” Jisung’s out of breath. He’s steadily pounding into you like he’s a pro, but you can tell his need to cum is getting to him.

Yours too, if you’re being truthful. The back of your shorts is soaked with arousal and your underwear is far worse. Even with all the sweat and drool seeping down, you can feel that your cunt is the wettest.

And the picture of him finishing on your breasts has you oozing more.

“Only if you make me cum first.” You smile only a little evil. “You’re almost there, Hannie.”

His moan is a mix of need and understanding. You think he’ll go back to your chest or lips, but he straightens his back and lifts your legs. You uncross your ankles and let him take off your shorts and underwear to push your thighs back until your knees are close to your face, spread and open for his cock to bully into.

Oh, he’s going to fuck you.

You didn’t think he could have it in him, but you’re proven wrong by the first thrust. It goes deeper than you thought was possible, straight to the back of your throat. His eyes are narrowed in concentration, eyebrows pinched, and upper lip pulled back until you see his gums.

Every slam of his hips, every drag out and in, it feels too hot. Like the inside of your pussy is melting from his pistons. With his hands gripping your thighs and your hands helplessly clawing his back, you can’t do anything but take it.

Cream slides down your ass, pooling on the dirt you know will be a pain to clean off your skin. The sounds you’re making can hardly be considered moaning, closer to a panting dog, but neither of you cares. Jisung gets his dick to fuck your sweet spot until you’re pushing at his shoulders instinctively to stop, and you’re glad he doesn’t.

“Oh my god! Fuckfuckfuck! You’re so fucking deep. Hannie! Hannie I’m-” Your toes curl, your hair sprawls in the dirt and Jisung thinks it's beautiful in the most poetic way.

His pretty flower in his garden.

He lets you squeeze on his cock, convulsing and twitching until the only sound you can make is babbling.

It’s not for long that he lets you ride out your high. You’re still creaming and clenching when he slips out. A surprised squeal tumbles from your lips when he releases your legs and straddles your torso, cock in hand.

He’s so wet, still dripping with your orgasm and white arousal on his cock when he strokes himself. You have to reach between your legs and play with your clit to come down properly, but it doesn’t bother you too much.

You open your mouth and watch Jisung fuck into his hand. He squeezes his tip, getting that pre cum to ooze on your tits until his climax builds again quickly. It hardly takes more than a few tugs before he spills on you, groaning and panting with his head thrown back. 

He moans again when he picks his head up. “Oh wow. Fuck. You look so pretty.” Jisung smears his cum with his tip. “Perfect.”

You blush, pulling your fingers from your cunt. Jisung carefully gets up from you and helps you sit up. 

Your hair’s a mess, your tits are sticky, and your bra is nearly off. Jisung doesn’t have to do much but tuck his soiled cock back into his boxers. You’re a little jealous.

“Maybe the water hose will come in handy,” he jokes. Jisung reaches for the running hose and helps you stand. You have to pretend that it’s not cum he’s spraying off your naked body in broad daylight, but it doesn’t help that your nipples harden under the cold water and his cheeks flush from the sight.

“This is by far the weirdest aftercare I’ve gotten.”

He smiles a little, awkwardly meeting your eyes. “Yeah. H-here.” He tosses the hose back down when he’s done, shrugging his shirt off and handing it to you. 

You could feel his muscles underneath the shirt, but you didn’t think he’d look so fit. His hips are a drastic difference from his shoulders, almost hourglass-like. You blink a few times before you put his shirt on, the end going barely past your ass.

“Thanks.” You try not to stare at his soft stomach. “Hopefully your grandma doesn’t ask where your shirt went when you get back.”

Jisung laughs genuinely this time, gums showing and eyes pinching. 

Maybe it’s the sun, but he looks cute.

Or maybe it’s because he’s shirtless.

“Oh! That reminds me.” Jisung rummages in his pockets, pulling out what looks like a toy. 

You step closer to him and look. It’s not just a toy, but a doll. A small, stuffed doll with jet-black hair, sharp cheekbones, and gray buttons for eyes.

Your heart drops to your stomach. 

“My grandma found it and said to toss it, but when I saw it, I thought of you.” He smiles sheepishly. “A house-warming gift, maybe.”

He’s beaming so sweetly, but you can’t stop the fear coursing through you. It doesn’t matter whether you’re awake or asleep, those damn buttons can’t leave you alone. 

…we won’t let you leave…

“Hey,” Jisung sounds concerned. “Are you okay?”

You can’t find your voice. You're choking on whether to lie or tell him that his grandma’s apartments are haunted. His eyes look so sincere, so worried. But the fact that he gave you a doll like this can’t be a coincidence.

“I’m…yeah.” You clear your throat. “Yeah, sorry. I just remembered that I have to unpack more boxes right after this. I’m gonna be so tired.”

You try to smile with Jisung, but everything feels wrong all over again. He apologizes profusely about getting you wet and ruining your plans to get the garden done. The two of you share goodbyes, the doll in hand as you walk back to your apartment.

You need your best friends. Chan and Changbin would know what to do and what to say to make you feel better. But when you look at your phone, you see a text saying they’ll be staying at the studio well late into the night. 

Don’t be needy, you think.

You thumbs up the message, blinking back tears and hurrying to your room.

Unpacking the remaining boxes might help distract you, but everything feels so overwhelming. It’s been so long since you felt this anxious, this lost. You and your friends moved here for less stress, but all you’ve felt is a pit in your stomach that never seems to fully go away. 

You throw your dirty clothes in the hamper and toss the doll on a chair, flopping on your bed and ignoring the lump in your throat. 

It’s just a bad day. You’ll feel better after a nap.

-

The space between your legs is hot. Everything up to your chest feels on fire with every swipe of a tongue. You groan softly, blinking until your vision focuses on the ceiling. The shadows on the walls tell you it must be nighttime. 

Maybe one of your roomies found you passed out, underwear missing. You can’t decide if it was Chan or Changbin who put their mouth on your cunt, but it doesn’t feel like either.

It’s too messy. Chan is coordinated and intentful whereas Changbin is hungry and desperate. This tongue is…eager. Eager to get your taste and suck on your clit. It almost reminds you of the first time someone would ever eat you out.

Finally, you lift your head. The dark does little to help, but you can make out the black hair. It isn’t curly when you thread your fingers through it, and the eyes that look up to you aren’t eyes at all.

But buttons. 

You yank him off your cunt brutally. He comes up with a groan of pain, dark gray buttons looking offended.  “The fuck?”

“Who are you?!” You cross your legs, tucking them into your ass and grabbing a pillow for defense. “How did you get into my house?!”

His hair sprawls in different directions from your tugging, but the mess looks strangely good on him. His jaw ticks with irritation like you’ve interrupted him from something very important. His chest is bare, everything is nude. The deep lines on his stomach are similar to Chan’s, strong and urging you to reach out and trace them. This makes the shadows on his face deepen. The buttons, the cheekbones, the hair…

You look to your chair, noting that the doll is nowhere to be seen. 

“This isn’t your house.” He rubs his scalp, sitting on his knees and crowding you until you back into the headboard. 

“Not yet anyway.”

“How did you get in?” You ignore his comment.

The doll narrows his eyes. “Do you normally ask this many questions? Everyone’s been telling me you let your pussy do all the talking.”

He laughs when you turn red. A large hand rests on your knee, slightly urging you to spread your legs again. But you can ignore his slender fingers a little longer. 

“So then…I assume you’re from the Other Side?”

The smile is enough of an answer. 

“But that doesn’t make sense. I didn’t go through the door.” You shake your head in disbelief. Is it possible you slept-walked into the tunnel? No, that can’t be. Your room is still the same and the clouds that you can see from your window aren’t as bright as the ones from the Other Side.

“Go through the door,” he snorts. “Haven’t you been telling everyone that this is a dream?” His hand goes up your thigh, under the material of Jisung’s shirt, and smoothes over your hip.

You shiver from his touch.

“Is it really?”

“Does it matter? Lay back down and let me take care of you.” He grabs your waist and yanks you down, surprising a yelp from you. He’s strong, but he never overpowers. It doesn’t take much effort to spread your legs. For his digits to find your clit and rub.

“I…I need to know what’s going on.” You grab onto his wrist, stopping his movements. 

He doesn’t look annoyed like you thought he would. His buttons are curious, a dark wonder that sends shivers down your spine. The deft fingers on your cunt swirl on your clit again, and you have to dig your nails into his wrist to get him to listen properly. 

“Why don’t we play… a game?” His teeth are sharp when he grins.

You breathe heavily, loosening your grip on his hand just a bit before questioning, “What kind of game would it be?”

“The quiet game. You stop asking questions and finish on my tongue, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

Too easy. “That’s it?”

“That’s one question. Three strikes, you’re out.”

You huff, glaring at his cocky smile. It's only a win-win situation for you. You win, you cum and get answers. You lose, you still cum and move out. 

“Fine. But you have to tell me who you are first.”

He raises an eyebrow.

He laughs, resuming his fingers to their rubbing. He moves until he’s flat on his stomach, inches from your cunt. You spread your legs enough to have him fit, but your thighs still rub on his cheeks when he wriggles closer.

“Someone’s trying to find a loophole.” Still, he smiles endearingly. “But it’s Jeongin. My friends call me I.N though.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I’m not your friend.”

Jeongin giggles. “Maybe not. But I think you’ll like my tongue.”

His teeth gleam in the moonlight when his pink tongue breaks through. You watch as it plants on your cunt, flicking upwards. The tip of his tongue swirls on your clit before he sucks it into his mouth. 

The pleasure hits you like a ton of bricks. A small gasp echoes in the room and you widen your legs, allowing Jeongin to scoot up more and open his jaw until his tongue can lick from your clit to your entrance.

His mouth is warm on your cunt. It doesn’t take long for your hips to match his pace, catching every suck and lick. 

Your back arches off the bed and into his hot mouth. Jeongin has to tilt his chin up to follow you, saliva and arousal dripping down to his neck. Every gulp is followed by a moan that makes you shake. Your legs only tremble more when his tongue glides up and down your folds.

It’s so soft. It’s perfect on your cunt when he smears your arousal on your skin. You run your fingers in his hair and guide him, getting Jeongin to follow a pace that makes you clench around nothing.

“Oh, fuck! Right there.” You plant your feet on the bed and shove his face flush against you. “Harder.”

You wouldn’t sound so demanding if you were allowed to ask questions, but neither of you mind. Jeongin obeys and wraps his lips around your clit. The suction makes you instinctively shy away from his mouth, but his fingers hook on the underside of your thighs and force you to stay still.

You squeal, wrapping your legs around his head and squeezing his face. Jeongin’s buttons look to you, but they’re not panicked. They almost seem to glow with delight, wiggling his head deeper into your cunt until you can feel his hard teeth beneath his lips. 

He’s trapped between your legs. He doesn’t seem to mind how your hips buck on his face, nose touching your clit until it shines with your wetness. 

Jeongin doesn’t have to suck anymore. He knows all you need is a tongue to ride on, opting to stick his out and follow your erratic movements. You clit twitches in his mouth. The grip on his hair is so strong that he thinks you might rip some strands out. 

But you don’t, of course. You’re too busy face-fucking him to realize that his groaning is mixed with pain and pleasure. All you want to do is chase that high building in your stomach, rubbing up and down until pleasure bursts.

You freeze with a moan, letting your body spasm from your orgasm. But Jeongin doesn’t let you rest for long, latching his lips back on you and swirling his tongue on your throbbing nub. 

He picks up your thighs and pushes your knees by your face, exactly how Jisung did hours ago. 

He must have been watching. 

So he knows that this position makes you vulnerable and forces you to feel pleasure beyond what you can handle. Cream slides down your cunt and to your ass, but Jeongin keeps twisting his tongue on you until more arousal drips down. 

“Jeongin! Wait! I’m- I just came!”

But he doesn’t care about your sensitivity. Doesn’t care how your moans turn into cries from his relentless licking. The crude sounds of his sucking and your hiccups fill the room. You can see with bleary eyes his wet face. There’s white cream on the tip of his nose that he buries into your cunt once again. 

You tug on his hair weakly. “Pleeasee. ‘m so sensitiveee.”

A mean suck has you gasping. You convulse in his mouth, trying desperately to twist away. It’s only when you grip your breasts instead of his hair that he lets go. 

You don’t even moan in relief. It feels like his tongue is still on you when he lowers your hips slightly, angling his pretty, pink cock in your entrance.

“God. I almost came eating you out.” He licks his lips hungrily. “Been so long since I ate pussy. You won’t mind it I cum in it, will you?”

He laughs at your babbling response. Pinching your nipples through the shirt keeps you somewhat sane. It helps you focus on the feeling of his head sliding on your swollen pussy, finding your entrance, and slipping through your folds. 

You can’t even moan, mindlessly opening your mouth and looking down at him splitting you open. Inch by inch, he settles in, not stopping until his pelvis presses against you. 

You fall back on the bed and look at him, vision blurring and bottom lip caught between your teeth. 

“Uh-oh.” Jeongin grins. “Did my cock break you already?” He adjusts on his knees and pulls out a few inches, pushing it back in torturously slow. “Looks like I’ll have to put you back together again.”

He doesn’t start slow at all. The way his cock bullies into you makes you think this is the only thing you’ll feel for the rest of your life. You’ll know nothing but clenching, the endless cream that oozes from your pussy and drips down his balls.

Jeongin grunts with effort, sweat gathering on his forehead and dripping down the sides of his face. His abs tense from the movement, finally convincing you to reach and touch him.

His hard stomach quivers from your fingers. You can feel every vein, every muscle that works in earnest. It proves to you that everything you thought was a fantasy was real, but your brain can only properly comprehend the twitching of his cock between your walls.

“Mmm, you feel that?” Jeongin moans. “Gonna cum all in your pussy. So much in here, baby. I could taste Han’s, you dirty girl. It’s never enough for you, huh?”

He’s close. You can tell by his sloppy thrusts and veiny neck. If his words are meant to make you feel gross and used, it has the opposite effect. You pussy clenches on him happily. It’s not your fault you’ve had so many different cocks in a week.

And judging the moaning from Jeongin, he likes that fact too.

Hot spurts of cum flood your cunt. Jeongin throws his head back and buries deep, making sure every pulse of his cock is inside you.

The walls of your cunt are so numb that you can hardly feel him finishing inside, but you can feel how hot your pussy gets. Jeongin slams his hips to ensure he leaks everything inside before he pulls out.

You shiver from the sensation. The head of cock slips out wetly and you can feel the arousal dripping from your hole almost instantly. Jeongin keeps you spread by the ankle to watch it, smiling proudly to himself.

“Good pussy. Eats so well.”

He lowers back onto his chest, ignoring how your legs still tremble and playing with the cum instead.

You have to force yourself to keep your eyes open, to make your brain work. Your body is still glowing in the aftermath. Remembering why you let him do what he wanted in the first place is a challenge.

Slowly, you raise to your elbows and clear your throat to get his attention. “I think…I think I deserve my question now.”

His buttons blink to you. Jeongin’s finger mindlessly plays with your slit, but he nods. “Go ahead. But remember, only two left.”

His finger is only slightly distracting. You let him play with the cum ask, “How did you get here?”

“You brought me here, remember?”

“No-” you groan. “Like here. On this side or whatever. I thought you guys were only in the Other world.”

He grins, “Do you believe in magic?”

“I’m not messing around.” You glare at him.

“Me neither. We’re mostly on the Other Side, bound to it. But The Beldom likes to grant us wishes sometimes. Only if we’ve been good.”

The Beldom. You’ve heard of that word. An old folklore about a witch or fae that steals people. But why? There’s too many different answers on the internet that don’t give a clear reason.

…they want a pet…

You don’t want to waste your last question on something he might not know. You pull apart his answer, trying to grab onto a clue that can help.

“Bound to it, huh? Are you guys…stuck. On the Other Side?”

Jeongin stops his touches, buttons turning hard and almost sour. He scrunches his nose and lays on your thigh, focusing back on your cunt.

“Now that’s a good question.  Let’s just say we made a deal with the devil. We wanted an easy life. It gets hard out here, you know? Like you’re suffocating. Living on the Other Side, sewing buttons in our eyes, it seems like a small price to pay.”

You have to hold back your shock. The pain they must have gone through. To choose needles in their eyes rather than deal with harsh reality. 

Hesitantly, you console him by massaging his scalp.

“Stuck is…a tough word. The other guys can’t really leave, but they can see. Seungmin and I are the only ones that can come and go as we please, but not in our human form. Not entirely at least.”

It only makes a little sense. You have to refrain from prying too much. Instead, you decide to focus on the other mystery. “Seungmin?”

Jeongin tilts his head up. “The cat? I’m sure you’ve seen him around. He’s a bit of an ass.”

You recall the cat with Jisung. The cat that warned you. 

“He…he told me not to go through the little door anymore.”

“We know.” His voice drops an octave. “He got a lot of shit for saying that. The Beldom wasn’t too happy with him.”

He’s on time-out.

Was that…a coincidence?

“The Beldom. Is that who you made the deal with?”

No response. 

“Who is The Beldom, I.N?”

He sits up abruptly. The sudden movement makes you jump, flinching as he grabs the covers and tosses it over your body. 

“You’re out of questions, pretty. And look, you called me I.N. Guess we are friends after all.”

A wave of sleep hits you. You know it’s not your own tiredness. This is probably what they did every time they were done, putting you to sleep to get you to stop thinking.

Your eyes close without you willing them to. It’s like a strange form of paralysis, hearing steps, and being stuck in your body. 

Slipping into the dark unconscious feels so close, but you hang onto a single thought for a moment longer.

That you can free them. Or try to.