#but he said benadryl

[cesium-sheep]

-n- okay yeah so arin made me some noodles with too much ginger a while ago and I've never liked ginger but it's like, impossible for me to tell when an aversion is autism and when it's mcas unless I way push it and trigger an obvious mast cell reaction, but those noodles triggered an atypical but fairly unambiguous reaction. so it's like okay guess I can't eat too much ginger. matt keeps making ginger cookies and suggesting that I eat them and I took him up on it this time and he's all "just one cookie will be fine" but no my mouth still hurts like it did with the pumpkin seeds. it's frustrating. at least I didn't like ginger anyway.

[homosubtext]

taking medicine for being sick while on other medication is scary !!!!! i am afraid !!!!

[anotherpapercut]

I mean this genuinely but how are you alive after taking 8 to 10 benadryl a night as a child? Did you build up an immunity? How did that not mess up your kidneys or liver? Hope you're alright!

not sure about my kidneys and liver bc I did this for YEARS. like up until a few years ago actually lmao. I imagine at some point it will come back around as apparently there's also a link between benadryl use and dementia. funnily enough it did not even help me sleep no matter how much I took. I'd just be awake and super sluggish. I sure didn't have allergies tho!

[mossistyping]

I need benadryl (?)

[reinemichele]

(This conversation happened a few years ago but I still think about it from now and then . because I blow my nose really a criminal amount per day)

Me: (Blowing my nose)

My brother: How do you do that?

Me: ????

My brother: Blow your nose that hard. When I do it, it comes out like this (the most sad, quiet, pitiful nose blow; would not wake the entire house up, like mine and my mom's do)

Me: Um. I've been doing it for a long time?

My brother: (Annoyed) So have I, I'm 10 years older than you

Me: I just take a deep breath and then... use a lot of force? So I can get all the snot out at once and only need 1-2 tissues instead of 3-4. I don't know what else to tell you.

[esleep]

i actually do kinda like delivering groceries on the side because it gives me such a unique cross-section of the community. i never know whose groceries im shopping for until i finish the delivery and see them/their home and it's like it adds more detail to the picture of who they are. the baby supplies going to the apartment that i know for a fact is one bedroom (they'll be moving soon - i bet they're apartment hunting, i hope they find a place). the new cat litter box, bowl, and kitten food going to the house covered in "i <3 my dog" paraphernalia (a kitten definitely showed up on the porch recently and made itself at home). the fairly healthy boring grocery order that includes an incongruous tub of candy-filled ice cream going to the home of an elderly woman with toddler toys in the yard (it's clearly for her grandkids, whom she sees often).

shopping for someone else's groceries is a fairly intimate thing. i've bought condoms and pregnancy tests, allergy medicine and nyquil, baby benadryl and teething gel, a huge pile of veggies paired with an equally huge pile of junk food, tampons and shampoo and closet organizers and ant traps and deodorizing shoe inserts and a million other little things that tell a million different stories in their endless combinations. one time someone had me buy one single green bean. i messaged them to confirm that's actually what they wanted, and they said yes - neither of them liked green beans very much, but they had a baby they were introducing to solid foods, and they wanted to let him try one to see if he liked them. another time i had someone request 50 fresh roma tomatoes - not for a restaurant, but for a person in an apartment. the kitchen behind them smelled like basil and garlic when they opened the door. another time i brought groceries to three elderly blind women who share a house. that was one of the few times i have ever broken my rule and gone inside a place i've delivered to, because they asked if i could place the grocery bags in a specific location in the kitchen for them to work on unloading and there was no way i was going to refuse helping.

i gripe about the poor tippers, but people can also be incredibly kind. one time i took shelter from a sudden vicious hailstorm inside an older lady's home in a trailer park, while i was in the middle of delivering her groceries. we both huddled just inside the door, watching in shock as golf-ball-sized hail swept through for about five minutes and then disappeared. she handed me an extra $10 bill on my way out the door.

when covid was at its deadliest, people would leave extra (often lysol-scented) cash tips and thank-you notes for me taped to the door or partially under the mat. i especially loved the clearly kid-drawn thank you notes with marker renderings of blobby people in masks, or trees, or rainbows. in summer of 2020 i delivered to a nice older couple who lived outside of town in the hills, and they insisted i take a huge double handful of extra disposable gloves and masks to wear while shopping - those were hard to find in stores at the time, but they wanted me to have some of their supply and wouldn't take no for an answer.

anyway. all this to say people are mostly good, or at least trying to be, despite my complaints.

[hyukascampfire]

𝓖INGER & 𝓢NAP ` ꕀ. k.th

you were the last person taehyun expected to appear on his doorstep. sweet and fluffy and oh-so-proper; he never thought he’d see you again. but... there you stand. and, much to his own chagrin, he fears that nobody else could get him more bothered. ׄ ⋆ ִ

་༘ ՚՚ ꒰ 🪵 ꒱ ･ 7.9k

ρairings gingerbread!taehyun x frosty puff!reader

𝒢 ‧̥ smut, fantasy, strawberry shortcake au

⍵arnings brat taming, brat tamer!taehyun & brat!reader, his cum is frosting, creampie, ofc no sex ed in strawberryland, thigh riding, oral m!receiving, cumming into mouth, cum eating, corruption of innocence & innocent!reader, banter, chubby!reader and buff!taehyun, manhandling, he throws her around a bit and she's so into it, they don't like each other but also def do, he likes to teach her manners, reader is also spoiled & rich and taehyun is not, hair pulling, he gets mean, no protectiom, let me know if i missed some!

✎୭ ashlynn's note this collab has been seriously so fun. writing fics is fun, but there's something about talking your friends and scheming all the yummy ways you can incorporate certain things into your fic. @thetxtdevil mae baby, thank you so much for being the best and even coming up with this idea. your mind amazes me... like actually. everybody did so unbelievably good, and i'm blessed to have been a part of it. now... let's get foody and smutty lol. some of this was written in a benadryl haze, but that's the fun part. i'm sorry mine came out a lil later than everybody else's, but hopefully it's still fun!

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

Raising your fist to the door, your knuckles rap against it with a few thick knocks. The door is frosted around the edges in little swirling white puffs of icing, framing the gingerbread door. It’s the same all around his house: gumdrops and candy canes and the like, all twinkling with sugar crystals.

It’s all so sweet—unbelievably so. The man that calls it home is the very antithesis of sweet. He does not take after the gumdrop, nor the sweetness of the icing, and most definitely not the brown sugar and molasses of the gingerbread. Taehyun is the quick snapping of a leg, or the sharpness on your tongue when you get to the cinnamon and nutmeg. 

You loathe it. Even being stood here, knocking at his door, you hate. He is everything uncouth and abrasive—he is everything you should not entertain. 

Here you are, entertaining it. The door swings open. Your fingers and toes have begun to slow with the cold, like frosty-whip in the fridge. Through the forest, stepping over sugar bushes and cocoa streams, you had fought the bite. Why did he have to live all the way out here? Secluded, as though the rest of Strawberryland were beneath his meddling. You know why: it’s that he believes it. He is exactly as your parents told you he’d be, all those years ago. Of course, they were right. They always are.

When he catches sight of you at his door, his distant eyes morph, and his lip tugs into a scowl. The rise of his brows ruffles your feathers with an infuriating ease. “Is there something you want?” he asks. His tone is infuriating, too. It’s the kind of question that means much more beyond the words said. You catch exactly what he means—how he intends to get under your skin.

Hidden behind the door, he has one hand on the handle. It's an unspoken thing, too. He wants you to remember that he could close it. You can’t let him, or else you’ll have drug your pretty new furry winter boots through the powdered snow for him to slam a door in your face. “Yeah, actually. There is.” You run preening fingers through the ends of your hair. “We’re partners for the bake-off.”

“I don’t do the bake-off,” he says. His eyes would be chocolate and smooth if it weren’t for the way he wields them sharp. “Sorry. You’re gonna have to find somebody more your speed for that.”

Barking an incredulous, perhaps even snobby, laugh, you look around. Snow comes down on the ground, sweet and creamy. It’d been enough of a battle to come here. If you were going to give up so easily, you would’ve turned your little bottom around perhaps two hours ago. Does he think you hadn’t considered that? It was a long walk; you had plenty of time to mull over the many things he might do. Sometimes, you imagined him diplomatic and affable. You stomped those wispy thoughts out. Perhaps it’s been years since you’ve spoken with him, and perhaps what happened between the two of you is dusted over, but you know better. Here he stands in front of you: bitter as ever. 

“You’re just gonna leave me without a partner?” you say. Your jaw trembles, seized finally by the cold. “Everybody is already paired up. Literally everybody.”

Shrugging, he says, “I don’t see how that’s my problem. I didn’t sign up for it.”

Your brows knit. That means somebody else had signed him up. You have a sneaking suspicion who might’ve—Blueberry Kai always tells you that he just feels excluded. It’s hard not to laugh when he does. Taehyun? Excluded?  He is exactly where he wants to be. Where most are sweet in Strawberryland, the snappy gingerbread finds it easier to justify his bitterness when he lives off in his little gingerbread home, out and away in his own neck of the forest only to be found by a winding gumdrop road, where he can pretend he’s above it all.

It’s entirely ironic. Him, better than you? Gingerbread, and all his ruggedness? His unpolished edges? Once, you’d believed that the two of you weren’t so different. That you could be friends, even. Seeing what he’s grown to be, you think you understand why your parents stepped in. Back then, though, as just that soft little girl who followed the charismatic boy around with crystal stars in your eyes, it had been the worst thing to ever happen to you. He had been so gravity-defying, moving through the soft, marshmallow edges and the sugar-whipped reality of Strawberryland as something different.

No. Not gravity-defying. Rather, in the powdery and sweet sweet Strawberryland, you think that he is the only thing with gravity.

“That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” he echoes, letting a little patronizing laugh out along with it. “That’s sweet.”

It’s hard not to shift or cross your arms over your chest, abraded by the dripping sneer.

“What? It’s not. It’s not fair that, just because you don’t want to at least give it a try, I can’t participate,” you say. Really, you should just crawl back home and beg to join somebody’s duo, but you can’t lose like that. You can’t lose to him. If you leave it like this, then he’ll have gotten the better of you. 

“Can’t get everything we want, huh?” he says, straightening up and taking the door in his hand once more. “Just because everybody else has bent backward to give you what you want doesn’t mean that I will.”

“Wait,” you say, sighing in a white swirl. “Don’t close the door. Don’t you know your manners? It’s rude. You’re just going to let me freeze out here? I walked all the way out here, and even got snow all over my new boots, just for this, just for you to slam a door in my face? I mean, a gentleman would at least invite me in to warm me up.”

Lips twitching into a laugh and his eyes suddenly alight, he says, “A gentleman, huh?” He pulls the door open a little further. The warmth from his home, warm and spiced and oh-so-inviting like oven-warmed gingerbread, brushes over your twinkling skin. “Sure. Show me your manners, then. I want you to ask me nicely.”

Your jaw tightens. Sending him a once over, sharpening your eyes, you decide to just do it. His tone is nasty, but you don’t want to be disqualified for not having a partner. Even if he’s the worst you could’ve been paired with in all of Strawberryland. Or maybe the best, because it’s a gingerbread house competition this year. “Will you just do it?”

“I said ask nicely. Say please.” 

He wears a mean smile—he’s having fun watching you squirm. So, you make a conscious effort to straighten up. “Will you please be my partner for the competition?” you say, making your voice sugary and batting your eyelashes in an overdone way. He thinks he’s funny.

Stepping out of the doorway, he motions you inside. It might look gentlemanly if it weren't for the sting in his eyes. You swallow down petty words and push through, your arms full with supplies. Arms aching, you finally let them clatter down over the countertop. The inside of his home is fresh-baked and spiced, aromatic like a true gingerbread cookie straight from the oven. You’re sure the glowing fire helps carry the smell in warm air. It wraps your cold bones up and smooths over some of the frayed edges. You’d been out there for so long… Nobody else had to walk that far for their partner.

Better just to get this done as quickly as you can. You just have to put up with him today, and you’ll be done, and then you can have fun with the competition. He won’t even show up for it; you’re sure. 

“I’ll do it all if it’s that big of a deal,” you tell him, laying out the walls and warming the icing between your palms. “You can put the peppermint on, I guess. So then we can say we both worked on it.”

Hair the fluffy brown of true gingerbread and dusted with snowflakes like powdered sugar. Taehyun shakes his head, and it moves with him. “No,” he says, the corners of his lips still turned up as though he knows something you don’t. He rolls the sleeves of his gaudy, knitted Christmas sweater up to his elbows. The corded muscle there, flickering with movement, catches you off guard. Gingerbread, built like that? Tearing your eyes off him with the effort of metal tearing itself from a magnet, you watch him approach the kitchen counters. “I’ll help. We’re partners, right?”

No matter what he says, there’s a twist of something sparkling in those sharp eyes that has you watching him closer—has you trying to gauge exactly what he’s playing at. “Uh… Yeah. Sure. If you want to, I guess.” You gesture at the walls. “Two for us, and ten for display. Can you start the walls?”

“Ten?” he says. “We’re making twelve gingerbread houses?”

With your lips pulled taut, you say, “Yeah… Twelve. Is that too much? I didn’t think any amount of gingerbread houses would be too much for you. That’s a little ironic.” Everything is warm in his home—even when you look down at your own hands to tug off your white woolen gloves, your skin that usually sparkles like frost rests just beneath the surface is tinged with the warmth.

“I can handle it just fine,” he says, taking the wall and base sections of one. “Just wouldn’t want you to ruin your pretty outfit. Twelve is a lot of icing.” He spits the word pretty out like it tastes bad. On his tongue, you’re sure it does. He never cared for pretty things the way you do. Your mommy always said that he was just jealous, but when the both of you were little, before your parents’ meddling, you learned that it was just a different lifestyle. One that you don’t understand, perhaps. Who doesn’t enjoy dressing themselves in lush furs and sugar crystals over their necks? 

“I’ll be fine,” you say, snipping the tip of the piping bag open. “I wore these knowing they’d get dirty. They’re my baking clothes. My boots already got all messed up…” 

“Oh,” he says. “You put on cashmere knowing you’ll get it dirty. Mommy and daddy paid a pretty penny for that, huh? And it’s your throwaway outfit?”

“Look. If you like it so much, I’ll let you have it when we’re done, yeah? Maybe you’ll make a pretty penny off selling it.” You ice a warm white line down the length of a wall. “Can you hurry? I’m already icing. I don’t want to be here all day.”

There’s  a few long, thrumming moments of quiet, where only the sound of your piping back crackling fills his home. Finishing a wall, you tear yourself away from your work to spare a glance his way.

Taehyun’s jaw is tight, a muscle flickering where he grits his jaw in the low light that washes over him. There’s a fire blazing in his eyes, and though he doesn’t turn them on you, the smoke rolling from them is enough to make your skin warm. You’d successfully gotten under his skin. Why stop here, when seeing that look on his face is so fun? He looks as sour as an apple; as spiced as cinnamon. “Wall?” you say, sharp and haughty as you offer your hand out to him in an impatient demand.

Snapping his head up, he hands you a wall with the heat of a thousand ovens in his face. You feel the scald he intends for you with it, and you revel in it.

You bark commands at him, watching his shoulders grow tense and his lips twitch with each. Crush the candy canes, you tell him. Melt the icing. Sprinkle these over that. Soon enough, you’re sitting back and watching him work more than anything.

He doesn’t say a word. You see them brimming in his eyes, but he doesn’t let them burst out all venomous like you know he wants to. It’s quite the show. 

“Would you at least help me hold this up?” he says, holding the walls of a house together with one hand. His hands are a mess of runny sugar and powdered sugar for snow, and yours are perfectly clean. You can at least help a little bit if you want to claim any part in the competition. 

You reach for the piping bag, fat with the sweet sweet icing, and straighten a wall up. You trace the seams with it, thick and like glue. With a bit too much pressure, the side of the bag bursts. White rivulets of slow icing run down your fingers and over the table. You curse, dropping it to the counter. That’s all of your icing, flopped down and deflating over the surface all sad-like. It’d been so much, that you thought it would last you each house and then some. Of course, you hadn’t brought extra.

Bringing your sticky fingers up to your mouth, you suckle the mess off. It’s so very sweet—warm and weeping, nutty and spiced with something like nutmeg. It’s Taehyun: the smell of it, the way it spreads over your tongue… You stick your tongue out to catch it where some drips down your forearm. “Mmm,” you say, sticky-armed. “Tastes good.” That’ll be good on the gingerbread houses; maybe the two of you do have a chance at winning. 

When you look up to Taehyun, he stands frozen in place, his hands still holding up a half-constructed gingerbread house. His eyes are different. It’s a look you don’t recognize—a look you’ve never seen before. Rather than deep and warm, his eyes are blackish and heavy. A swallow goes down his throat; a tense, barely contained thing.

 You frown, your lips still a sugary mess. “I didn’t mean to make a mess. Sorry. I’ll clean it up…”

Clearing his throat, Taehyun says, “Yeah…”

He watches you clean the counters, where the icing had pooled, and now the bag is empty, with the same intensity. You can feel it on your skin in a foreign, itching way. You swipe and scoop and work at the spill, and still, he watches. He does not speak. 

You survey the houses you’ve managed to finish. They’re pretty, and absolutely competition ready: looping swirls of icing like shingles on the roofs, peppermint chunks all red and white catching light where you’d sprinkled them into the frosting, gumdrops lining the paths true to Taehyun’s own home, and powdered sugar sifted over the entirety of it like snowfall. It’s all great, but there are only four.  “What are we supposed to do now?” you say, lips pouty. “That’s all the icing I brought. We literally can’t make any more.” You wipe at a smear on your cheek. How’d that get there? “I think I’m gonna have to come back tomorrow… Can you hold on to the houses for me?”

“Yeah—yeah, sure. Tomorrow,” he says, blinking something away. He straightens. “It’s a long walk. I think you should get going.”

You want to say something snarky or ask him why he wants you out of the house so fast, but it’s true. Night’s creeping over Strawberryland, and you have no icing, and tomorrow’s the last day before the bake-off. If the two of you don’t work harder tomorrow than you did today, then you won’t even make qualifications. You’ll lose before even starting.

You never lose. Not like this, and certainly not to the man standing before you. 

ꕀ

“C’mon. You can do better than that, can’t you?” Taehyun says, drooping icing from rooftops like icicles as you sprinkle crushed candies over the top. 

You grit your teeth. If he’d been snappy yesterday, he’s made it his mission to be your worst nightmare today. You think it’s his sort of revenge for ordering him around how you did. “What would you like, then?” you say. Maybe it’s feeding right into what he wants, but your life has lent you a short fuse. “You don’t even care about winning. Why does it matter? Let me do it how I want.”

He’s in another sweater. The sleeves are bunched up to the elbow just like yesterday, but you think he’s making a point with it this time. The shifting of his muscles is a bit too intense for piping icing. You’d made it through three more houses, wrangling your inner demons with each passing snide remark or nasty smile the whole time. It doesn’t help that he keeps his home terribly toasty, and you run cold down to the core. You melt and melt until all that is left of your temper is a puddle on the floor beneath you. Gone. 

“We’re partners, remember?” he says. He doesn’t even look at you as he says it. “I don’t do things half-assed, Frosty.” 

You’re sent reeling with the old nickname. It’d been sweet then, back when it was just the two of you against the world, but now it’s gone sour like milk. It even comes from his mouth soured. It’s something that you thought you’d left a million lifetimes ago, never to hear again. With Taehyun, though, it’s hard to pretend that you are no longer that. 

He will not let you forget that, at one point, the two of you were friends. An unlikely pair, especially looking at you now. You thought it was all nothing to you, but seeing him has kicked up dust. 

“You don’t?” you say, shooting him a quick glare from the side of your eye. “That’s funny.”

Strong brows shooting up, Taehyun quits mid-piping to look at you. “Funny? What’s funny about it to you?”

You can’t settle the obnoxious smile that curls at the edges of your mouth, mean and taunting and falsely sweet. “Oh, nothing.” You shake a sifter full of powder against your palm. It falls like true snow down over the house. 

“No, tell me,” he says, his eyes trained and heavy on your dismissive shrug. “Tell me what you think of me. I wanna hear it.”

Oh, this will be good.

“It’s just that,” you say, “you’re not really known for doing things the best way, you know? Living all the way out here, an ass when anybody tries to talk to you… Well, really, it’s just that nobody likes you. But, don’t worry! I’m sure there’s at least somebody that does.”

His face falls, the twinkle of delight at taunting you that he’d been holding in his eyes gone away. All that’s left is the peaking of something deeper and roiling from out of the cracks. You get the funny feeling that maybe you’ve taken it a step too far.

But, you never lose.

“Is that what it is?” he says. “I work for my shit. You? Everything you’ve ever had has been handed to you.” He measures his words delicately. Like a measuring cup full over the top, he cuts the excess words and coarseness off. He doesn’t say all that he thinks, but you see all he leaves unsaid toiling furiously behind his eyes. 

His eyes. They’re clear and, sharp as they are, they pin you. It’s a reflection of that look he gave you yesterday: deep and swirling and wild. It’s more than that, this time, though. It’s laced with anger and bursting at the seams of him. You’re not sure he’ll be able to hold back whatever it is that storms just beneath his skin, this time.

“It is,” you say, punctuation your words concisely. “It’s exactly why my parents said I shouldn’t hang out with you. They said that I’m above… all this.”

Oh, you’ve absolutely taken it too far now. You don’t really mean it. Sure, that’s what they told you, but you don’t really believe it. For some time, you did, but not now. It’s too late for sorries, though. Taehyun’s jaw goes tense.

For a long, awful moment, you just stand there and burn in his silence. It’s worse than any words he might spit. It’s hot—hot, hot, hot, and you turn liquid in it.

In a blink, nothing more, you collide against his countertop. Something clatters and thuds behind you. The gingerbread houses? That doesn’t matter right now—all that your dizzy mind can manage is his body crushing you and his fingers biting into the plush of your cheeks.

Where he had fractured, like true gingerbread, he snaps. You can see it in his eyes; even you know when you’ve pushed too far. Perhaps you ought to have seen this coming.

His knuckles curl white around the edge of the counter beside you, and his fingers dig deeper into your face. He’s oh-so-hot up against you. “I’m sick of your fucking mouth,” he snarls. His breath is hot as it fans over your face, too. “Someone needs to put you in your place. Where are your goddamn manners?”

Your heart thrums in your chest, and your pulse goes wild in your neck. You can’t form the words to answer him.

“Quiet now, huh?” he says. The husk in it makes the place between your thighs feel weird. You don’t know what’s wrong with you.

He shut you up real quick. You’ll give him that.

That funny feeling does flips, roaring to life when his fingers hook under the waistband of your bottoms. “That’s your problem.” His eyes send a chill up and down your spine. “You’ve never been told no. You’ve always gotten what you wanted.” Peeling down all the layers, he tugs your knitted stockings and your little fur skirt, and your sweet frosty panties, too. They bunch at your feet. Between your thighs, right where those foreign, throbbing waves reign, cool air laps at a wetness there. The hair all over your body rises. You’ve never felt anything like it. “Not with me. I'll set you straight. I don’t put up with spoiled brats.”

“I’m not a brat,” you say. “You’re just an ass.” They’re the first words that come to you. Damn your temper.

With the same hand he’d been holding your face in place with, he curls his fingers right into your scalp and yanks hard, baring your neck to him. You lose a strained squeak, tears pricking the corners of your eyes at the sting. If your heart had been racing before, it runs wild, now. You strain your eyes to look at him and his curled lips. Painted with a sneer, he says, “Watch your mouth.”

A swallow goes down your throat hard. It’s all unfamiliar: the aching between your thighs, the burning in your blood, and the dazing of your thoughts. “Taehyun, I… I feel weird. It feels weird.”

Something knowing passes over him. “Yeah?” he says. “Show me where. I can help.”

Show him? You hesitate, searching his eyes for an ounce of joke or aversion. You find none, and that pounding is syrupy-sweet, and he says he can help. That’s all you want; all you need. Taking a trembling hand, you bring it down your body, running the palm down the planes of your belly and resting it just over the spot where the lower bit gives way to the apex of your thighs. Going any further—the thought tightens your throat and pinkens your cheeks the color of strawberry frosting. “There. It feels weird there.”

Taehyun smiles a snappy, spiced smile. He likes that. “Want me to make it feel better?”

Your thoughts feel replaced by something powdery and weightless. You give him a dumb nod.

“Say please.”

Something bratty crawls up your throat, but you want help, and he’s the one who will give it to you. He’d meant that: teaching you a lesson. Melted around the edges already, you say, “Please, help make it feel better.” Your voice wavers.

“There we go. That’s how good girls talk. That’s how you ask to get what you want.” He nudges your thighs apart with a knee and slots it between them, pressed right up against that coolness. Right up against that need. “Grind down on it.”

Neck aching at the angle, you say, “Grind?”

He brushes his clothed thigh right up against you. The friction is delicious—sweet and melty and just what you need. It shoots yellow sparks throughout you.

It feels so good. Your mouth waters in anticipation.

“Grind,” he says. It’s harder, this time. Not a sweet suggestion.

You bring yourself back down on it, gasping at the contact, and you do. You grind, tummy tightening at every brush of the fabric hard and delicious. Your chest constricts, one hand flying up to dig your fingers into his shoulder and the other fighting the hand he has still in your hair. It aches and hurts, and so does the friction as you grow more gaspy and frantic. 

It feels so, so good. You want more—you want him to touch you there and everywhere else. He smells just right all over you, nutty and musky like a gingerbread twist. “Taeh—hyun,” you mewl. It burns, but something slick eases the burn a little bit. Just enough for you to enjoy that burn.

“That’s it,” he coos. It’s not a sweet coo; it’s the type of sound one might make when you play right into their mean game. It’s mean. “Make yourself a mess on my thigh. I don’t even have to touch you. What would mommy and daddy think of you now, huh? What would they think if they saw their precious princess fucking herself on my thigh?”

No. That would be the end of you. You whine, thighs twitching. Something twists in your center, scary and foreboding, and still you chase it. None of your thoughts are solid enough to stop. Each time he flexes a muscled thigh or presses it harder into you, you shudder and curl your fingers into his shirt harder. 

“Don’t like that, huh?” he laughs. “Then you haven’t learned your lesson. You’re no better than me; I mean, look at you.”

You want to cry when he pins your hips back to the counter, stilling your wild bucking. Squeezing your eyes shut, you claw and reach for that wave, even as it recedes from you. “Why?” you say, voice thin. It’d been so yummy—the sweetness still rests on your tongue. Your heart thumps hard, longing for it.

“I said, look at yourself,” he growls, taking his hold on your hair to crank your head down.

Right where you’d been on his thigh, there’s a sticky, marshmallowy mess. Your mess. 

Taehyun releasing his grip on your hair is almost a relief, but he doesn’t even give you time to relish it. The walls of his house blur around you. All that you register in between the motions is his shoulder in your belly and your limbs dangling from you. You dig your hands into his back to balance yourself, but he’s got you.

He has you slung over his shoulder. He’s carrying you like you weigh nothing at all. That place between your thighs flutters anew. In all your life, you never worried too much about the plushness of your belly or your thighs. It is who you are; all mallow and soft around the edges and starkly sweet. But you did get nervous when somebody tried picking you up. Usually, you protest and giggle it off. Watching somebody strain to pick you up when they lift other girls like sacks of flour is just something that makes you feel a little strange.

But, Taehyun does not strain. He doesn’t huff; he carries you right down the hallway and into his room, and he even manhandles you down onto the bed with a bounce without so much as a sound. He is a solid pillar beneath you, and then he is a solid, muscled chest above you. With strong fingers, he pins your hands to the mattress above you. With the other, he leads your shirt up.

He’s so warm against your cold skin. His breath like waves from the oven over your mouth, he says, “You think you’re so much better than me because you have all this?” Curling his fingers around a necklace circling your throat, he tears it off with a clattering of a few snow-drop beads.

 You gasp, glaring right into his eyes. “What the hell?” you hiss, arching your chest to wiggle beneath him. Your necklace. Who does he think he is, breaking your stuff? That was one of your favorite necklaces, and now it lies all over his floor. Still, your center pounds and longs for the return of his touch. Everything about him just calls for more from you. You don’t know how you went so long without him, or how you made yourself forget just how drawn you are to his magnetism. Maybe he is just what your parents turn their nose up at, and you too, but that does not make him any less a powerful personality. 

He knows exactly who he is and what he wants, as solid as the gingerbread cookie. And you, plush and impressionable as whipped marshmallows, take to him just right. It’s something you once knew, but the sneered words of adults obscured that memory.

“Don’t whine,” he says. “I want to see your pretty neck without all that shit. That’s your problem: you’re spoiled.” He reaches down to mess with his pants.

His length springs free. Cheeks flushing, you take it in. You can’t look away, even as embarrassment crawls spindly legs over your skin at the interest you take in the sight. You’ve never seen anything like it—long and hot and weeping something thick and white from the slit at the pinkish tip. A pearl of it dribbles down, landing on your belly in a string where he holds it.

Taehyun collects that wetness and then urges more from the tip with a few drags down the length of it. Wrapping his fingers around it, he begins to slowly work his fist up and down it. It’s nothing short of impossible to tear your sights off it—it’s another thing that inexplicably fans the flames of something roaring in your center. “Do you want to touch it?” he says, watching your tongue dart out to wet your lips. 

The sight of him growing restless over his pumping fist is enough to get you nodding. 

“Fuck,” he says, sharp and under his breath. He lets his hand off it. “Go ahead. Touch it. I won’t tell anybody you did.”

When he frees your pinned wrists, you reach out a slow hand. You curl your fingers around it the way he had. Your fingers don’t even touch around jt. The weight and warmth of him in your palm makes your blood tingle. Looking up, you search for guidance in those intelligent, swirling eyes. His bangs hang over his eyes as he watches.

Placing his hand over yours, he drags it up and down his rigid length the way he had been doing a few beats ago. “Like that,” he says. “Just like that.”

You pump your closed fist up and down him, encouraged to squeeze harder and flick your wrist faster with each tight breath he lets slip. The skin of your palm gets stickier and stickier, the slick sounds sending your ears and core burning just the same. You like that it makes him feel good—that he’s making those noises just for you. 

He twitches under your fingers. “Feels just like I thought your pretty hands would…” he says, stomach tight. “See—what happens when you give up that bratty fucking act? Shit… harder—give it to me harder, Frosty…” Shivering at the name, you oblige him. You reach your thumb up and collect more of that beaded liquid from the slit, and you work your arm harder. Faster. Your forearm begins to burn, but you don’t let it slow you. All you want is more of this; more of him. Finally, he lets sounds out from his chest freely. He grunts and hisses through his teeth, letting his head fall back. “Holy shit. I’m gonna—gonna ice your face, okay?” he says. “You said you liked the taste, huh? Wanna taste it again? Give me your tongue…”

Whatever that means, you push yourself up and situate your face in front of his length, your tongue out. Taehyun’s sounds tighten, and his hips begin to stutter and chase your hand. He picks his head back up to look down at you half-lidded—to watch. With only a few last runs of your palm down his length, skin so slick that your hand just slips and slides up him, he growls through gritted teeth. The weight of him in your working hand twitches once more, and from that weeping tip he shoots dancing ribbons of white. It lands on your tongue hot and sweet, melting out all spiced and snappy.

Snappy like gingerbread. Like gingerbread icing. Swallowing it down, you meet his gaze. He pants, chest rising and falling, but there’s something clear and knowing in his heavy eyes when you do. You think you know now, why he’d been so dazed as you made a show of licking that same sticky icing off your hands and said how good it tasted. 

When you release him from your palm, it glistens with his sweet essence. He softens in front of your eyes just the littlest bit.

Eyes just as hungry and still catching his breath, Taehyun says, “Open your mouth. I wanna see your tongue.”

Belly doing wicked twists, you do. You stick your tongue out for him, still laden with the headiness of his taste. He does taste good. 

“Swallowed it all down?” he says, eating the sight of you with your mouth dropped open up. “You really are so nasty. They all think you’re so sweet—you think you’ve got them all wrapped around your finger.” He pushes you back down to the bed with a palm. “Well, not me. I know that you’re just as filthy as you are spoiled. Somebody had to deal with you.”

Like always, snarky words swirl in your mouth. All it would take is letting them fall off your tongue. But you don’t—not with the feeling between your thighs, and not with the way your blood, frost turned to snowmelt, begs for him to fix it. Not when you know that all it will get you is more of Taehyun’s wrath. 

It’s not like what he says is true, or anything. That’s what you tell yourself anyway.

“Taehyun, please. I need it…” He takes a marshmallow thigh of yours, pressing it up so that it melds with your belly. Cool air reminds you once more of that strange wetness between them.

Dark, blown eyes catching the sight of it, his lips quirk into a scoff. “Need what?” he says, reaching a hand down. At the contact of his fingers, just as they had against his thigh, your hips jolt and an explosion like the breaking of sugar glass shoots down the muscles of your thighs. He scoops that stickiness up from its source, bringing the soft cream up to his mouth. Tongue darting out, he has a taste of you just as you had tasted him. “Shit—you taste good too, frosty. You’re so sweet, how’d you turn out like this? That’s okay. I’ll deal with you, and then you’ll be just as sweet as you taste.” That fat tip of him presses flush to the source of all your want. “I’ll straighten you out.”

You don’t know what that means, and you are absolutely sure that you don’t deserve it, but any sass is staunched with the utter sweetness of the stretch in your center. Taehyun presses his hips up into you, slowly and internalizing the dropping open of your mouth, the pinching of your brows into a worrying line, and the press of your palms to his broad chest. He takes it and metabolizes it down like cream cake or the plumpest fruits, and he gives you more. More, all the way up until there is no length of him left to give, and nowhere else for him to go.

You feel so, so full. No amount of twinkling jewels or new skirts hold a candle to this. You don’t know what it is, and you don’t know why Taehyun knows, but whatever. Who cares? Breathing out a shudder, you squirm beneath him to search for that dazzling feeling he’d made you feel earlier.

“Stay still,” he barks, steadying himself beside your head with a sturdy, powerful arm. When had he lost his sweater? You don’t know. You might drool over the definition and warm skin there if he didn’t pull the length of him out until just the tip of him threatens to pop out, and then drive right back in before you could. A gaspy breath falls from your mouth, devolving into mewls and whimpers when he does the same over and over and over again, quick with snapping hips and the smacking of his skin against the soft skin of your bottom. Your thigh quivers in his hold, his fingers digging into the fluff of your thigh as he holds you into it. 

Each and every time he slides up against something inside you that makes you feel different. Different from what you felt when you were on his thigh, and different from anything else you’ve felt in the entirety of your life. It’s deeper, right at the very bottom of your belly, sending your veins lazy and your hips twitchy. You want to chase it as much as you want to hide from its power, so all you do is stay in a hazy limbo of sharp gasps and long, drawn out mewls for more.

“No,” he says, his face right in yours. The smell of him, manly and so very sweet like oven-warmed gingerbread, settles over your bones and wiggles its way through your thoughts. It does something to your melted mind, planting a need to cling to him right in the center. Your hands perch all over him: the hair at the back of his head, his working waist, his biceps that flex and strain with his effort, and finally around him so that you can push your cheek to his chest and feel his heart racing there. “You’ll take exactly what I give, and thank me for it. You don’t get to ask for more; not with your mouth.”

“Why?” you say, whining. “I want it—so bad. Please? I’ll be so… so good…” Your voice bounces with each collision of your bodies, and your toes flex and curl at the twisting in your core. Nonetheless, you want more. Whatever this is—this syrupy, pure goodness—Taehyun has shown you something that you will never be whole without again. He has bloomed a flower right in the chest of you, something hungry that will want and want this, and you fear that he will be the only one able to satiate it. 

The thought of the smile he’ll wear, should you come crawling back to his doorstep just for this… 

Taehyun stops, pushing off you with a curled lip. “What will it take to get you to fucking listen?” he says. He pulls himself from you, leaving you to whine and long for that feeling once more. You want to complain and pull him back over you, but with the fire churning in his dark gaze and the sight of his length, covered in that same white, whipped stuff you’d left all over his thigh. 

You’d made a sticky, frosty, frothed mess all over him once again. Really, what would people think of you now? Your mom? Your dad? 

Manhandling you again, he flips you onto your hands and knees and shoves your face into the bed. Any yelp or gasp that tears from your chest is muffled into the sheets. Taking the swell of your hips, his fingers like bites against the powdery, soft skin there, his voice comes from behind you. “Won’t you just listen to me? If you’re gonna be mine, you’re gonna have to start learning how to hear no.” Curling your hair up and pulling it like a handle, he snaps your head back into another stinging, awful tug. It turns the arch of your back into something that you can imagine is a sight to be seen. If the burning where you feel his eyes raking down the curve of it has something to speak of it, that is. You squeeze your eyes shut as if that’ll help you any. “You don’t get everything you want. That’s not how this works.”

You don’t say anything. You have nothing good or sweet left to say.

“Say thank you, and I’ll give it to you good, okay?” he says, running a flattened hand down your spine. “That’s all I want to hear. Show me you can be good.”

The last thing you want to do is to thank him. That would mean admitting that you’ve lost, and that ruffles your preening feathers. But you want that goodness back, you want his hips snapping into you and that tight knot back in your belly. You’d do anything for it; even forget your ego.

Your mind is gone, anyway. Whatever your rational self would do, it doesn’t matter. There’s one thing that you want right now, and getting it is so easy. “Thank you, Taehyun. Thank you so much… I’m sorry I’ve been a brat, and I’m sorry about what I said to you. Please, just… help me. Please, I need you so bad.”

You? Sorry? It’s absurd, and yet, you entirely mean it. Maybe it’s your lazy brain talking, or maybe he really has won.

“See? So sweet when you act right,” he says. “Let me show you what happens when you do.”

You could cry real tears when he sets that same pace, his hands bracing on your hips to pull you deeper into each thrust and the front of your body bouncing against the sheets with each. Your cries grow hoarse and beyond needy, and your insides twist and turn even more dangerously.

You are on the brink of something divine. Something that will melt down so well, good on the tongue and as smooth as chocolate, but as sharp as the snapping of gingerbread.

And, snap, he has.

“Yes!” you cry, straining your shoulders as you reach behind you and curl your fingers around the place where he meets your skin. “S..So good! Right there—thank you, Taehyun!”

He doubles down on you. His length hits a spongy spot in your core, pounding up against the walls there and turning your insides against you. It’s almost too good. “There we go,” he says, voice shaking with a growl. The delivery of his thrusts grows sloppy. You think he feels just as good as you do. “That’s what—” Falling over you, he supports himself with each strong arm dug into the mattress beside your head, his solid front melded to your soft back. “That’s what I like to hear. Here you go—fuck, I’m gonna give you what good girls get, okay?”

You hope it’s more of that melty icing he shot from his length earlier. The knot in your belly tightens, just on the brink of a glittery, bright explosion. “Mhm!” you say, your voice cracking. You want it—you want it so bad. The intensity of it, turning over in your veins and rendering your thighs jelly, sings in your ears. It’s a frightening greatness, but you rage against the urge to drop your hips into the mattress and run from it. You need to finally taste what you’ve been chasing. “Taehyun! Right there—please, don’t stop!”

You were demanding more from him again, but Taehyun didn’t stop this time. Not when his growls and whines against your shoulder tell you enough about how he’s feeling. He tongues and nips at your shoulders, the only sounds echoing off the walls of his room, the hollow smack of his hips against your bottom, and the only smell of the sweet mingling of his gingerbread sharpness against your heady marshmallow. It’s good enough to eat.

Crying out with a frantic whine, the feeling deep in your belly changes once more, and you’re writhing and squirming against him. Your hips buck and chase and run, wild and just as explosively as the tightness shooting down your thighs and up through your lower back.

Everywhere. You feel it everywhere. It’s in the continued bouncing of your body, in each nudge of his tip to a sweet, spongecake spot deep inside you, in his breathless pants into your skin, and in the curling of his fingers into your hair when he releases a hip to do so, and in your pleads when he chases his own delicious release. Your throat tightens, and suddenly the sheets are all too warm around you, and you realize with blistering intensity that another one of those knots builds up in your belly. It’s quicker, short, and bright. You’ve barely even made it through the last, but still, it comes.

“Holy shit,” he growls, hips stuttering and then stilling. He reaches a hand down between your thighs and finds a very sweet button. The breath in your throat catches, and in nothing more than a blink of an eye, you crash again, and then your bodies are two twitching, elated things. He presses himself impossibly deeper into you before shooting that same hotness, sweet ropes of sugary icing right into you, and your fluttering insides hold him tight and eat it up. Your heart pounds in your chest, running amok in your ears and your neck, and you try to catch running breaths to no avail.

Occasionally grinding up into you, though there is hardly any space between your joined bodies to do so, Taehyun shoots more lazy spurts for a few long moments. His breaths slow against your skin, and yours do in your chest. Slowly, you recover as two entangled bodies, all clammy and melted like left in the oven for a bit too long.

Pressing hot, wet kisses to the back of your neck, and then down your spine when he pushes off you and pulls himself out, his tongue darting out against your skin for some, he says, “Taste so good… So sweet, even on your skin…” He brushes the wild tangles of hair from your face and adds, “I wonder if you’ve gone all sweet inside, too? You look like it…” The mess of you, your thick creaminess staining your thighs and his runny load pooling from your hole, is all over. It even makes the sheets beneath you dirty with dribbles of his release as it drips. “I told you I’d get you sweet.”

If that sluggish, sugary thing moving through your veins is sweetness taking over you from the inside, perhaps you have gone sweet. Or, perhaps you now have every reason to become his worst nightmare—just if it gets you this.

You’ll play sweet for now. The softer kisses he seasons your skin with are no less enthralling than the delightful goodness still ebbing away between your thighs. You think that, for the first time, you have lost. 

And, to your very own dismay, it tastes so very sweet. 

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

✎୭ ashlynn's note BRAT TAMER TAEHUN, amirite?

﹙📋﹚ @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , @izzyy-stuff , @miukuui , @lunesdesire , @304files , @sunoolver , @cherricola-star , @lickingan0rchid , @xylatox , @hmusunoo , @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @joycelyjjj , @sunoolver , @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @apeachty , @fandomtrashsblog , @bewitchless , @yezzns2 , @hhoneyhan , @ethystclove , @darkdayelixer , @calumcxke , @biteyoubiteme , @bamgeutsz , @soobabby , @little-shiny-starr , @bambammtori , @bunniebun-posted , @heeambi , @bunnisoobin , @hwanghyunjinismybae if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[anonymous-user84]

Casual Reminder

Your hallucinations are not real

[dear-ao3]

thinking about that one time i did a shit ton of benadryl and cough syrup and saw the hat man in the corner of my room but it was jesus wearing a cowboy hat and he said “hello i’m jesus” and i said “hi i’m jewish” and then i had a panic attack for four hours

[basicallyjeankirschtein]

jjk men x streamer!reader smau

╰┈➤ Collab?

chapter 4

ೃ⁀➷ THE HAT MAN IS REAL????? + gojo is cute or wtv

* MDNI, suggestive, ooc, crack, the hat man… this chapter contains writing! not proof read

masterlist. prev. next.

and that’s how gojo found you sprawled out on your bed talking to nothing in the corner of the room.

“y/n.” gojo spoke, his voice soft. you turned over, your eyes hazed over as if you were about to fall asleep at any moment now.

“hi, go,” you spoke, offering him a lazy wave. he couldn’t help but giggle at how cute you looked, even if you were just talking to a maybe real demon that predicted the fortnite miku collab..

“you alright?” he asked, glancing between you and the corner of the room. you followed his eyes, sleepy giggles escaping your lips as you rolled over on your side.

“sleepy.” you said.

gojos cheeks flushed red when he saw the way your shirt rode up, exposing the smooth flesh of your waist.

he coughed, glancing away before he sported a boner. “yea, yea. go to sleep.” he decided to wait to question you about the hat man until you at least had some consciousness…

gojo started to turn around to retreat to your fridge to get water for the both of you, but your loud whine startled him. he was quick to rush to your side,

“y/n? are you alright?”

“don’t leave,” you whined, giving him the most glossy puppy dog eyes he had ever seen. if your exposed skin didn’t make him pop a boner, this definitely did.

“‘m not leaving..” gojo huffed, unable to get away from your grasp as you held onto his arm oh so tightly.

“you were,” you whined sleepily in his ear, pulling him down so he laid beside you on the bed. gojo was strong enough to resist your efforts, yet he gave in, anyway.

“i was gonna get you water.” he denied, letting you cuddle up against his chest.

while gojo looked composed, he was internally freaking out. not only did you just cuddle up to him as if you’ve been dating for years, but your hand was dangerously close to his embarrassing erection that was absolutely painful against his strained shorts.

you went silent, which would have worried gojo if it weren’t for the sound of your almost melodic, soft breathing.

it went completely quiet in the room, the only sound being your breathing and heartbeat. two things gojo cherished with his heart and soul. if only you had realized that.

gojo sighed, looking down at you with a pained smile. why were you always so oblivious and adorably stupid? you were so shy. it’s what made you so endearing, yet so hard to get close to.

gojo loved everything about you, but sometimes you could be be so oblivious, it was headache inducing.

but that sweet look on your face always made him feel so guilty. it wasn’t your fault, he had to keep reminding himself.

he also had to remind himself it wasn’t your fault for being so beautiful and likable when he felt a vein pop at the sound of your phones message notifications going off.

how did i go from hat man fortnite miku to boners bruh give me the benadryl next

taglist

@estella-novella @ourfinalisation @definetlynotanalien @fuckisthatahotghost @m-0ona @sillybillylamb

@ayla-1605 @l-ilysm @randoperson22 @mentallyunpresent @poopooindamouf @1ennj4

@ex1acy @lunavelha @trsh-kitty @b3bybunny @onna-musha-mari @onlypickless

@moncher-ire @ieathairs @minzxec @marvellousdaisy @etsuniiru @kissprincess

@i-am-chickadee @ayumigotabitlonely @emlient @imoutofpot @des-todoroki

[mikgreo]

hi! 🙈

do you also find it really attractive when guys say I know, baby I know. or something along those lines (///w///)

if your taking them could i request jik or hq characters doing this in some scenario/drabble. please feel no rush/pressure.

take care of your self too:)

“i know baby, i know.”

ft. jjk + hq boys fluff, slight nsfw, humor.

tags. nsfw for gojo oikawa and kuroo, rest are cute scenarios + some hcs i made on some.

chars. gojo/oikawa+ kuroo, geto/osamu, toji/atsumu, inumaki/kenma, yuji/hinata, megumi/kageyama, choso/suna, todo/bokuto, nanami/akaashi

a/n. tysm nonnie!! i didnt know if u wanted them separate or just in a group category..couldnt resist not giving gojo oikawa and kuroo smut. i hope this was what u wanted:((

gojo, oikawa, kuroo

you were sprawled out on his bed in his apartment. you were gripping the soft cushion sheets in pleasure, gritting your teeth, occasionally biting your lower lip to halt your moans. his long skinny fingers scissored their way through your gummy walls as if they owned the place. the tips of his calloused fingers hitting your g-spot everytime he thrusted in. you hated how vulnerable you became, how you melted like putty just from his fingers- but it just felt soo good. he knew your insides like no one else, knew all your sweet spots and how to make you cum. he was big- big being in understatement. he was huge, in your eyes atleast. prep was needed, always. even though you hated how long it took to get you ready.

“hngh.. i want you now- please!~” you said, putting a hand on his shoulder, as he looked up to you with a frown. “want you insideee..ngh! can’t wait...~”

“i know baby, i know. you’ll get it soon, ‘kay? i just dont wan’ it to hurt, my love.” he said softly, adding a third finger in. “just a little bit more, okay princess?”

geto, osamu

it was 3am, and you could not sleep. you tried scrolling through twitter and instagram for some time, but couldn’t. thats when you opened up tiktok, fully forgetting that, tiktok.. was a music app. and your volume…was halfway up. so when you opened it, it blasted for a second before you quickly swiped off the app, why were you so scared? well..

“y/n, what the fuck.. why are you up, go to sleep girl.”

your boyfriend was sleeping, and you hated waking him up.

“but i can’t sleep sugu/‘samu!! im not tireddd.” you whined, pouting. as if he could see you.

“dont care, go to bed or im snatching your phone away. l/n.” he growled and sat up rubbing his eyes.

“noo im sorry. please i cant sleep, babe!!”

“i know baby, i know. what if we cuddle and i tell you about my plans for tomorrow, hm? maybe it’ll help.”

toji, atsumu

“i want a dog.” you said glaring at him, who was sat on your couch.

“i know baby, i know. but yk we cant.. im fuckin allergic ‘member??” he shot you a mocking facial expression.

“but its okay, you can just take some Benadryl and you’ll be fineee! its not a big deal toji / ‘tsumu.” you pouted.

you walked over to him and sat on his lap facing him.

“if yur tryna seduce me into agreeing, its not g’na work babe.” he put his hands on your waist.

“ughhh!! can we atleast get like a cat or something?? please babyyy.”

“let’s leave this conversation for a different day, y/n.” he replied before pulling you into a hot kiss...that led to making out.. that led to your own personal problem for tonight.

inumaki, kenma (I PUT BOKUTO AND YUJI BC I WAS ORIGINALLY GONNA HAVE AKAASHI AND MEGUMI IN THIS TOO BUT I CHANGED MY MIND.. SO PRETEND IT SAYS PANDA FOR INUMAKI..)

yuji, hinata

it was getting late… too late. your boyfriend had a day off and decided to spend it by sleeping, completely forgetting the fact that you two agreed on walking around the park today.. he was just soo lazy :(

“sweetheart….get upppp. its 12pm, you needa wake up.” you whined as your boyfriend tightened his grip around your body. he was big spooning you, a position where not even an earthquake could move him out of.

“mmm, i know baby, i know. just…five more- five minutes.” he groaned into your ear, you could feel the warm breath against your earlobe, it sending tingles down your neck to your spine.

“if you get up, ill take a shower with you, and make you waffles.”

you had never seen him get up from bed that fast before.

megumi, kageyama

you and your boyfriend were having you weekly movie night, you were under his right arm while you layed your head on his lap, using the blanket to cover your view of the flat screen.

“babe….i dont wanna watch this..its scary.” you pout as you attempt to sink deeper into your boyfriends arms.

“i know baby, i know.. but i love this movie, so can we please keep it on?” he scratched the back of his neck.

“ughhh, couldn’t we just watch inside out 2 or something babeee??” you whined.

“that’s a kids movie, im fine where im at.” he flicked you on the forehead.

“stoppp!! owww.” you cried out.

choso, suna

you two were watching moana in his room, the room was dark and you were both on his bed, cuddling. everything was fine until there was a loud noise which you thought came from the kitchen. you thought nothing of it but your boyfriend…

“did you hear that? what the fuck.” he sat up.

“babe…you better not.” you warned him with a glare.

“it was a fucking ghost, y/n. i fucking told you theyre real. theres no way im letting somethi-”

you cut him off, “girl, ghosts are not damn real. if you dont lay your ass right back down i swear to god.”

“i know baby, i know.. but you gotta really think about it, what else could it be?” he bit down on his thumbnail.

“shut up, cho/rin.”

todo, bokuto

you were sitting on the dinner table- across from your boyfriend, who had told you he had something really important to talk to you about. some minutes passed and he was just sitting there, hands interlocked together, his leg beating up and down.

“babe…is everything all right? its been like 3 minutes are ya gonna say something?..” you softly spoke.

“there’s something..i gotta own up to.” he spoke, not moving a muscle.

“oh fuck no, if you cheated on me i swear to god-”

“are you crazy?,” he finally moved from his position and gave you a puzzled look, “of course not, its just..”

he took a long deep breath..

“when i was 5 years old, i went with my mom to the store. she was browsing and i wondered off and.. i saw this lollipop, that i really, like really wanted. and i picked it up and asked her if i could get it, of course my mother being my mother she said no. so i got angry.. and stuffed it in my little pocket. and she checked out and i got away with it. and i just keep thinking about it, and the more serious we get with our relationship i just cant bare the everlasting weight and guilt of this act i decided to act upon. so im telling you now.. if you wanna make your choice on whether you still wanna date a criminal like me.”

you got up from you seat, and sighed.

“i hope its April 1st today.”

nanami, akaashi

[dallasgallant]

Can’t remember who said it a few months back but part of why Darry is so rough on Ponyboy, apart from not knowing what he’s doing and it being a hard transition from brother to guardian is that it’s quite literally doctors orders.

Keep him busy, keep him occupied— added with focusing on the “checkpoints” of what a guardian is supposed to do and that Ponyboy has the chance Darry didn’t when it comes to going to college. The main thing about Darry is that he’s so focused on securing the future that he misses the present (maybe a future meta/longer. That line really hits ough)

Darry said “I love you so much” *chucks 14 year old into deep end of the pool and yells at him to float*

~

Can’t have night terrors if you’re exhausted! Love you 1960s medicine. He just gives pony a Benadryl …. Rip Ponyboy Curtis would’ve loved melatonin. 😔

[darthannie]

potential side effects

pairing: Jonathan Crane x f!reader summary: After giving you an experimental medication, Dr. Crane helps you get over your fear of intimacy.  word count: 2,143 warnings: 18+, minors DNI for the love of god, DARK, rough at points, I’m gonna go ahead and say NONCON, au where Dr. Crane has a private practice, abuse of power, reader is under the influence (kinda like the fear toxin), reader is sleepy, Crane doesn't take no for an answer, dacryphilia, inexperienced!reader, floor sex, spit, fighting back, a smidge of aftercare at the end. a/n: Please do not read if you’re not into what's in the warnings. I had fun experimenting with this one. I tried to be a little more thorough in the warnings. Better safe than sorry. I’m still toying around with Jonathan’s voice. Let me know if you want more of this kind of thing, or something different. I’d love to interact with you guys more!

Dr. Jonathan Crane had been treating you for the better part of a year and was in the midst of creating a new medication regimen for you. Your previous treatment plan was not working as intended, so it was back to the drawing board.

He selected you as the first person to receive an experimental medication. It was meant to be inhaled and doses were to be given during the time of the appointment. You didn’t necessarily know what to expect. He’d briefly mentioned that there may be potential side effects but didn’t go into much detail. 

You were nervous the first time you’d gone in to receive a dose. As you approached the door to his office you felt a lump begin to form in your throat. You knocked and after a moment he opened the door. Jonathan always wore the same thing most of the time. Today he donned a black blazer and slacks with a white button-up. His red tie was placed right at the center of his collar. His dark hair framed his face perfectly. He looks good today, you thought, better than usual. 

You exchanged your normal pleasantries and sat across from him on a couch. His office was spacious and dark. All the furniture was made of wood. In the corner, there was a big bookcase that consisted of books on fear, pharmacology, and different editions of the DSM. The DSM-4 was missing from the shelf, presumably on his desk. 

The room brought you a lot of comfort. It was the only place you ever got to see him. It felt like Dr. Crane was the only person in all of Gotham that understood you. It was his job after all. 

Soon the time came for him to administer the medication. 

“I’m going to spray in front of your face and you’re going to breathe in. It doesn’t take much to be effective.”, he said. 

You nodded and he sprayed. 

Your nerves subsided almost immediately and your mind became quiet.

“Any difference?”, he asked. 

“My mind is silent. All my racing thoughts have stopped.” 

“Good. That means it’s working. Some of the other side effects may begin to set in now.” 

He was right. Like clockwork, you started to get drowsy. It was like someone had given you a little too much Benadryl. It was hard to keep your eyes open. 

“Dr. Crane? Is this normal?” You couldn’t help but drag the ’s’. 

“It’s nothing to worry about. It’s just the medication working. How do you feel?” He seemed a tad on edge as he awaited your answer. 

“I feel all warm inside.” 

He then leaned back against his desk. “Any drowsiness?”

“Lots of it.” You chuckled slightly.

“That is normal.” He said, answering your question. “The medication was likely to make you feel tired.”

“Does it go away?”

“As your body builds up a tolerance, the effects will lessen. Now, I wanted to talk about the recent screenings you filled out. I would like you to check over them and rate their accuracy on a scale from one to five, five being very accurate.” 

He handed you a piece of paper and you looked it over. “Four.”

“Why not five?” His eyebrows furrowed. 

“Number six. ’S worse.” Question number six pertained to your interest in sex. More specifically how terrified you were of having it. 

It was a topic you were working on with Dr. Crane since it impacted your life so much. You were hesitant to mention it at first, but he assured you it was better to talk about it instead of holding it in. So, you spilled every detail. This included your inability to get yourself off and failed hook-up attempts.

You’d try very hard but when it came time for you to do the deed you shut down and found a way out of the situation. You hadn’t been getting out there much because, frankly, the thought of being intimate with someone was frightening. You didn’t know how you’d ever get over it. 

“Have you sought out any partners to help with your fears?”, he asked.

You took a moment to process what he said. “No, I haven’t. I can’t. It’s too-“

“Frightening, yes I remember you using that word.” He removed his glasses before continuing. “I think there’s a way I can help you with that. Personally.”

You yawned. “What do you mean by that doctor?” 

“I can make you feel better.” He looked down at you and brushed your cheek with the back of his hand. 

“How do you mean?” You could hear the apprehension in your voice. He ignored your question and reached down to the hem of your top, lifting it slightly. 

You pulled back a little too quickly and you got a bit dizzy. “I don’t know about that Dr. Crane. I can’t- I’m not well.”

He ignored you. “I think it’ll be easier if I just take you here on the floor.” 

He dragged you off the couch and onto the ground, sitting up. The hardwood was cold to the touch but started to warm under your body. He kneeled next to you. You tried to fight him as he reached for your sweater. He grabbed your wrists to stop you from thrashing around. 

“I would hate to have to tie you up, sweetheart.” You knew he would follow through so you did what he wanted. You stopped fighting back.

He neatly folded and put aside each article of clothing he took off your body. Eventually, you were completely bare in front of him. You were almost too gone to grasp what was going on. Almost. The fear began to creep in and he could tell. Maybe the medication was not working the way he intended it to. Maybe he lied about what it was intended to do. 

You slurred, “Dr. Crane, please don’t- Please don’t do this.” 

He leaned over you and you tried to push him away. He only offered a small smile and reached his hand down between your legs. You whimpered as his fingers moved lightly over your clit. You mewled at the new sensation. You gave in to the feeling and your eyes started to close. When they wouldn’t open again Jonathan lightly slapped your cheek. 

“No, no, no don’t fall asleep. I need you to stay awake for me.”, he said. 

You fought the exhaustion and watched as he used his fingers to tease you. 

He noticed you getting wetter and moved his fingers down to your entrance. He slowly stretched you with two fingers, watching your face as your mouth fell open. 

A tight-lipped smile appeared on his face. He started slow and then moved his fingers in and out very quickly, hitting a new spot until he found the one that made your legs shake. You lied back and let him work on you. All you felt was bliss. No one had ever touched you like that. 

He took his hand away and you whined. This was a first and you were glad you made it this far. This was a win. 

You thought it was over, but then you noticed him unbuttoning his pants. 

Your breath quickened and you put your hand out. “Wait! Please, no! I think I’ve had enough for today.” 

“We’re not done with your treatment yet, princess. Please hold still. It will be easier for the both of us.” 

Your body was made of putty. The side effects had gotten worse. He brought your legs into position before grabbing himself in his hand. He stroked his cock a couple of times before entering you. 

He gave you no time to adjust. His pace was slow but he fucked hard. You gasped at the feeling of him inside you. You’ve never been fucked like this before. But, that didn’t matter to him. All he wanted was to feel you around him. Make you his. 

The sounds in the room sent you reeling. You didn’t know you would moan so much. The sound of his skin hitting yours filled the room along with his heavy breaths and moans. He grabbed your hips as he thrust hard and fast. You were having a hard time coping with all the feelings you were having at once. The fear, exhaustion, and pleasure were beginning to mix. You wanted to scream. Instead, you cried. 

Jonathan moaned at the sight. He loved watching you cry. He’d seen it happen during sessions and couldn’t help but wonder what it would look like if you moaned while you cried. Now he knew. You were unable to keep quiet. Silent cries became sobs which became whimpers. 

He caressed your tear-stained face, “Shhhhhh, hush now it’s alright. You’re doing so well.”

You tried to talk through your tears. “Please Jonathan- Dr. Crane, Make it stop!”

This time he went deeper. You yelped as you felt him hit a new part of you. “I’m not stopping until you tell me it feels good. Tell me, does it feel good?”

“Yes,” you moaned, “it feels good.” 

“Yeah? Are you still frightened? Are you scared of me?”

“Yes.”, you admitted. It was hard for you to get out. How could you ever fear him? All he had ever done was help you. This was just another one of his unorthodox methods. 

He bent forward and put his arms next to your ears, locking his fingers on the top of your head to hold you in place. Your body was limp as he continued fucking you into the floor. Your eyes closed; you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. 

He shook your head slightly. “No, eyes on me. Look at me.” 

You looked at him wide-eyed. 

“Open your mouth.” You obeyed and he spit in your mouth. In all honesty, you savored the taste. It was another way of him claiming you. 

“Swallow.” When you did he hummed contently. “Good girl.” 

You felt something weird tightening in your core. “Dr. Crane. I feel like I’m gonna-“. 

A long moan came out before you could finish your sentence. He fucked you as you rode your high and soon after his thrusts started to falter. He sat up and grabbed your hip to use as leverage. You mustered up as much energy as you could to move away from him, using your legs to drag yourself across the floor. He was much stronger than you at this point and he pulled you back. 

“No, come here. You’re gonna stay still while I finish. Got it?”

The tears kept flowing, but you obeyed. You lied back as he came inside of you. He stayed inside of you for a minute, savoring the moment. You were tired and blissed out. He pulled out of you without a word. He watched as his cum dropped out of you. 

“What a sight.”, he said matter a factly. He helped you sit up and wiped tears from your face with his thumb. He brought you close to him and kissed your forehead. 

He got up and put himself back together again. He fixed his clothing, tucking in his pristine white shirt and fastening his pants. He fixed his tie and looked past you into a mirror. 

Once satisfied, he grabbed a towel from his desk and cleaned you up. He helped you up to your feet and began dressing you. His demeanor was softer now. He took his time as he got you dressed. Once he was finished he helped you sit on the couch. You curled up into his side, seeking comfort from the man who had just used you. 

You’d never felt more confused. You knew this shouldn’t have happened. Every boundary had been crossed. But, the special attention from him felt better than anything. You fell asleep on his shoulder. He let you sleep on him for a while before he got up to write notes on what had just occurred. He found his glasses, put them on, and returned to his desk to begin writing. He included your reaction to the “medication” and how receptive you were to the treatment.

You woke up about an hour later, confused. You looked around and recognized his office. The memories of earlier events came rushing back. You felt your cheeks get hot.

Jonathan looked up from the paper he was holding up. “Rise and shine.”

He grabbed a sheet of paper from your file. He attached it to a clipboard and grabbed a pen. He handed you the materials and you looked down. It was another questionnaire. 

“Fill this out as accurately as possible.”

“What is it for?” You cleared your throat. He sat back down at his desk and picked up the paper he was previously inspecting. He looked at your file before looking back at you. 

“Our next session.”, he replied. 

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Eggplant (The Surprise, Part 18)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: nightmares, mentions of Emily's fake death, mentions of past sexual trauma (nothing graphic though), discussions of birth/delivery times (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 2.1k

Summary: You've always struggled with sleep and nightmares, but the third trimester is making it worse than ever. Thankfully, Emily is always there to calm you down and take your mind off the bad dreams.

Note: I know the gif is the man that we can't stand! But it was the most appropriate one! Just use your imagination! Replace him with reader!

Week 28: The Eggplant

You jerked awake, gasping and flailing, struggling to sit up against the weight of your baby bump. Sweat pooled in the dips of your collarbone and at the nape of your neck, dampening the soft strands of hair that rested there.

You blinked in the darkness, sucking in great gulps of air, feeling for Emily next to you. She was already up, already pressing her hand into yours and squeezing your palm, already drawing you into her chest, holding you protectively.

“Hey, hey,” she cooed, “it’s okay. You’re alright. It’s just a dream.”

Your heart raced, and you snaked your arms around Emily’s waist, burying yourself in her. You coughed, your breath still caught in your throat. She ran her thumb gently along the side of your face, wiping away the tears that lingered from the dream.

You’d always had more vivid dreams–and more often–than the average person. As a child, you’d even been diagnosed with a sleep disorder characterized by horrific nightmares. It had faded, but not gone away, as you grew up. After a lot of trial and error, you’d discovered that taking ashwagandha supplements before bed largely put a stop to the nightmares.

But you weren’t allowed to take ashwagandha while you were pregnant or breastfeeding. You’d been lucky until now–the nightmares had been few and far between, despite not being able to take your usual sleep aid. But when you hit the third trimester, they’d come back in full force. Almost every night, horrifically realistic, so terrifying that you were often scared to go back to sleep afterward for fear the dreams would resume. You’d tried melatonin, Benadryl, Tylenol PM, Unisom, and doxylamine. Tonight, you’d tried magnesium. The only thing it’d done was make you have to get up and take a shit in the middle of the night.

Your heart rate was slowing, but your body still shook. You grasped onto Emily’s t-shirt desperately, as if it was the only thing tethering you to the world. Sometimes the dreams involved your family. But most often these days they were about Emily.

“I guess that’s a no on the magnesium, huh?” Emilly whispered, her breath warm at the top of your head. “You want to talk about it?”

You let out a shaky breath, holding her just a bit tighter. “You died again,” you said, your voice so soft she almost couldn’t hear you. You were afraid to speak it into existence.

You could see Emily’s face without seeing it. Always wracked with guilt, always heartbroken. She always told you that going into WITSEC after Doyle, letting you and her team believe she was dead for nearly a year, was the worst thing she’d ever done. There had been no way around it; you knew it and she knew it. You didn’t like to bring it up, didn’t like to make her feel bad. She’d done what she had to do to protect herself, and as much as her fake death had devastated you–destroyed you, even–you couldn’t bring yourself to hold it against her.

“It was Doyle,” you whispered into her neck. “He made me watch.” You shuddered, and Emily grasped your face in both of her hands, turning you gently so she could look you in the eyes. She brushed a strand of hair out of your face and sighed.

“He’s dead, honey,” Emily said firmly. “I will never do that to you again.”

A tear ran down the side of your face, part of your brain still stuck in the dream, still watching Doyle hurt Emily again and again. Emily wiped it away, replacing it with a kiss.

“It’s okay, baby,” she reassured you, her heart aching to see you so scared. “I’m okay. I’m safe.”

“I’m sorry, Em,” you choked out, more tears coming now. It was three in the morning. You were on your second week of waking up terrified every night. Emily always got up with you. She had to be tired. You were exhausted. “You should go back to sleep.”

“Nope,” she protested lightly, drawing you down to the bed with her, pressing your face to her chest. “No crying, come on. It’s okay. You’re up, I’m up. Shh, just let me hold you, alright?”

You leaned into her touch, relishing the way her fingernails felt against your scalp, the weight of her arms around you, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, the up and down of her breath.

“What’ll help?” she asked. “You want to get your mind off it? Think about something else?”

You nodded, sniffling.

“Alright,” she yawned, stretching a bit to reach inside the drawer of her nightstand. She pulled out her tablet, the light from the screen making you blink.

“What are you doing?” you asked, blinking.

“We might as well get something done, if we’re up,” she said, cradling your head in the crook of her elbow, so that she could manage the tablet and keep you close at the same time.

She opened a Google doc that she’d titled Birth Plan.

“Birth plan?” There was a series of questions and fill-in-the-blanks on there, as if Emily had copy-pasted it from another website. “I thought the plan was to have the baby. That’s the birth plan.”

She pinched at your stomach, and you giggled, squirming. “No, you dork. There’s more to it than that. And I’d rather us make the decisions now, so when you’re in labor, freaking out, we don’t miss anything.”

“I think you mean when you’re freaking out during labor.”

You watched her roll her eyes and smiled. You loved teasing Emily.

“Okay, well, regardless of who's freaking out, we need a plan. So just… lay your pretty head down and answer my questions, okay?”

You kissed the inside of her arm and nestled yourself comfortably against her. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Alright, let’s see…” Emily said, brows furrowed, biting at the corner of her lip. Her thinking face. She meant business. “Full name and pronouns, I already know that. Partner’s name and pronouns… Due date, provider… I can fill all this out without you.”

“So then, the birth plan really is just have the baby?”

“No!” Emily insisted, scrolling. “Here. Here’s some you can answer. Have you ever… had group B strep?”

“No.”

“Been previously diagnosed with genital herpes?”

Your face went beet red. “Jesus, Em! No!”

She smirked. “I know, I just wanted to see you blush. Uh… do you have Rh incompatibility with the baby?”

“I don’t think so? I feel like Dr. Delgado would have mentioned it by now.”

“I’m putting no. Gestational diabetes?”

“No.”

“Fear of needles?”

“No, not really.”

“Have experienced–” Emily stopped suddenly, her voice stuck in her throat.

“Experienced what?” you prompted. When she didn’t answer, you poked her leg with your foot. “Emily, experienced what?”

“It’s okay,” she mumbled. “I can answer that one for you.”

“Well, now I want to know…”

“It’s fine, Y/N. Let’s just move on.”

“No, Em, I want to know!”

She sighed and bit at one of her nails. You furrowed your eyebrows and took her hand.

“Have you ever experienced birth trauma or prior sexual assault,” Emily read, her voice soft.

“Oh.”

You were both quiet for a moment, your thumb running over Emily’s knuckles. “Well, I guess you did know the answer for that one…” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “Let’s keep going.”

Emily shook her head a bit, as if clearing clouds. “Uh… delivery plan… I’m assuming vaginal?”

You nodded. “What are the other options?”

“C-section or water birth.”

You shivered. “Yeah, definitely vaginal. I think I’d cry if I had to give birth in a kiddie pool.”

Emily cracked a smile, and you were glad to see her getting back to herself. “Who do you want in the room with you?”

“You.”

“Well, yeah. Anyone else, though? Your mom?”

“Just you,” you confirmed, kissing her hand.

“Whatever you want,” Emily confirmed, continuing down the list. “Do you want any music played?”

“Screamo.”

Emily laughed. “Can you imagine?”

“Alright, I’ll settle for punk.”

“I’m putting TBD,” Emily decided. “Okay, this next part is a big, long checklist, so just say yes or no, I guess.”

“Okay,” you agreed. Your heart rate was almost back to normal, your breathing calm and even as you snuggled into Emily. You were starting to feel sleepy again, and were trying not to fight it, not to let yourself get scared again.

“Lights dimmed?” Emily asked, making her way down the list.

“Uh… I guess so?”

“Room as quiet as possible?”

“Minus the punk music, yes.”

Emily fought off a smile, running a hand absentmindedly through your hair. “As few interruptions as possible?”

“...Yes?”

“As few vaginal and cervical exams as possible? Yes.” Emily’s voice grew quiet again as she read this one, and you squeezed her hand to let her know you were okay. “Hospital staff limited to my doctors and nurses only? I’m putting yes for this one, too. I don’t want any fucking students in there watching.”

You yawned, closing your eyes as you pressed your cheek against Emily’s chest. You were having a harder and harder time staying awake.

“Do you want to wear your own clothes?”

“Yes,” you mumbled.

“Your glasses?”

You looked up at her, confused. “As opposed to what? Loaner glasses?”

Emily shrugged. “No glasses, I guess?”

“No. I can’t see shit without my glasses. The baby would just be a blob.”

“So yes to your glasses… Do you want me to take pictures?”

“Of me giving birth?!” you exclaimed. “No!”

“But you’ll look so beautiful!” Emily argued.

“I’ll look like a hot plate of shit,” you shot back. “In fact, I might actually shit myself during labor. I don’t want any photographic evidence of that, thank you.”

“Fine,” Emily grumbled. “Putting no. Would you like to stay hydrated with clear liquids and ice chips?”

“What kind of question is that?” you asked, fighting off another big yawn. “Of course I want to be hydrated.”

“Do you want to eat?”

“I don’t know. Depends on how long it takes, I guess.”

“There’s no box for maybe,” Emily observed.

“Make a box, then, Emily. Jesus. You work for the FBI.”

“Mean…” she mumbled.

“Sorry. I love you.” At this point, you were half-asleep, Emily’s voice far away, as if you were underwater.

“Do you want me to catch the baby?”

“Catch the baby? What are they tossing it?”

“No, like… as he’s born.”

“As she falls out of my vagina?!”

“...Yeah.”

“Not really. I want you up with me so I can squeeze your hand and yell at you.”

Emily was quiet, and you grabbed for her hand, blinking your eyes open.

“Unless it’s important to you,” you told her. “If that’s something you want to do, then by all means.”

“No…” Emily thought out loud. “But I think I’d like to cut the umbilical cord, if that’s okay with you?”

You nodded, getting comfy again, sleep infringing on the edges of your consciousness.

“Do you want him placed on your chest right away?” When you didn’t answer, Emily prompted you again. “Y/N?”

She looked down to find you conked out, snoring softly, your arm wrapped around her stomach, legs entwined with hers. She smiled softly at you and kissed the top of your head, sneaking her hand under the fabric of your shirt to rub your back.

“I’m putting yes,” she whispered, typing quickly then turning off the tablet and setting it gently on the nightstand, careful not to shift too much and wake you.

Emily adjusted the covers so that you’d be nice and warm. She wasn’t a praying person, but she hoped against hope that you’d sleep through the rest of the night. You had huge circles under your eyes from so many nights of restless sleep. Emily was used to running on little sleep, but you weren’t. And you were growing a baby. You needed more sleep than usual, and you weren’t getting it.

She pressed her lips to your head again and again, making sure you were secure in her arms. She couldn’t go into your head and fight off the nightmares for you, but she could make sure that if and when you woke up, you felt safe right away. She could make sure she was there, make sure that the moment you gasped awake, you felt Emily next to you–real and alive and warm and very, very here.

[heartfullofleeches]

V would be sobbing behind the window pane looking at cat darling trying not to get caught then expose himself by doing one of those loud ass sneezes

Cat Darling gets cozy in bed, ready to fall asleep only to be woken up by V coughing up a lung in their closet drinking a soda they left out hours ago. Apparently, cat saliva is usually what sets allergies off so V is forced to wallow in misery everytime he kisses his precious kitty. Rest in dirt. Ratboy

-

V, on the verge of death: Please, Kitten... just...one more kiss

Cat Darling: You said that the last twenty times. Take your damn Benadryl and quit whining

V: The only medicine I need is your love....

Cat Darling: It literally isn't. Swallow the goddamn pill

V: Only if you deliver it mouth to mouth....

[kindersurprisebacterium]

Mutated (Ghost/Reader)

CW: Alone!Ghost violence, graphic depiction of murder, corpses, blood, nonverbal consent, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, double penetration in two holes, drool, cunilingus, kind of gross, author is on benadryl

Gender Neutral AFAB Reader

WC 2.8k

Crickets softly chirped in the distance. The gentle bubbling of the hot tub melded with the song. Yellow-tinted string lights hung above the deck, igniting the dark landscape. 

My fingers clenched around the can in my hand. My head was swirling from the alcohol already trickling into my blood. Tilting my head back against the edge of the tub, I sighed. I couldn’t get enough of nights like these. 

Laughter drew me from my momentary peace. Opening my eyes, my gaze landed on my friend curled up at her boyfriend's side. Her fingers traced along his chest. Both of their eyes were drawn to the phone in front of them. 

My brows knitted, eyelids fluttering closed as I pushed scattered thoughts from my mind. I never enjoyed being the third wheel. 

Soft splashing drew my attention. The water lapped against my skin as her boyfriend- Liam, Noah, whatever- stood. 

“I’m grabbing another case from the kitchen.” He mumbled, swiping the strands of damp hair from his forehead. The wooden deck creaked beneath his weight as he padded off toward the back door. 

Marissa's eyes were trained on his half-naked frame, only flicking to me as the door creaked shut. She had a grin on her face, mouth agape as if she was in disbelief. 

“Isn’t he amazing?”

In truth, that was the only sentence he’d spoken to me. He made Such a lackluster first impression that I couldn’t come up with a response. I simply nodded, sipping the last drops of beer from my can.

“He, like, understands me. He’s so supportive.” She continued. 

“Good,” I stated plainly, pretending she hasn’t said the same things about her last two boyfriends.

“It’s just so refreshing to finally be with someone I can connect with, you know?”

The conversation lulled into silence. I grasped my phone, squinting as the bright screen cut through the darkness. My lock Screen was bare, not even an email notification. Out of habit, my thumb tapped the Instagram logo. My heavy eyes followed the endless stream of photos, not even bothering to stop and double-tap. 

In my peripherals I watched as Marissa glanced to the door, then to her phone, and back again. She brought her nails to her lips, teeth sinking into the keratin with a soft pop. 

I pursed my lips, glancing back down at my phone, hoping the array of images in front of me would distract me from the slowly disintegrating friendship I was in. And yet I couldn’t help but focus on the way she fidgeted, eyes not leaving the back door. I clicked my phone shut, only to be met with an eerie silence as the cricket song faded into nothing. 

With a soft thud, I set my phone down. Squinting my eyes, I gazed into the pitch black. The bubbling, queasy feeling of dread rose in my stomach. I swallowed the anxiety down, bringing my gaze back to Marissa. 

“It’s, like, weird that he hasn’t come back yet, right?”

As I parted my lips to speak, I watched as a figure emerged from the shadows behind her. its thick fingers wrapped around her head, pressing tight enough to draw blood. 

It didn’t have just one set of arms, but three sets melded together with fleshy ligaments. Soft pops echoed from Marissa's head as the figure compressed her skull. Blood oozed from the finger holes that penetrated her face. 

Her brows knitted, lips parting in a silent scream as the beast tugged at her head, splitting it with a reverberating squelch. The hot tub turned deep red as blood and brain matter splattered into the water. 

My heart pounded in my ears. I clasped my hand over my mouth, holding back the vomit that threatened to rise from my chest. The figure grunted as it tugged her limp body apart. Gushing blood flooded the hot tub enough for the red-tinged water to run over the side. 

My eyes latched onto the figure's face- or rather, faces. Like a blood soaked humanoid Cerberus, the creature had three heads, identities shrouded by a mask. Fleshy tendons joined the faces together like some sort of mutated monster you’d find in chernobyl.

The last of my resolve broke as I let out an unrestrained scream. Turning, I lept from the hot tub, quivering knees buckling beneath my body. Cherry red water ran down my legs as I stumbled toward the back door. I grasped the doorknob, pushing the door open. 

My body met the plush carpeting as I fell through the door frame. I quickly glanced over my shoulder, eyes locking onto the hot tub. Fear swirled inside my veins as it realized the creature was no longer there. 

I scrambled onto my feet, not paying any mind to the red stain I left on the carpet. My fingers gripped the lacquered railing of the stairs. My feet thudded against the carpet as I rushed to the second floor, glancing over my shoulder periodically. 

I darted down the hall, turning toward the bedroom at the end of the corridor. The carpet met my stomach as I lowered myself to the ground. Sucking in a sharp breath, I crawled under the bed, pressing my cheek to the floor. My gaze stayed locked onto the door. Dread swelled in my throat. I clenched my jaw in a weak attempt to hold back my nausea. 

Dull thuds echoed from down the hallway, slow and erratic. I squeezed my eyes shut tight enough for my head to ache. The faint smell of iron and rot wafted down the hallway, growing more potent by the second. Over my pounding heartbeat I could just barely hear distant groaning and chortling. 

Suddenly the thudding ceased. My eyelids flew open, locking onto the set of feet just a few feet before me. Hot tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision. 

An aching pain sparked in my ankle, traveling up my leg. Thick, bloodstained fingers wrapped around my calf, pulling me out from under the bed. My eyes latched onto its white, foggy irises. I choked out a sob, snot running from my nose. My limbs went limp below the creature as I braced for my death. 

But nothing came. 

The creature sat above me, heaving with every strained breath. Each set of its eyes flicked up and down my body. Its gaze was predatory, but in another way. I watched as the creature leaned down just inches above my stomach. A thick strand of bloody spit drooled from one of its mouths. I pursed my lips, holding back the vomit that threatened to rise from my stomach. 

The creature leaned in, licking the mess of blood from my skin. Heat rushed to my face as the monster grumbled. One of its hands grasped my hip, nearly big enough to encase my thigh in his grip. He grabbed the hem of my swimsuit, pulling it from my body with force. I sputtered out an incoherent protest as he pulled me forward. 

Despite my words, I didn’t raise a finger, opting to watch as the creature set his sights on my bare body. 

“Mine,” one head gurgled. 

Thick fingers wrapped around my ankles, spreading my legs wide for the beast. I could feel every ounce of blood in my veins throbbing to the beat of my heart. My face felt hot, unnaturally hot. I covered my face with my hands as the set of heads drew lower and lower and lower. 

Drool ran down my cunt as the creature leaned in, sloppily flicking his tongue over my clit. Another head softly nipped at my inner thighs, lavishing his tongue over the bite marks he made. The third simply kept his eyes trained on my core. 

It was messy, almost to the point of discomfort. The figure sloppily ate me out, strings of spit poured from its mouth. My hips bucked when the tip of its tongue flicked against my clit. The creature paused, grumbling to itself before leaning back in. 

Like a heat-seeking missile, it focused its attention on my clit. Its tongue rapidly flicked against the nub. Unrestrained moans fell from my spit-soaked lips. I let my arms fall limp at my side. My gaze stayed put on the monster between my legs, grunting with every cant of my hips. 

Two of its arms held my legs still as I squirmed in his grip. With another, he slid his hand up my inner thigh, gathering saliva on his fingertips before circling my entrance. 

He trusted his fingers inside of me. Pain sparked in my core as he shoved them forward forcefully. I pulled away, brows furrowing as I looked down at the creature. 

“Too hard, it hurts,” I winced, as if expecting this monstrosity to understand. 

Soft clicks echoed from its throat as it leaned back in, tongue going right back to my clit. His fingers slowly rocked in and out of me in time with his tongue. My eyelids fluttered closed as I let my arousal wash over my body in waves. 

My cunt squelched with every thrust of his fingers. His pooling spit only added to my wetness. I looked down at the creature with half-lidded eyes, watching as he made a mess of me. 

It was disgusting, watching this pile of flesh and rot eat me out, and yet I couldn’t get enough. I reached down between my legs, tugging at his balaclava, pulling the creature closer to my cunt. 

I cried out as he pushed a third finger inside of me, working me open for him. Heat swelled in my abdomen as each thrust of his fingers, each flick of his tongue drew me closer to an orgasm. Gritting my teeth, I pushed aside my thoughts, pushed aside the picture of the mangled body that lay just a hundred feet or so away. 

My knees were pushed to my chest, knocking the wind from my lungs. I stared down between my legs with wide eyes. The set of heads had pulled back as if to watch as a single finger pushed into my asshole. I threw my head back against the carpet, crying out incoherently as he worked the single digit past my taut muscles. 

The hand resting on the back of my thigh inched forward, toying with my clit. It flicked the tip of its thumb up and down over my clit. I glanced down, eyes widening as I realized each set of eyes was trained on my core. I reached between my legs, hand resting on top of the creatures. My fingers guided its thumb in quick circles, hips bucking as arousal sparked in my core. 

“Fuuuck,” I drawled, “that’s it, good boy.”

The creature grumbled, thrusting its finger in and out of me at a quicker pace. Biting down on my lip to conceal my laughter, I let my body sink deeper into the pleasure.

Who’d’ve guessed this monster had a praise kink?

Another finger pushed inside of me, slicked with drool. My brows knitted, breathy moans falling past my parted lips as he worked me open. He grunted, speeding up the pace of his fingers. Its hips twitched as it rutted against the carpeted floor. 

He added a third, clearly growing impatient. My thighs quivered as he roughly thrust the digits, pace growing sloppier by the second. My thighs shook with every flick, every push. The noises spilling from my throat crescendoed. 

Tension built, tugging every muscle taught. Every tendon in my body tensed, every ligament flexing under the weight of my arousal. My vision grew unfocused. Flashes of white brimmed in my peripherals as his fingers sent me over the edge. 

Sweat beaded down my heaving chest, sputtering moans spilling from my throat. I clenched around his fingers, hips canting toward his hand. 

With a huff of air, I went limp. I watched as the creature pulled its fingers from me. Its tongue darted from its mouth, swiping along the digits. I glanced away, pursing my lips and swallowing down my thoughts. It was too late to second guess this decision, wasn’t it?

I eased myself onto my knees, glancing up at the creature before me. My palm pressed against his shirt, dampened by blood and drool. I pushed against his hulking torso, nodding as he laid back against the carpet. 

“That’s it. Now, I think you deserve something, don’t you?” I toyed with the hem of his shirt, easing it up over his toned stomach. Pleased grunts and gurgles erupted from beneath me. I straddled the beast, fingers slipping beneath the band of his tattered jeans. 

I tugged at the denim, attempting to pull it down his hips. It didn’t budge. With a grunt, I yanked the fabric. Nothing. With a soft grumble, the creature shifted its weight off of its hips. 

Three stiff cocks sprung free, bobbing against his abdomen from the sheer weight. My breath caught in my throat as I looked down. They were flushed and drooling pre-cum. 

“Fuck-” I cursed. 

Its hands grabbed my hips, positioning me over its leaking cocks. 

“Wait- wait. Please take it slow,” I sputtered. 

The creature clicked, bringing a hand to my cheek. Its dirty fingers stroked my skin in silent understanding.

“Mine,” it said again. I wrapped my fingers around the shaft of one cock, earning a groan from one of the heads. Glancing down, I watched as the head of his cock disappeared inside of me. My head spun as I slowly took his length inch by inch. Beneath me, the heads were chattering. 

Two of its hands gripped my hips, guiding me up and down its length. I pressed my hands against his chest, letting him take control of the rhythm. 

He slowly brought my hips down, and back up. I savored the way every inch of his cock dragged against my insides. I felt him twitch inside of me before stilling. He lifted my hips, each set of eyes fixated on how my cunt swallowed his length. 

One head gurgled, white eyes meeting mine. The head of another cock nudged against my asshole. I wordlessly nodded.

My jaw went slack as he inched his cock inside of me. Each inch making me feel so undeniably full. Tears brimmed in my eyes, threatening to spill over as he lowered me down onto his cock. I could feel him in my lungs, knocking the air from my chest with every prod of his head. 

With a choked-out sob, my pelvis met his. His fingertips gently kneaded my ass, thumb stroking my hipbones. I stared down at the beast with half-lidded eyes, wordlessly spitting into my hand and wrapping my digits around his third, neglected cock. 

The third head, quieter than the others, began to babble and gurgle incoherently. Its warped blue eyes fluttered closed. 

My motions spurred something in the creature. In an instant, it was lifting my hips, guiding my body up and down his length. 

“Fuckfuckfuck- just like that!” I sputtered. Drool spilled from the corner of my puffy lips, running down my face. 

Each thrust felt almost too overbearing. Every drag of his cock ignited my nerve endings, sending jolts of pleasure through my nerves. My skin felt burning hot, the only respite being the sweat that oozed from my pores. Streaks of dirt spread across my skin as his filthy hands groped every bit of bare skin within reach. 

I leaned forward, pressing messy, opened-mouth kisses to one of the creatures faces. Its skin tasted like moss and pennies. I would’ve been disgusted had I not been on the brink of orgasm. Then I was mashing my lips against another head, moaning against its bloodstained ligaments. And then the next, leaving a trail of drool in my wake. 

“So good,” I slurred. 

The creature bent its knees, using the angle to thrust into me harder. I planted my hand atop its chest, bracing my quivering body against the onslaught of its hips. 

“That’s it- fuck!”

The grunting and groaning grew louder. Another set of hands slid beneath my top, toying with my nipples. My hand grew unsteady, each stroke becoming more and more erratic as my pleasure subsumed me. 

“I’m gonna cum,” I babbled, toes curling as I lost myself. I threw my head back. Hot tears poured from my eyes, running down my flushed cheeks. My voice came out as a strangled mess of moans, melding with those of the beast below me. My skin felt freezing, pricked with pins and needles as my orgasm washed over my body. 

I went limp, falling forward into the creature’s chest. A set of arms held me close, another gripped my ass tight, and another lay limp by his side. The beast gurgled, rutting its hips into me before stalling. Warmth flooded my insides, running down my inner thighs and coating my stomach. 

Its muscular hands eased me off of its now limp cocks before gently placing me back down. Its embrace felt warm, inviting, addicting even. The hold its arms had on me was intoxicating—enough to tug at my eyelids.

And yet the distant sound of sirens pulled me from my dozing state. 

“Fuck.”

Masterlist