#then you get to four and look back and it’s like damn

[darknight3904]

buy me presents, baby!

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: The holiday season is packed enough as it is. On top of it all, Joel has a cute little girlfriend he just can't seem to resist spoiling...

Warnings: 18+ Explicit Smut Unprotected p in v, literally one spank, riding, missionary, Joel's a bit of a tease, pregnancy mention (no ones actually pregnant, don't worry) No outbreak au, modern au, viagra mention, unspecified age gap (mid/early-20s reader in mind), Rich older bf Joel!! I don't know how Hinge works sorry.

Word Count: 2.7k

Based on the song buy me presents by Sabrina Carpenter

Masterlist

The local mall was a buzz with what you swore was the entire state of Texas. Everywhere you turned, someone was brushing by you, mumbling an excuse me or just grunting an apology.

"Maybe we should just go home...There's so many people here." You say as you stand off to the side.

"Oh c'mon we drove all the way here, don't you wanna take a peek at some things, darlin'?"

Joel's warm southern tone sent a tingle of warmth down your spine. He was always so charming, that's how he won you over in the first place, his charm.

You'd stumbled across his Hinge profile six months ago. Your friend, Jess had jokingly set your profile to look for men over ten years older than you.

"Trust me, Dilfs are a whole different ballpark, girl!"

You hadn't believed her, after all, who would want some old half-bald, blue pill-taking man sitting across from them at dinner?

Things of course changed late one Wednesday night when Joel, 40 popped up on your screen. Not only did he have all his hair (and teeth!) but damn it he was so hot.

For lack of a better word, Joel was the perfect gentleman. He'd picked you up for your first date right at 7, opened all the doors for you, and even pulled your chair out for you to sit at the restaurant. Conversation had flowed so easily with him, that you'd almost forgotten you had just met the man across from you.

Fast forward a few months and here you were walking the mall with the head and Co-owner of Miller Construction Co. Joel's big hand cradled yours as he opened the door to Sephora.

"Said you needed some more of that lip balm you like right? Let's get it now."

You nodded and let him pull you into the store. He always did this, pulled you into stores so you could look at things. Of course, that wouldn't be a problem if he wasn't always buying half the things you picked up to admire. Hell, one time you were at Macy's with him and made a joke about the adult Spiderman onesie that was being sold, two days later it was sitting in your lap in just your size.

Jess had told you to enjoy it, to let him buy you everything your little heart desired but you couldn't help but feel guilty. You already spent most of your time sleeping at Joel's place, showering there, and eating his food. What were you even working for if you couldn't buy a measly lip balm for yourself?!

You pulled the one you wanted from the shelf. You'd run out a few days ago and your lips had begun to crack without it. Your eyes fell down to look at the price that was beside the scent

Twenty-four bucks?! That was nearly two hours of working at the shitty secretary job you had down at the local library! Whoever was setting prices at this company needed a serious reality check.

Joel's back was turned as he was staring at an array of brushes, mumbling that no one needed that many things for their face. Perfect! You could sneakily set this back on the display and-

"What're you doin'? Isn't that the one?"

Shit.

"Well yeah, but..."

"Then put it in the basket."

Joel's outstretched arm came up to present the little black and white basket he'd taken from a worker when the two of you entered.

"I just think that twenty-four bucks is too much for a little tube of lip balm. I think I'll just switch back to Carmex or Burts Bee's."

"Darlin' I'll buy it." Joel gave you a warm smile, "Let me spoil you."

"No way! You just bought me dinner!" You shake your head, thinking of your leftovers that sat in the backseat of his car.

"And now I wanna buy you a lip balm," Joel says taking it from your hands to put in the basket.

"Nope. We're not getting it." You say, pulling it from his hands and tossing it back on the shelf, "Let's leave."

Joel protests but lets you pull him from the store and back to the car.

Three days later...

Joel never liked shopping. He'd always been the kind of guy who bought the same shirt in multiple colors just because it made sense in his mind. Even when the company had taken off and he and Tommy were living comfortably instead of paycheck to paycheck, he hadn't really found an excuse to indulge and spend a lot of his hard-earned cash. Sure, he'd dropped a lot on a new car after his poor pickup truck had gotten rear-ended two years ago, damn teen drivers. Then, there was the new roof that his house needed last summer. But, both of those were easily paid off and Joel often found himself with a bank account higher than necessary.

It never bothered him, after all, it just meant retirement would come quicker, and if he ever had kids they'd have a lot of inheritance. Yes, Joel was happy living his simple lifestyle. Of course, that was until he met you...

You were just perfect in Joel's eyes. From the moment he saw you on that dating app Tommy had stuck on his phone, he'd known you were the one for him. Initially, he'd felt weird when he'd swiped on you, after all, you were so young compared to him. His fears though, they'd vanished the moment you started laughing at his lame jokes, adding your own even worse ones to the conversation. Yes, you were just perfect for him.

Now, it was December, the holiday season was in full swing and Joel found himself itching to spend some of that cash that'd been sitting in the bank for ages. He'd spent the last six months trying to keep the spending to a minimum, you always scolded him despite enjoying all of his gifts and he'd hate to make you feel uncomfortable. But after today when you'd put that little lip balm back on the shelf, he'd felt sad for you. Joel hadn't missed your small frown when it clattered back onto the display next to the others. You wanted that lip balm and, you were going to get that lip balm.

It was as if he was a man possessed. Three hours had passed since he'd walked into this mall and his arms were begging to feel a bit sore. Sure, he'd bought you the lip balm but before he knew it, he was wandering into all the other stores, looking for things that'd make you smile and cover his face in kisses. As he loaded the bags into the trunk a bit of worry crossed his mind. Had he gone overboard?

No, there definitely could be more...

December 25th, Christmas Morning at Joel Miller's

The warm scent of coffee had your eyes slowly pulling open. You groaned and pulled yourself out of bed, fumbling to pull Joel's shirt on before finding your discarded panties from last night. Whoever told you that older men needed Viagra to get it up clearly hadn't met Joel.

You padded down the steps to see Joel hunched over the stove, flipping pancakes while his beloved coffee maker brewed.

"Morning." You chirp, wrapping your arms around him, and resting your hands on his soft belly.

"Good morning." Joel's deep voice filled your ears

You greedily let your hands slip under the waistband of his plaid pajama pants. Joel lets out a hum and scoots away from you.

"Keep that up and we won't be eating or opening gifts til noon."

You roll your eyes and go to pour him his coffee.

After a delicious breakfast, Joel pulled you into the living room where your jaw nearly met the floor. Last night when you'd passed out in bed after the third round, there had been six presents under the tree, three from him and three from you. Now there had to be over triple that.

"What did you do?" You ask, spinning around to face Joel.

"What? I'm not allowed to spoil you?" Joel asks, a boyish grin on his face.

"It's like you bought the whole damn store and put it in your living room." You point out

"Not the whole store, just some of it." Joel laughs

Nearly an hour later, you were sitting in a pile of wrapping paper and bows.

"Alright, last one," Joel says, pulling a small gift bag with a snowman on it out.

You sigh in fake exhaustion, "Hand it over, cowboy."

Joel snorts and hands you the bag which a moment later you find has the lip balm you'd put back the other day.

"Went back and bought it for ya. Got a little distracted though..." Joel smiles

"Oh, only a little? Is that why there's lingerie and a new pair of boots sitting in boxes next to me?" You laugh, "Not to mention you even bought me a new frying pan."

"Yeah, just a little sidetracked s' all," Joel says, looking at the many different things he'd found for you.

"Thank you, Joel." You smile earnestly, "It's your turn now."

"Why don't ya model this for me, darlin'?" Joel asks, pushing the red babydoll dress towards you

"But what about your presents?" You pout, "I put a lot of thought into the one with the green paper."

"Give me a fashion show, it can be part of the gift." Joel coerces.

"Ugh, you're lucky you're hot, Joel." You huff, scooping the fabric up and heading off to the bathroom.

Joel lets out a long whistle as you reenter the living room, "Well, would you look at that?"

"Pervert." You scoff as he pulls you into his lap

"Not allowed to appreciate my girl?" He asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek

"You just wanted to see what my boobs looked like in red lace." You point out

Joel gives you a grin, busted.

"Nah, what makes you think that?"

Joel's lips capture yours and his hands secure themselves at your waist. Your resolve loosens as your hands curl against the soft skin of his chest.

"What about your presents?" You ask breathlessly when he pulls back

"Got everything I want right here." He says, "Let's go upstairs, this old man needs a bed if he's gonna fuck you silly."

Joel's hands are back on you the moment he kicks the bedroom door shut. His lips find yours again as his hands begin to pull the straps of your outfit off your shoulders.

Your back hits the mattress and one of Joel's big hands snakes down between your thighs.

"Still wet from last night." Joel laughs into the kiss

"Mmm, I think it was from earlier. Seeing you shirtless, cooking for me was hot." You admit

"Yeah? Y'like me cookin' for ya?" Joel asks

"Course, who wouldn't wanna see a hot old man cooking pancakes for them on Christmas?" You tease

Joel delivers a sharp slap to your inner thigh, "Not that old, darlin'."

"Sure you aren't."

You push at his shoulders and straddle him, loving the way his hands gently rest on your thighs.

You hum in delight as his hips lift and he pulls his pants off, finally exposing the rest of his body to your greedy eyes. Joel's lips ghost over your nipples, teasing them with his tongue as he lifts you up so he's notched at your entrance. Eager, you move to push him in but he stops you.

"What do ya say, baby?" Joel teases

"C'mon Joel..." You groan, "I want it."

"Ask nicely then," he clicks his tongue, "Go on,"

You huff a small breath of frustration and Joel's hands squeeze your hips.

"Please," You mumble

"What was that? This old man needs some help hearin' ya." Joel prods

"Please, fuck me, Joel." You groan, wiggling your hips as the head of his cock teases your hole.

"S' what I wanted to hear," Joel says, pressing a wet kiss to your neck

Joel's loud groan mingles with your girlish one as he lets you go to take him in. Your mind goes blank as your hips begin to rock. Joel's hands roam your body as he pinches and teases the sensitive flesh of your chest.

"C'mon girlie, give it to me." He encourages

"I'm trying." You huff, the feel of your burning thighs was slowing you down

A loud slap rings out followed by a yelp from your mouth. Joel's big hand rubs at the reddened mark on your soft skin.

"Don't worry, I gotcha, sweetheart, let me."

Your world turns as Joel lays you back down on the soft mattress, pushing your knees to your chest you're practically folded in half as he pushes in again.

"Fuck me..." Joel groans in pleasure above you.

"Already am." You laugh breathlessly

Joel shakes his head but you see the smile playing on his lips.

Rough thrusts steal your breath away as Joel begins moving his hips in earnest. The softness of his belly meets yours as he leans over you and presses his lips to yours. A hand pushes into the middle of your shared mess and a finger toys with your clit. A whimper escapes your lips as Joel groans when you tighten around him.

"Gonna let me come inside ya hmm? It'd be the perfect Christmas gift for me darlin'..."

Your brain is mush as Joel's finger plays with you while his cock relentlessly slams into you. Your stomach tightens as he continues.

"I-I'm gonna-"

"C'mon let it out, soak my fucking cock." Joel commands

As if he's magic your body yields to him and you come. A strangled groan leaves Joel's lips while your eyes slam shut.

"Good girl." Joel coos down at you, his hips never slowing.

"Joel!" You gasp, the pain of overstimulation beginning to ebb at your brain.

Joel lets out a soft moan of his own, his brow furred in concentration.

"Where?" He asks

"I-Inside" You gasp

Joel smirks, "Yeah? Gonna take it like a good girl? Let me knock ya up, pop out a brat for me in nine months?"

"Yes!" Your hips arch off the bed when his hand comes down to grind at your clit.

Joel's hips stutter against you and a loud moan escapes him as he fills you. Gentle thrusts follow as he comes down, dropping your legs as he does.

Joel flops down beside you on the bed, his chest heaves a bit as the two of you catch your breath.

"Y'okay?"

"Always." You say looking over at him with a dopey grin on your face

"Wanna go finish those pancakes?" Joel asks

You laugh, Joel was such a typical guy, thinking with his stomach, "You just fucked me and threatened to knock me up but your first thought is pancakes?"

"Well, I was gonna get a washcloth and clean ya up first, if that matters," Joel says

"Wow, what a gentleman." You scoff

"Glad you think so." Joel mumbles

You lay next to him in silence, listening to his breathing and watching his eyes flutter shut in satisfaction.

"What if we did?" You ask

"Did what?" Joel asks looking at you, "If you're talking about round two, I'll need a few more minutes, I'm not twenty anymore."

You slap his shoulder and roll onto your belly, "No, perv. I meant a baby. You were just talking about getting me pregnant."

Joel looks over at you like you've lost your mind, "Are you being serious right now?"

"Totally. You don't want a mini us running around?" You ask hopefully

"Course I do baby, didn't ever think a pretty young thing like you would want that with me though," Joel admits, pulling you towards him so you're resting partially on top of him

"Really Joel?" You scoff, "You're like the hottest guy in the world."

"Now you're just buttering me up." He laughs his head hitting the pillows behind him

"I'm serious!" You smile as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips

Soft silence flutters around you as you watch the gears turn in his mind.

"Gonna have to marry you if you start popping my kids out." Joel grins

"Of course," You laugh, "You think I'm gonna go into labor without a ring on my hand?"

Joel's nose brushes yours as he leans a bit closer to your face, practically breathing in your scent. His hand grasps yours where it rests on his chest.

"Guess I gotta start looking at jewelry then, darlin'. You're gonna have the prettiest ring in all of Texas."

"Ugh, there you go again, plotting to spend way too much money on me again." You groan in embarrassment.

Joel leans in and steals a kiss from you, the taste of pancakes and syrup lingers on his tongue as he does.

"Gotta humor me here," He smiles into the kiss, "Let me buy you presents, baby."

Consider this a mini-rant against the people behind the prices at Sephora. I'm looking at you Summer Fridays...

Want more Joel? Check out my series All Too Well.

[cheezritsu]

Itoshi Sae has far more feline traits than those narrow turquoise eyes of his. At the top of your notes app titled “I don’t need a cat, my boyfriend already is one,” is the fact that Sae will never, ever be clingy, will never ask for your touch, and is coy about romance as a whole—but he just has to be near you.

Manshine City is playing Ubers. Ubers cannot resist having a yellow card every time they step on the pitch, and Manshine City pisses Sae off more than even he knows. You’ll press him about that later, because he’s watching the match in your shared bedroom and not the living room television which is not only bigger, but louder like he likes. Why is he fixing your temperpedic to be a damn near 90 degree angle when there’s a perfectly good couch in another room?

“Who’s winning?” You call from the bathroom. You’ve chosen to grab a bar stool from the kitchen to make yourself comfortable as you part your hair into four sections. It’s a hard ritual, but it pays dividends; you noticed that you were shedding a lot less hair when you sat down and pre-deranged before the shower. And you were a little optimistic about your last style and ended up stretching it out a few days longer than you should have. The end result wouldn’t be good to your heart.

You’re half way through finger detangling your section when you realize Sae hasn’t answered you. You lean back, the open door to your bedroom allowing you to catch a glimpse of him. There’s something off about his expression—Sae’s normally indifferent looking, sure, but there is a harder frown etched into his face. And he’s not even looking at the game. He’s glaring at…the door frame?

“Babe,” you say, and it breaks his trance. He looks up at you, but you’ve once again disappeared from his line of sight. That lean back was killing your spine.

“Huh?”

“I asked who was winning.” You carefully two-strand twist the now slippery section together, then use an alligator clip to keep it off your back. It’s kind of crazy how long your hair is now compared to the beginning of the year. You take down your next section, looking up from your lap and-!

“Holy shit!”

Sae gives you an unimpressed look in the mirror. You look at his reflection instead of him when you demand “When did you get in here?”

“While you were daydreaming.”

The tv is off. Or it’s paused. The vacuum of silence is a little uncomfortable. You were doing your hair in an old tshirt; a reprint of Sae’s U20 match jersey. It would make plenty money on the internet, and here you were getting hair products all over it. Sae looks at the front of your shirt with a wrinkled nose. Other reasons your boyfriend is a cat: he needs a fucking collar, and he pulls faces instead of vocalizing.

“What are you doing?”

“My hair.”

You can see his roaming gaze trying to piece together the exact routine you have, but he’s struggling. Before another quip can leave his mouth you elaborate. “Pre-detagnling. That way when I wash my hair it has less breakage.” You squeeze your detangler into your hands and slather it into the wetted section of hair you were working on. “I wanna keep what little hair I have.”

You get a real reaction this time—a snort of disbelief. “You have more hair on your head than Aiku has on his entire body.”

You blink. “That’s not really a metric I’m privy too.”

“He’s like a gorilla. It’s gross.”

You hum, but you love Sae’s endless opinions. You can tell he still has some rattling around in his brain that he’s having trouble spitting out. Perhaps he’s finally using a filter around you, or he’s really trying to find just the right delivery to piss you off. It’s 50/50.

He finally settles on, “You hair has gotten really long,” as he’s transfixed by the quick motion of your digits twisting the hair into a long rope. When it drops against the side of your head and he sees where it reaches, he shakes his head. “Like, really long.”

“Thanks,” you smile, and warmth spreads in Sae’s chest. “Weren’t you watching the match?”

“I paused it.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer. “I thought long hair bothered you?”

“It does,” you answer slowly, really trying to keep up with this conversation. Sae pings questions at you like the midfielder he is, but this is a little too quick. “But I think when I was growing my hair out the first time I never shaped it, or did styles with it. There was this girl at a restaurant I went to, like, years ago when I was at the beach with my parents who had long natural hair. She had it pulled back in a satin scarf and had like two little front pieces sticking out.” You create the style by gesturing your hands over your head. Sae’s gaze melts, the usual hard line of his mouth settling into something content.

“She was so pretty.” You have a distant look on your face, and Sae doesn’t doubt you have that crystal clear memory in your head. “I wanted to be as pretty as her. But I didn’t really know what to do with my hair, and it has really hot all the time, so I cut it. I think about it all the time though.”

Sae acknowledges your story with a nod. He traces shape of your curls with his finger, careful not to pull too hard. A soft tug elongated the spiral, and then it snapped back.

“Your hair is beautiful,” Sae suddenly spits, making eye contact with you in the mirror. “I liked it when it was short, and it’s pretty now that it’s longer. I don’t know if I ever told you.”

He hasn’t. Not so bluntly, at least. Sae never needs to occupy his hands, so he doesn’t touch your hair at all, ever, but now he coils the strands around his finger like his own personal fidget. Something stupid balloons in you lungs and press hard against your ribcage. Pride, maybe? Love, probably. You twist your neck and the piece of hair slips from his grasp.

“‘Preciate it,” you reply, adopting his casual air to force down your excitement. Sae’s face stays the same though, and he even goes so far as to press a little kiss to your exposed shoulder blade. He must feel the heat of your skin, because a smirk curls across his face. Oh, you could kill him.

“Alright, alright,” you shoo him. “I gotta get to work. This is just the pre-wash, so I’m going to take a minute in here.”

“I could shower,” he says absently, and before you could even protest, Sae is opening the shower door, rearranging products around the wall to make sure your shampoo, conditioner and wide tooth comb are front and center. “It’ll be warm though, and not scalding hot like you like it.”

“Then don’t shower with me.”

The pipes turn on, Sae’s funger’s dipping under the water the check the temperature. “It’s bad for your skin anyways.”

You don’t even mention it. You probably will halfway through when he’s “unknowingly” doing your hair for you, but it could wait.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Gossip Is Currency

Prompt Day 21: Formal | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Canon Background Stancy | Tags: Missing Scene from S2's The Pollywog, Post-Halloween "Bullshit" Scene, Pre-Steddie, Platonic Hellcheer, School Sucks, Eddie Knows

This is cruel and unusual punishment. 

Eddie sits on the stupid folding chair, behind the stupid folding table, with a stack of tickets to sell to the winter formal. It was this or another suspension, and it was only because he was sure Wayne would not appreciate not having to talk to the principal again anytime soon, that Eddie chose this option.

They've got bubbly cheerleader Chrissy Cunningham sitting next to him controlling the money box that they definitely didn't trust him to be anywhere near, as they try to sell tickets to the kids still roaming around during extracurriculars.

Chrissy hasn't said anything to him after greeting him, and he hasn't said anything in return. They hung out once before, during a middle school talent show, but he doesn't expect that she remembers that.

Another shitty jock walks up.

"Two?" Chrissy asks.

"Yeah," the kid answers, and she takes the money, makes the change, and all Eddie has to do is hand over the two ticket stubs.

He resents it. 

It's stupid, it's–

"It's bullshit," he hears from down the hall.

Yeah, it's exactly that.

And hell's frozen over, if he agrees with King Steve.

Harrington's in some sort of heated debate with Wheeler as they stomp down the hallway, bickering back and forth. She's a fucking firebrand, that one. Everyone thinks she's a priss, but oh no, Eddie's studied this whole school long enough to know that's not even remotely true.

Harrington's gonna get knocked down a peg or two under her, and deservedly so.

Seeing them coming in his direction is at least interesting. Eddie tears off the two tickets and hands them over to Tweedle Dumb, and keeps watching the free show heading his way.

"Winter formal tickets?" Chrissy asks Harrington, and Jesus H. Christ, does she have no observation skills? Now is not the time. This is the time to blend into the wall so they can get the dirty fucking details on this fight. Gossip is currency.

Harrington turns to look at them, and shakes his head no. He looks more sad than mad, and that isn't near as fun. 

"Steve," Wheeler says, and she looks annoyed.

Harrington runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the ends, and then they're gone. 

Well, that was uneventful in the end. He didn't learn anything worth repeating.

Eddie had heard rumors of a Halloween night blow-up, but wasn't there to see it with his own eyes. Apparently they're still in a tiff today.

He can still hear the echo of them around the corner and down the hall, and well, he's nosey. It pays to know everything that's going on in this school.

"Be right back," Eddie says, and follows them down the hall, with the excuse that he's heading to the pop machine.

He digs four quarters out of his pocket, and pretends it's hard to make a decision, before hitting the Mellow Yellow button. The machine whirrs to life, and the can drops down. He feeds the other two quarters in, still trying to listen to Harrington and Wheeler fussing by the double-doors.

Eddie can't really decipher much besides hissing mumbles. Damn.

He presses another button without even really paying attention.

Welch's Grape Soda.

He might actually pick that over the Mellow Yellow he thought he originally wanted.

Harrington and Wheeler leave, so Eddie takes both cans back towards the table, holding them up, an offer, "You want?"

Chrissy smiles, "Really?"

Eddie nods, "You choose," he says, and she falters, just a bit, looking up at him like there might be a wrong answer.

There's no wrong answer here. No trick. He puts them both down on the table, "Totally fine either way."

She reaches for the grape, and is still looking his way. He nods, "Excellent choice," as he picks up the Mellow Yellow, and cracks open the can.

"Thanks, Eddie," she says, like he's given her something more than a can of pop. Carver's a bigger dick than he'd realized, apparently. 

They sit in silence, waiting for more kids to finish up with their stupid clubs and practices. 

The door clangs closed on the other end of the school, and they wait. It's Harrington again. He crosses the hall intersection in his little shorts, and Eddie can see that he's pinching his nose as he darts out of their line of sight as quickly as he entered.

Then it's just them, alone in the hallway again.

"She called him bullshit," Chrissy whispers.

Eddie turns and looks at her, waiting for her to elaborate.

She does.

"On Halloween. At Tina's party. She called him and his love bullshit. I heard it myself, waiting for the bathroom. She was drunk, not making sense about Barb Holland. It was pretty mean."

"No shit?" he asks, leaning closer. 

She nods, giving him a rundown of the whole party. She's got all the good gossip, not just about Harrington and Wheeler's dust up. Eddie feels a twinge of something. 

He's well acquainted with being shit on publicly.

Nobody's around this school, and Eddie gets up to go take a piss. He can't sit still. Hates it. And doing it for this is a special version of hell.

He walks down the hall, to the bathroom. He stands in front of the urinal, unzips and is pissing when he hears the stifled cough from behind him.

Eddie turns to look and sees familiar shoes under the stall door.

Tucking himself back in, re-zipping, he reaches over and flushes the urinal.

"Harrington," Eddie says. 

He waits and there's no response. 

"Harrington," he tries again.

"Go away, Munson," Harrington says, and then mumbles under his breath, "It's bullshit. I'm bullshit."

Eddie takes three steps towards the door, then impulsively turns back.

"She's wrong, you know? You're not bullshit."

And then Eddie waits a beat before adding, "You're just an asshole."

Steve chuckles, and Eddie smiles to himself as he turns and heads out the door.

Timing is everything. 

Mission accomplished.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

[d-emeter]

The world has gone to hell, but you've found your own paradise (or: apocalypse au with task force 141) — plus-size!fem!reader x poly!141

CW: zombie apocalypse (but no real zombies mentioned lol), allusion to smut but doesn't actually happen yet, soap being a horny bastard, implied age-gap?

HEAVILY based on the bill and frank storyline from the last of us but can be read as a generic zombie apocalypse so no worries if you haven't seen/played tlou! Also different format? Is this something?

Captain John Price who, over the years, has become a bit of a survivalist nut — a prepper, if you will.

Sure, his sergeants make fun of him for it sometimes, but he more than anyone knows the shit that plays behind the scenes, the things governments keep hidden, the threats that loom every damn day — so he'd rather be safe than sorry when the world inevitably goes to shit. He's almost smug about it when it does (he hadn't calculated in the zombie aspect of it all, but still)

Unfortunately for him, however, he and the rest of 141 are deployed when outbreak day comes around. More and more cities are bombed by the hour, the population dwindling by the second, and in the week that follows he and the boys are amongst those assigned to evacuate the smaller towns and villages and escort the citizens to quarantine zones — that is, until the QZ's are full and they're under direct order to execute those that didn't make it in.

Now, Price's moral compass has been skewed for some time now. He's done some stuff during his years serving — man or woman, guilty or innocent, it hadn't mattered to him then. It doesn't now, either.

What does him in is the tear that rolls down Soap's cheek when Price shoots the mother and child his sergeant couldn't bring himself to ("Aren't these the people we're 'posed tae protect, cap?")

He convinces his task force to desert that very night (they'd been hesitant, but in the end, they'd follow their captain to hell and back). They gather as many weapons, ammo and MRE's as they can get away with without being caught, and they're off into the night.

Price brings them to his home — a big, old house inherited from his grandparents somewhere in a small, sleepy village. He had spent the better part of his time on leave preparing the house to be self-sufficient should the need arise: generators on solar and wind power, water filters, a chicken coop and a garden set up in the backyard (that, and enough weapons to supply a small army in the garage)

They wait until this village gets evacuated, too, so they can claim it for themselves before raiders come around. They fence off a section of the town, set up traps and cameras, anything to ensure no unwanted visitors can enter, infected or not.

It's their own form of paradise, in a way. (the house has enough bedrooms to give them all their own — they end up in eachother's more often than not)

One day, you fall into their lives — literally. You've fallen into one of their traps, a literal hidden hole in the ground, and within a few minutes you hear the creak of a gate, multiple sets of feet and the unmistakable sound of a gun being loaded ("I'm not infected!" You yell from your hole before they can lay eyes on you, certain they'd shoot you on sight if you didn't)

The first thing you see is the barrel of the gun leering over the edge, before you see its owner — a man with a beard and the most intense eyes you've ever seen. He keeps his gun pointed at you while he makes you recite the alphabet, forwards then backwards, all with your hands held before you to ensure you weren't twitching. You pass his test, it seems, and a ladder is lowered into the hole.

Once you're back on the surface, you see it's not just the man with the beard — there's four of them in total, each looking more terrifying than the last, all muscle and bulk and having the ability to snap you like a twig should they feel the need. There are still guns pointed at you as you explain your situation and simultaneously beg for your life — you were with a group travelling to the nearest QZ, you're the only one left now ("Please, I didn't mean- Please don't hurt me, I'll be out of your hair before you know it — I won't tell anyone about this place! I haven't eaten in three days-")

John and Simon were hesitant at first, but their sergeants manage to convince them to let you inside, offer you some food before sending you on your way again (Soap had been frothing at the mouth a little the moment he had laid eyes on you — sure, they had kept eachother... satisfied, but "Cap, when's the last time any o' us felt the touch o' a lass? 'N such a pretty one at that..." and Price knows he can't deny them when Gaz leans over to whisper how prettily you had begged for your safety, surely it'd do no harm?)

Your eyes widen a little when the scary man with the beard tells you to come with them — your hunger ends up winning the battle with your brain as it tries to convince you that following four big male strangers into their fenced home is not a good plan.

You expected a dented can of beans and maybe a cup of water, so you're definitely more than a little surprised when they usher you into a bedroom with an ensuite, telling you to go take a shower (Soap wanted to follow you into the bathroom, mumbling something about wanting to double check for any bite marks. Ghost had to hold him back by his shirt)

You nearly cry when you feel the stream of hot water on your skin, and feel like you're in some sort of fever dream when you see the clean clothes laid out on the bed for you — granted, they're men's clothes, but anything is better than the rags you had on before.

You start to wonder if maybe you died and are in some sort of weird state between worlds when you come back downstairs to a table that's fully decked out and beautifully presented plates of food.

All of them turn to you immediately and you have to do your best not to falter under their stares (you don't notice the flustered little cough Price lets out at the sight of such a pretty creature in his shirt — god, maybe Johnny was right, it had been a while since he's had a woman, and such a young, plush one at that)

One of them — the one with the darker skin and the prettiest face you've seen in months — is the first to jump into action, hand on your lower back as he ushers you into a chair.

You're convinced you're dead when you bring the first bite to your lips — God, that's good. (Johnny nearly chokes on his food at the small moan you let out. Simon remains stoic, but damn him if he didn't feel a spark of heat in his gut at the sound)

The men start introducing themselves while you're shoveling food into your mouth. The man with the beard — John, you now know — explains that they're all ex-military. Through bites of food, you do your best to introduce yourself as well. You tell them your story, they tell you theirs (well, Johnny and Gaz do, mainly. The one called Simon still hasn't really said a word to you, and you can tell John is a little paranoid about sharing too much information with a stranger)

As the night progresses, there's a shift in the air. Kyle leans in a little too close while brushing a crumb away from your lip, and John lingers behind you a little too long as he refills your glass (you pretend not to notice the sound of his deep inhale as he leans over you).

John insists you don't have to help with the dishes, so you wander into the living room and are immediately intrigued by the piano standing there. Johnny joins you on the bench, thigh pressed against yours as you play with the keys. Simon — or 'Ghost', as you noticed the others called him sometimes — leans over you from behind, and your breathing nearly stops (Simon knows he's too close, but so what if he wants you to accidentally brush against his abdomen?)

Once it's all said and done, you try not to let your disappointment show as you prepare to leave. Much to your surprise, it's Simon that grunts something to you, speaking the first words he's said that night. ("Stay. F'r the night. 'S not safe out there.")

John keeps a heavy hand on your shoulder as he leads you back to the bedroom you were in earlier. It's his, he tells you, but he can stay with one of the others. ("Are you- Are you sure? I can take a couch, or-" "'M sure, love, good night's sleep 'll do you good. Give me a yell if y'need somethin', yeah?")

With that, he leaves you to it, shutting the door behind him. Fuck, that bed does look inviting, and you can almost hear your vertebrae begging for a soft mattress. As you get ready for bed, a thought enters your mind. It had... been a while.

Is what you're about to do a stupid decision? Maybe, but you figured if these men had wanted to hurt you they would've done it already, and you'd be lying if you said that all their touches and affection weren't having an effect on your panties.

You yell out their names from the room, and the four of them are there within a second, though they all falter at the door as they take in the sight before them — you're sitting in the bed, covers pulled up so the only thing visible are your bare shoulders and arms, and it's immediately clear what your intentions are.

Soap, once again, has to be held back by the scruff to prevent him from pouncing on you immediately. John, instead, is the first one to actually enter the room, sitting down on the bed and carefully bringing his hand to caress your cheek while asking if you're sure about this (he'd rather not admit the way he shuddered a bit when he made contact with the soft skin of your face)

Your answer is immediate, you've made up your mind — on one condition ("I'm not... a whore, or anything. I don't sleep with people for food or shelter or anything, just- if we're doing this... I'm staying. For a while.")

Simon nearly laughs at this — funny how you think they would have let you leave otherwise.

[fairy-writes]

Hello I don't know if your requests are open, but can I request something for hoshina and Gen?Maybe a bit of angst but ends in Fluff.In this scenario his in a relationship with the reader,but the reader has had a very rough past which ended with their entire family being killed in a Kaiju attack.And they sometimes get nightmares about their family,they reveal the reason why they joined was for revenge they want to kill every existing Kaiju.Their reckless in the battle field,don't care about their life and suicidal.During a mission they were protecting their fellow soldiers and taking down maybe a numbered Kaiju,they ended up getting a very life threatening injury but luckily recovered.

You can choose if you wanna make this dw- I just want some angst with fluff rn 🏃🏻‍♀️💨.

HAVE A NICE DAYYY

FIGHTING TOOTH AND NAIL

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8

Pairing(s): Hoshina Soshiro x Reader

Narumi Gen x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Overworking, Nightmares, Suicidal Tendencies, Gore

Notes: Doing this a bit differently, the beginning scenario is the same for both Narumi and Hoshina. The hospital bit is where it varies. 

I did already do a similar scenario with Narumi on my page. It’s titled “Running Away From What?” if you wanna check it out :)

The scenario part went a bit longer than I hoped, so I cut them off a bit prematurely, mostly because I didn’t want to overwork my already overworked brain. 

Make sure to read the tags!

__________________________________________________________________________

In the world of kaiju extermination, it was well-known that you were a workaholic. Even more so than most people. You got up earlier, stayed later, and trained with any scrap of free time that you had. You weren’t particularly powerful when going up against powerhouses like Ashiro Mina, Narumi Gen, or Hoshina Soshiro. But you still pulled out enough power to be a formidable opponent in your own right. 

You were scrappy, clever, and quicker than most. But that didn’t mean you had magically gotten that powerful. No. You earned every percentage you pulled out by fighting tooth and nail and with broken bones. In short, you earned your team’s respect. 

If only you could eradicate every damn kaiju on the planet with that power. 

But that was going to be more challenging than you thought. 

The battlefield was chaos. People were getting hurt, dying even. 

And in the midst of all of it, you were frozen. Your grip on your weapon was loosening, slipping from your fingers, and it took all your mental strength to keep from dropping it. You stared blankly at the kaiju before you. 

It was on the smaller side when it came to kaiju, though it was still the size of a horse. It stood on all fours, with a long tail swinging back and forth and blistered skin melting into bulging muscles. There wasn’t a single hair follicle in sight, leaving the skin covered in pustules and blisters that oozed green liquid. It stunk, the overwhelming scent of infection making you gag through your respirator. The beast’s face was corpse-like and looked pieced together with loose skin and a mouth full of broken teeth. 

The monster was disgusting. But the smell of its breath brought back memories of bodies torn in half and fires consuming your childhood home. 

Your name being called broke you out of your stupor, and you tightened your grip on your weapon. Turning ever so slightly, you spotted a comrade in arms running toward you. 

“The kaiju is a daikaiju! It’s rated an 8.0! We have to—” Quick as a whip, the beast’s tail swung around and cut your comrade in half. The light abruptly dies in their eyes, and the top half of their body topples to the ground with a wet thump. 

Abruptly, a raging fire bursts within you, and you grit your teeth, ignoring the bile rising in your throat from the stench, and you leap forward, ready to vanquish this monster that killed your fellow soldier. 

Hoshina Soshiro

The light scorched your retinas when you opened your eyes. 

So you did the logical thing and closed them again. 

But the quick glimpse told you what you needed to know. 

You were in the hospital. 

The beeping of the heart monitor didn’t take long to start driving you up the wall, and part of you was tempted to try and turn it off. 

But you knew you were in no condition to do anything but lay there. 

It was then that the door opened, and someone swept in with the force of a hurricane. 

“How are they?” 

Soshiro. 

He sounded upset, which was odd for him. In all your years of being together, you could count on one hand the amount of times he had been upset around you. 

“Same as yesterday. There was a blip in their heart rate a moment ago, but it’s back to normal again.” Someone said—a doctor or nurse, maybe?—and you felt someone adjust something attached to your arm. Perhaps it was an IV?

The medical personnel left, leaving you alone with your fiancé. You immediately felt his hand in yours as he sat at your side. His hands were calloused, as were yours, but you could practically feel the grime from the battle. 

Had he not showered since the battle?

How long had it been anyway? 

“Y’know, I really wished you’d wake up… So I can both reprimand and congratulate you.” Soshiro said with a breathy laugh. His hand squeezed slightly, tangling his fingers with yours, and you felt him press his mouth against your knuckles. 

You fought to open your eyes again. This time, it felt as if your eyelids weighed a million pounds. They wouldn’t cooperate. You couldn’t get your body to do anything you wanted. 

Until… Your eyelashes fluttered.

A gasp. Your name being exhaled on a breath. Like a wish on the wind. Soshiro’s hand tightened again around yours. 

And then light. 

Narumi Gen

(He still doesn't get a gif. I still don't like his anime design)

How were you alive? 

At least, you assumed you were alive. 

You were pretty sure the afterlife didn’t have this damned beeping all the time. 

There were two types of beeping. 

The first kind, which you knew well, was the beeping of Gen’s handheld gaming device. 

And the second? You also were very familiar with it—the beeping of hospital machines.

“I know you’re awake.” Yup. That was Gen. So, you agonizingly peeled your eyelids open and tried to look over to the side. 

Keyword being tried. 

There was a neckbrace around your neck restricting your movement. So you settled with groping with your free hand that didn’t have an IV in the back of it for Gen’s hand. He obliged you and took it, pausing his game and setting it aside to focus on you. 

You could tell without even looking at him that he was upset. You told him as much, and he scoffed. You could see the ruffling of his hair in your periphery as he ran his free hand through the black and gray strands.

“No shit, Sherlock. You almost died. Of course, I’m mad.” He snapped, and you closed your eyes because you couldn’t do much else. 

“Did I at least kill that motherfu—”

“Worry about something else for once!” Gen bit out, and your mouth shut. 

The situation dawned on you as Gen started to speak, explaining what happened after supposedly watching the surveillance. 

You almost died five times. Twice when fighting the number kaiju. You remembered those moments just fine. And three times, when your heart stopped those three separate times on the way to the hospital. You didn’t remember this. You remembered gutting the monster and killing it, but after that, it was just… Blank. 

Had you really come that close to death? 

Hearing Gen’s voice crack, something that never happened, cracked your heart, and you squeezed his hand. 

“I’m sorry.” You croaked and heard him sigh. 

“Just… Don’t pull something like that again… Okay? I almost lost you.” He said softly, and you felt a tear streak your cheek. 

“Promise.”

[msookyspooky]

Fours a Franchise

Part 19

Wordcount: 6,978

A male cop sat by your bedside that afternoon.

Asking you as much as he could while Judy and him took turns writing things and asking things as well. “Those men, who were they?” 

“Hard to say.” You replied as calmly as you could. You were a horrible liar according to everyone but you tried your best to dance around the truth. Sweating bullets and being able to thankfully blame it on sepsis and medication.

“What about that night?” The cop asked as Judy wrote things down.

“They just showed up… Do we have to ask all this right now?” You coughed out sickly. You felt like absolute death.

“I'm afraid we do, Miss YN... Did you know them?...Witnesses  say you called someone.” 

“Jill is the only one alive. Just say Jill.” You mumbled in agitation. Oh you wanted so badly to unravel her lie that she was SUPPOSED to be hiding under a bed and you were on the roof on the other side of the house fighting Ghostface when you called Stu. She was a fucking liar but you had to bite your tongue. You both had a deal here.

“No, of course not. Who I called wasn't those guys if that's what you're implying...I was calling numbers on my phone for help and accidentally called a distant friend I barely ever see. I meant to call Dewey and accidentally called him. He probably thought I was pranking him or something. Ghostface attacked me after that I dropped my phone in the yard and fell off the roof.” You shrugged. Trying not to look at the cop and keeping a poker face with the truth with sprinkles of lies in it. 

The officer wrote things down, “Did those two men take you against your will from this hospital?” 

“Yes.” You firmly stated and looked back at him. Not a lie. They did drag you out. That was God's honest truth that you wish they wouldn't have done but also what choices did you all have left?

“Their description?” 

You tried to ponder, truthfully having to remember what Jill even said. She rushed it out while threatening you in a half delirious fever type of state. “I um…They uh didn't let me look at them too much…”

“Elaborate for us. Why wouldn't you look at your captors?” He sternly demanded

You softly raised your hand trying to find the words and swiped a hand motion over your eye. Getting nervous he might be unraveling you already. 

“You mean blindfolded? Threatened you?” 

“B-Blindfold. Yeah, they blindfolded me once in the car.” What a lie but a good one to save yourself. You didn't know if you could lie that well so try as you.might you gave a half truth. “I passed out most of the car ride, anyways. I didn't see where they took me like roads and everything. And um…And once at the house, I wasn't around them much and they didn't let me see them with being uh…Blindfolded and tied. I was way too weak to even try escaping…” You swallowed. 

“Too weak?” 

“Yeah. Too scared. Too sick. Too injured. I really was out of it and a sitting duck as a hostage.” You gave with a tight voice. God, you might puke again. 

You yelled internally, ‘Damn it, YN. Pull it together. Tell some damn useful fake info!’ Especially now that the cop eyed you, pausing in their writing to analyze you. 

You continued, “But um I did see them a few times and at Kirby's of course…One had red hair I think and far apart teeth and eyes. Tall… The other with dark hair had a hook nose and tan skin…Um…The tall one had a tattoo of something on his shoulder. Uh…Right. Yeah, his right shoulder. He… ” You debated but just went for it. “They reminded me of that Tim and James guy from Windsor years back. Just older and different.”

“So you think these men are the same ones from the 98 incident in Ohio??” Judy asked instead and looked intrigued at the revelation.

It was risky. It could link Billy and Stu to Tim and James like you tried 13 years ago…But it could also get them away from the Tim and James image and send police on a wild goose chase for a while.

You sighed, “The one's never found or proven? I can't say..Maybe? I was in too much shock. It all happened fast and I was on anesthesia once at the hospital and…” You sighed more begrudgingly this time. “This time; I was too focused on protecting Jill at the house than to get details on who those men were but they did remind me of them. I just know that the one definitely had a tattoo and the other had a hooked nose and gree- no, blue. Yeah, blue eyes.” You swallowed down the lies just spewing from you to save your ass while you felt your back sweating and soaking your hospital gown.

“What was it? The tattoo?” 

Oh shit…Shit! Damn, what did that little murdering cretin say it was? Oh no…Think think-

You gave a tight uncomfortable smile and shook your head, “A Phoenix or Dragon or something? I don't remember.” Well the not remembering part was true. 

“And if we reviewed cameras; would it match your story of being dragged out?” 

You ALMOST felt a coughing fit happen at how dry your mouth was…But ICU had no cameras in the room, you remembered that much. Only the hallway.

Judy wrote all this down and nodded to herself. Hopefully that was good…

“Yes…I was dragged out against my will.” 

———————————

Gale listened beside Dewey as they stayed out of the room but within ear shot as he was still technically on the case as Sheriff till he fully turned his badge in. Dewey seemed like he didn't want to see you, didn't want to be near you, didn't want anything to do with you, especially the more you spoke. 

After the officer left your hospital room with Judy in tow, Gale went in despite Dewey trying to get her not to. It seemed she wasn't even worrying about Judy, just enraged at your lies. Dewey was trying to grab her arm but she barged in anyways once you 3 were alone.

You laid there still sicker than a dog but feeling more aware with the right treatment each hour. You gazed over at the woman you once tried so hard to see as a friend even after everything she had done over a decade ago. Look where it got you?

“What are you doing?” Gale demanded with a stern hiss. “What are you playing at? We all saw them and you know who they were. Shit, you protected them! You protected them from Dewey!” 

You said nothing…Glancing over at Dewey in the doorway who wouldn't look at you. A frown and tense look on his face as he folded his arms.

“Listen, YN. I know now. Okay? I do. I should have listened; I believe you. I know Jill Roberts was one of the Ghostface's and she helped Charlie. If you help me; we can lock her up. Randy and all the other victims can get justice.” 

Your eyes widened with a tiny glimmer of hope in you but you shoved it down and knew better. Gale could just be baiting you. Getting you to admit just to lock you up too. And besides…It was too late for that. They shoved you aside, damned you, and protected Jill. There was no turn from that. They could have killed Jill when she showed how she was the potential killer or at least arrested her and kill or fight Billy and Stu afterwards…You didn't know if you would've fought for Billy and Stu as much had Jill been dead but you'd be damned if Jill lived and your only support in Billy and Stu died because of Dewey and Gale. That hope was dead.

Gale stared at you as you were silent. She urged you, “Please just give a correct goddamn statement. Even just to us. I swear, if you tell us the truth, we'll get her…Damn it, do it for Randy. Wasn't he your friend?” 

You stared at her long and hard. “...Because you're so trustworthy after everything you've done?” You mumbled then stayed silent. Anything you said could and would be used against you with cops or the media…Especially Dewey and Gale now. 

“Hmph. So that's how it is, huh? You're gonna betray everyone to hide those two and to keep your own ass safe? Using Selfish Bitch." Gale spat not even whispering now.

Apparently you were a bad liar and a using bitch to everyone lately.

You just looked away wishing she would just leave. “...I told you that night.” You croaked out. “I told you and look what you did. What both of you did…I told you 15 years ago and then 13 years ago…” You shook your head to yourself. “And from a decade onward I've had to rely on myself…You both did this decades ago and now you're trying to blame me?”

Gale perked up and Dewey spared a glance.

You continued in a low mumble, “...I never helped Billy and Stu in 1996. I meant every bit of that. I swear on my life, I never helped them kill my friend's and tried to get them caught for it.” You told the whole truth but carefully in case Gale had a wire. “And you tried taking me to court to be tried as an accomplice for murder over a delay and possibly altered tape. A serious crime with decades of prison time had it worked and you expect me to trust telling you anything? Fuck you.” 

Dewey subtly eyed you. Frowning deeply at ‘friend's’ knowing that meant Tatum too. Yet he seemed like he couldn't even bring himself to truly look at you let alone talk to you. Gale's eye twitched at you dishing the fact of what she tried to pull years ago.

“...Fine.” Gale shrugged mockingly. “Fine, you weren't involved then but you know they're alive. You knew all this time and you hid it…Why? Why did you hide it? Why did you buck me so much at Windsor? Whether we had bad blood or not; we both agreed. We both know who Tim and James are and the first description is accurate. Not this shit you're selling. We both saw them at Windsor, we both saw them a few nights ago in ICU and they do not have a hooked nose and blue eyes and red hair and a fucking tattoo. Why did you hide them in Hollywood? Why are you hiding them now? WHY?” She pleaded urgently with a frown.

You blinked at that but kept your lips sealed.

“Dewey has the pictures of you with them in a motel. Twice.” She threatened through gritted teeth. “I didn't see a fucking hooked nose. I didn't see red hair. I see a damn liar meeting up with two murderers…And they look like grown up Billy Loomis and Stu Macher.” 

Ah…That's right. Randy seemed to mention something or maybe it was Dewey? It was hard to tell in the chaos. Regardless, you didn't care if it was clear as day…You were gonna deny it. You had nothing left to lose but your life and freedom and you weren't talking.

Gale seemed to be losing her patience with your tight lip routine. “Aren't you gonna talk? Why are you lying? Why are you giving false descriptions of them when those aren't the pictures you described at college? Andrews and Richard's description matched too…What happened to that scar on James aka Billy's cheek, hm? The one you insisted on at Windsor. Same side you cut Billy with shears the night before he supposedly roped you in against your will. He had gauze on his cheek at the party from you and he still has that scar. In fact, I saw it here at this hospital.  Why leave out that important identifier?...If we found this guy you had relations with or whoever else is on your phone; would he have a scar, YN?” She growled out through her teeth.

“13 years ago…I was under stress and projecting my trauma. I saw what I wanted to see and I think Randy did too. I was in a bad place mentally. But now that I'm more aware and better?” You stared at her long and hard. Lying but this was an easy lie to retell because it was a lie people already labeled you with. “...I just don't remember a scar now-”

“Stop lying!” Gale scoffed loudly, “How can you live with yourself knowing two murderers are free all because of you!? How can you lie to us all these years? In fact, if I was more shocked I'd return the favor and hit you like you did me back in the day; but I'm not that shocked. I always knew you were a liar, I just couldn't prove it. You probably did work with them in 96, right? You're just trying to make it look good, right?...Huh? Are you secretly happy that everyone is dead?” 

You just took it. Numbly gazing at her. Anything you said would be against you. Gale was baiting you to talk and you weren't falling for it. They could claim they had evidence and you still wouldn't speak. 

“You aren't even gonna defend yourself?” Gale demanded. “We could go through your phone, you know. We can see who called. Who you texted. Pictures. I can dig deep. I can find evidence at your house. I can ask around.”

You sighed and just shrugged. All while holding her gaze as you laid in that hospital bed. You felt like you had done this too many times and honestly? You were damn tired. If you did go to prison…So what? This shit was getting way too old for you. Might as well try lying and playing stupid and see if it's as easy as these Ghostface's act like it is.

She grumbled out, “You fucking -” 

“Gale.” Dewey's voice rang out in a low tone. “Leave her alone…She clearly won't talk. We're wasting our time.” 

You frowned deeply wanting desperately to talk to him, more than Gale, to explain…But you knew that was a wasted effort. He wouldn't listen. Hell, he could be bugged; not the same Dewey you knew. So you kept quiet as Gale stormed out before turning back to you and marching back to your bedside to get her final say. 

She returned to get the final word. “You know, I'm a tough cookie. I can handle my maid of honor at my wedding betraying me. I can handle you being a fucking liar…But I can't handle you hurting my husband. He's done nothing but be heartbroken and who can blame him? A woman he looked at like a little sister knew the guys that killed his actual sister; that they were both alive! All while she lied to his face for 15 years!” She spat out, looking almost ready to hit you.

“Gale!” Dewey ordered in a shaky way that just didn't even sound like him. “That's enough. Let's go.” 

You knew your face was failing you. The one ‘Woodsboro Family’ you had left thought you killed Tatum or at least Randy. And at best; he thought, no, he knew you hid his sisters' murderers from him for years.

You swallowed to get the lump down in your throat. Your chest ached as you looked at Dewey and you both locked eyes for a moment and you saw a cold look. Hurt and hate in his eyes you never thought would ever be directed at you as he and Gale left you alone in that hospital room.

“Dewey.” You mumbled to Dewey. “…Where's the Dewey I knew in Hollywood that nabbed my files for me to help me?…Or who read all my book just because I wrote it and found it inspiring?…And now you won't even talk to me alone and hear me out?” You tearly gave in to his revenge and anger and bitterness making him a totally different man. Like seeing Billy and Stu made him spiral and you know it was the cherry on top. “I'm still sorry, Dewey.” 

Leaving you feeling more alone than ever before. Such a stark contrast from him 15 years ago hugging you and crying in your arms at the hospital and defending you…To being the one accusing you and staying away.

Dewey stared at you. His mouth twitched in a tight frown before he left you alone.

———————————

Gale listened as the officer interviewed Jill and her mouth hung open as Jill gave the exact description of the two that you did…It was a lie! It was impossible!

As Judy wrapped it up, Gale all but grabbed her. “This isn't right! Damn it, aren't you trained in observation? Didn't you see the guy that shot you!?” 

“Get your hands off of an Officer, Gale.” Judy ripped her arm away defensively, “I didn't get a good look at him because he shot me after he hit me in the head but he was tall with far apart eyes-” 

“And the hair? Was it dark blonde or red?” 

Judy pondered, “Blondish?…No, Red. Strawberry Blonde-” 

“No!” Gale grumbled at her memory being tainted by Jill and you. “Look at the cameras! Me and Dewey can give an exact description.” 

Judy sighed, “And I believe that of Dewey.” Gale's eyes narrowed at the favoritism as Judy continued, “But we have two witnesses that claim differently and they match up even when interviewing them separately and being away from each other for days. And the cameras only show certain angles that match! We didn't see faces up close and the footage isn't in color.” 

“Why the hell not!?” 

“It's a small old hospital!” Judy exclaimed and shrugged dramatically. “And I'd rather discuss this with Sheriff Riley alone, Gale.” 

Dewey's shoulders were tense as Gale rubbed her face and ignored the blonde's last statement.

Gale mumbled to herself, “I don't understand... How does Jill go from wanting YN dead and claiming she's involved to claiming she was… What? Just scared and misunderstood the situation? And how did they both lie correctly? They had to have communicated together recently under our fucking noses. They had to!” Gale ranted as none of this went how she expected. 

Judy got out her notepad, “Do you want to give another statement? These guys…Sheriff Riley said Billy and Stu…He said in a past statement Jill told him that YN-” 

‘Oh Dewey…’ She thought to herself as she watched him walk away and gave him space. The man looked defeated. Like everything he knew turned out to be a lie.

Gale and Judy blinked hearing something be thrown in the bin nearby. Gale faltered seeing Dewey stalk off. “Sheriff?” Judy worriedly called out to him as Gale went to the trash bin. Picking up his hat with a tight frown. For her husband to do that? To something he was so proud of and his job? 

————————————

You took a stressful 2 days to ‘recover’. Everyday was you on edge and sicker than a dog, you swore your blood pressure was probably up and heart rate a permanent over 100 bpm. The police bothered you one more time for a description and you tried your best to lie about their appearance and you knew you were suspicious. Probably a shitty liar. Stressed and tense and nervous as Hell. But lucky for you, one thing was truthful; you did not know where they were or directions of where they took you. During the day, you were passed out. At night, you were feverish and it was dark. 

You were waiting for them to catch you in a lie. To search your phone. You hated that Billy and Stu stupidly sent you here with your phone on you. Probably not even thinking with you close to death. 

However, it didn't happen. Gale came to pressure you one more time with the photos Dewey had. And to your relief, yeah you COULD say they looked like Billy and Stu especially a decade ago but the most recent ones had them both pretty obscure while inside the motel on the outskirts of Woodsboro. In fact, you couldn't see them. Judy just took shitty pictures to report to Dewey. They had nothing. 

Of course, when she pressed the cops once she realized you wouldn't talk…They questioned.

“Who are those men and why were you meeting them?” 

You paled at Judy's urgent questioning on day 2 in a half of you in that hospital. You sighed…Damn Gale. Damn her.

"You mean the ones you followed me and took pictures of in secret? Stalking me?" I grumbled.

Judy remained aloof, "It was Sheriff Riley's orders to keep an eye on you at all times. Who were they?"

“...One is my mechanic and the other I met in Hollywood years ago…I met them for…” You groaned and was unable to make up something better. “We have…We needed each other.” You nervously coughed out.

Judy looked oblivious. “And what for?” 

Despite yourself you felt flustered because even as a lie; you didn't feel like claiming a booty call. “Um…Relations.” 

She blinked. 

You narrowed your eyes; dear lord how did she have a kid? 

“Sex.” 

Judy's eyes widened even buggier than usual. “Oh…OH!” She wrote something down. “You with…Both??” 

“Yes.” You forced out cheeks heating and a glare at the wall. “I have a well known name and I know how unconventional it is so they're a secret.” 

Judy cleared her throat and uncomfortably adjusted herself. “Well…Ms. YN. There's no room for secrets with a string of murders. Where are they?” 

“Don't know, we called it off.” 

“Oh really? And what were their names?” 

You shrugged, “Vincent and Den..Nis. Dennis.” 

Judy raised a brow. “Last names?” 

“Vincent never told me his last name.” 

“And you never asked??” Judy looked bewildered.

You blew air through clenched teeth, “Look it was never serious enough. Not everything is a Disney Romance, you know... Vincent is just a guy that works at some mechanic shop that I think is closed now and we have…Look we just have quick relations, okay?” You grumbled wanting to be anywhere but here. 

“And Dennis? You met him in Hollywood? During Stab? Could it be-” She gasped. “...The actor?! Rafkin?” 

You winced, “...Um…Maybe...Yes. He keeps a low profile probably out of the Country on Holiday.” Unable to get out of this one. 

“Do you have their numbers?” 

“Yes but I doubt they'd answer. We called it off.” You gazed over at her. “And they weren't involved. I promise I know my…-” You grimaced. “Guys and they were not the two guys involved in this.” 

Judy wrote things down. “You know we can get a warrant to look through your phone-” 

“You can now.” You swallowed hoping doing this might make you look more innocent.

You felt your palms sweating as she looked. Then raised a brow seeing ‘Vincent’ texts. “What's this?” 

“We spoke secretly because I did not want Randy and them to look down on me for my private life…We called in secret. I heard a noise and thought it was the killer and it wasn't. So he texted me frantically thinking something happened.” 

And that was the honest truth, actually…Hm. Maybe this lying thing wasn't too hard. Just tell what truth you could throughout the lies.

Judy nodded looking through your phone seeing you had called an ‘unknown’ number the night at Kirby's.

“That was Dennis. I meant to press Dewey's contact. I always kept his unknown because he was so…Embarrassed over being with someone like me.” You forced yourself to give as if a woman scorned.

She eyed you and you prayed she bought it. To your immense relief, she handed you the phone. “You deserve better. Especially if he's the same guy I heard you arguing with at Mr's Meeks' house in the backyard. I know how tough a situationship can be, believe it or not.” 

“Can't argue with that.” You sighed out in relief. 

“Well, for now, they're not suspects or witnesses. We aren't resting till we capture these guys that kidnapped you though. Murderers, kidnappers, one shot an officer and could've killed me…I swear, I'll never forget his face…I swear he looked familiar.” 

You forced a head nod but felt tension at that. That tension didn't leave even as she finally left. All it would take is watching a movie with Dennis and boom.

You heard Gale arguing with her down the hall and you rolled your eyes. You saw Judy warn Gale to back off of police business. Showing her badge for emphasis through the window.

Gale wasn't gonna stop. She just wasn't. And if she did? It would be a while. Years of watching your back, who you talked to, who you called, what you said.

You sighed and leaned back, closing your eyes in your elevated hospital bed. You couldn't go home fast enough. No more hustle and bustle, no more interviews, no more book signings, no more. You didn't care if you had to work remotely or a shitty normal job  if it meant peace. A nice domestically slow leisurely life. You were so damn eager after all this time and all this stress; so much grief fueling you to shut yourself away like you did a decade ago. Only this time no Randy or Dewey by your side. 

It was a little bit later that you turned on your tv while trying to stomach food of some sort…Every news station was you and Woodsboro and…Jill Roberts.

You declined every single interview not only to appease that little monster but because you just wanted to be done with the limelight. If Jill wanted all eyes on her like a spoiled brat? So be it! 

Your eyes narrowed and a sickening feeling came up as Jill played the victim in her hospital room still down the hall from you. Most likely an interview from earlier today. 

“It was terrifying…I'm just so glad me and YN made it. YN really fought hard but after she went down I did what I had to survive and finish off Charlie and the other two thankfully stayed down…It was traumatic.” She dabbed her eyes.

That lying little bitch. 

You felt anger well up in you. There was no answer. Either go to prison for god knows how long and have your name tainted to HOPEFULLY get her to go to prison too…Or suck it up that the person that murdered her friends and yours; got away with it. Clearly the police after interviewing you both separately again and again were positive despite Dewey or Gale's rambling and a stray nurse or doctor that didn't line up. The police and media seemed to think that you weren't involved and sadly neither was that piece of teenage shit.

Two crudely drawn pictures of ‘suspects’ were up. They somewhat resemble Billy and Stu but not quite. Not enough to pick them out of a crowd right away. Thankfully after you ‘admitted’ to Windsor pictures of Billy and Stu as Tim and James not being accurate and Randy unable to buck you or those two Detectives; they weren't reliable now. Just a traumatized teen girl that needed on meds back in ‘98 that poorly convinced, but convinced nonetheless, the authorities that the current sketch was more accurate of ‘Tim and James’ aka the guys ‘Most likely’ involved. Vincent and Dennis may need to change their look and lay low for a year or two. Maybe even change identities…But they might get away too, and despite how wrong it was, you were kinda…Relieved. 

You groaned and turned your tv off. Unable to listen to Jill's fucking lies. She lied much better than you did but thankfully since both your stories matched and they had no idea the cunning weasel Jill was. No clue she called you in secret on someone's phone or even the hospital staff for all you knew with how devious she was…Who would contradict your statements? Your ‘description’ matched up and you two were the only ones at the house to say so and the hospital had a few camera shots of them but too many contradictions. Judy barely got a glimpse of them and could clearly easily be swayed. Dewey was ranting like a lunatic that it was Billy and Stu and was obviously discredited for it and Gale was 50/50 if people would believe her. 

Dewey and Gale's descriptions were accurate and looked like Billy and Stu who were supposed to be dead. You and Jill's description match for the most part and you both were the victims at the house and both of you feigned innocence that ‘How could they possibly be Billy and Stu? There's no way.’ 

Who would the cops and the media believe? Exactly.

You closed your eyes. Back to square one. Being the innocent sweetheart was good while it lasted but you knew it wouldn't last forever. Just like you knew it wouldn't last for Jill either…She'll find out the hard way attention isn't always good. 

You knew conspiracy theorists would side with Gale and Dewey just like they did in the 90's when Gale made her claims you were involved. Some believer had attacked you at your damn house. And truthfully, this time around they'd be half correct. But thankfully, no one but tinfoil hats and naysayers would trust Gale's word over you, Jill and the media.

————————————

Gale paced their house. “This is bullshit…” She shoved a newspaper onto the table. “Utter bullshit, Dewey!” 

Dewey clutched his head. Yesterday still on his mind and today. He had to identify Randy Meeks body for Karla before they planned any final arrangements yesterday. He didn't want Karla to have that on her…Seeing his lifeless face.

The legal battle of Randy being Jewish and the state versus his religion on keeping his body for examination way past 24 hours for any evidence. He looked like a Halloween prop to Dewey. Skin unnatural from being kept on ice so to speak. They made sure he was not embalmed, at least only kept on ice and a Rabbi performed the right ceremonies for him. The Jewish Community the Meeks were a part of, including his sister Martha, fought the authorities wanting his body buried immediately while coroner's had to gather as much evidence as possible. Fibers, prints, how he was killed, if the knife matched a suspect.

It was only after determining the killer was most likely Charlie after finding knife patterns matching his Dad's hunting knife and shoe prints matching his in the mud and a hair found almost days later on Randy's jeans matching Charlie that they could put him to rest…Even though there was plenty of other contaminated evidence from the party on him and even if arguably some evidence was overlooked. Dewey just had to confirm the body one more time before putting him to rest. The coroner wanted more time but was legally advised along with the police department not to. That they had already pushed Jewish law enough as it was for the examination and Randy's family would win in court if they were taken there, something they threatened if even one more day went by. After all, his body had been kept for over a few days.

Bruises on the neck from the rope, lifeless features, skin so cold it was blue with veins showing. He couldn't imagine how much sewing they had to do to his body under that sheet despite his religion; or else his innards would be spilling out everywhere while on the examination table. When they opened his eyes slightly, lifting the lids, they were gray and dead…He looked nothing like fun jovial smart alec Randy and yet it was him. 

“Are you listening!?” Gale snapped.

“No.” Dewey mumbled in a strained voice, nursing whiskey. It has become a crutch to sleep and to loosen up right now. “No, I'm not. I had a pretty bad few days, Gale.” 

Gale went to snap a snarky remark but faltered. Then with a heavy sigh she leaned over the table. “...I know this was a shitty week. But if anything, it's more of a reason to not stop fighting.” She pointed at the table. “Do. Not. Give. Up.” 

Dewey leaned back looking at her. A lot of hope drained from him the last few days. “...And what? It's an open investigation now turning into a cold case.” He groaned and lightly smacked the table. “There are multiple fingerprints, one might match Billy Loomis from ‘96 but what will that do if they're nowhere to be found and no evidence they're alive? You said it yourself! We'll be laughed out of the courtroom. They'll claim the fingerprints were unreliable smudges or someone else. Same with the blood. If they aren't in the system paying taxes or buying things from reputable places or have credit scores then what good does it do? They might not even be in the Country now.” He shook his head.

“So what?” Gale urged. “And we don't know that. If they're stupid enough to stick around to help YN-” 

Dewey winced at that, “Can we just stop talking about it?” 

Gale looked dumbfounded but sat down. “...Don't you want this solved?” 

He scoffed, “Of course I do! But if Billy and Stu are never found then what good does it do?” 

“Um, incriminating Jill? The actual killer.” She grumbled. “If you won't search Jill's phone records then I will go to the Attorney General and get a subpoena.” 

Dewey glared at his wife, “No you won't.” 

“And what's stopping me? Why not!?” She demanded at her wits end with her husband  going in circles. “Still think Jill's innocent?” 

Dewey's mouth twitched and he rested his chin on his forearm on the table, “I don't know what to think anymore…But you are not going to rock this case until we find Billy Loomis and Stu Macher.” 

“Why?” Gale demanded harsher this time. “What's stopping me from just pointing it out online to some crime junkie then?! That video was shot in Jill's room Dewey and it's obvious and I can't believe you and your department are glossing over it!” 

“Because you're not throwing YN in prison, alright!?” He finally snapped before his voice and face wavered. “If you search Jill's phone and we find that evidence or we overanalyze the video and prove it was there then a case will go to court and…I don't know how much YN is involved. But I just…I just can't send her to prison until those bastards go first!...Besides, a video isn't enough without DNA and eyewitness testimony…Kirby said nothing about Jill or YN, only Charlie, and both their stories match up suddenly. We're the odd ones out here and Judy was knocked out before she could truly see them…All you'll do is send YN to prison, possibly Jill and those two jerks walk free like they have for 15 years.” He firmly declared.

Gale looked bewildered, “I can't believe this.” She huffed with a shake of her head. “You told her to get out and never come back. You were hunting her down. You wanted to arrest her if it meant getting answers-” 

“I wasn't thinking, Gale.” He grumbled and sipped his glass. “Maybe…Maybe I do think Jill could be what you claim?” Gale looked pleasantly surprised but he continued, “Maybe I realize this is bigger than I thought? Maybe, just maybe, I still have a bit of faith in YN that she wouldn't do any of this unless blackmail or forced or something…Why else would she come back? Why else would they send her here? You saw her! She was fighting them down the hall! She didn't want to go-” 

Gale scoffed and got up from her chair, “You're being an idiot!” 

“And you're being an opportunist.” He bitterly told her. “You're being the Gale I broke up with years ago. It always comes full circle for you, doesn't it?” Gale stiffened at his tipsy words and looser tongue as he buried his weary head in his arms on the table. 

“Hey, it does not! I have a career!” She argued seeing Dewey get more tipsy it seemed by the hour. Minute even. 

“Randy's dead. YN's a Traitor whether by force or her own will. Jill could be the victim or the killer. Billy and Stu lived and are out free. Hell, maybe I'm the killer at this point? Or you!” He slurred with a pitiful groan.

She huffed, rolling her eyes and taking the bottle from him. Gale gazed down at him and her usual stoic smugness softened. “...I know this is probably harder on you than it is me and we're being assholes to each other.” She sat the bottle aside and cupped his cheek as he damn near pouted at her. She sighed and softly ordered. “I think you need to take care of yourself with sleep and food that isn't liquid.” 

He grumbled, “No…I gotta keep looking, you said it yourself we can't give up. But for them, not YN and Jill. I want them to suffer, I want them to face justice damn it.” 

She sighed again and combed his short hair back a bit with her fingers. “Yeah, I know. But the biggest evidence to incriminate Jill Roberts and put the murderer away is on her phone, Dewey. It's right there.” 

“And the biggest evidence of all is Billy Loomis and Stu Macher.” He enunciated their names. 

“Look. Two things can be right, ya know.” 

“Not until we get them. I know YN, Gale…They got something on her…She's scared and won't talk cause she's worried.” 

“Yeah, worried about her own ass.” Gale grumbled under her breath as she pulled away.

“What?” 

“Nothing.” She straightened herself. “Dewey, c'mon. You cannot just let the case go cold until we find Billy and Stu; if we find them. What? Are you just giving up because we may never find them?” 

He shrugged tiredly, dark eyes dropping. “Maybe. The media is having a field day with Jill and we would need a LOT of evidence to make her guilty IF she is and you're right somehow.” 

Gale reluctantly agreed in a grunt of resignation. Jill was sweet as pie right now and the media was in her favor. 

“And YN was already made to look guilty from yyoouu-” He pointed at her, “She'll get blamed for something those two did!” 

She sighed and rolled her eyes, “Oh yeah? May I remind you she lied and shielded Billy Loomis from being shot. Twice. 1996 and now 2011” 

“Because she's a good person; you should try it.” He huffed out.

Gale sneered with a tsk, “Alright, you're eating something and sobering up.” She stalked to the kitchen as he sat at the small table and kept talking.

"She may be naive and stubborn but she's too soft hearted...I was wrong. She's gotta be protecting them from blackmail or maybe from being just too sweet of a person." He swallowed and shook his head. “She was dragged out…She didn't wanna go with them…You said it yourself, why was Jill in her room in the middle of the night? Why did Billy and Stu take her back here?...Why isn't she saying anything?...Why does her and Jill's description match when they're lliieesss?” He stretched out the last part. “How'd that happen, Gale? Huh? How did it happen?” He almost pleaded tiredly.

Gale was at a crossroads that she couldn't quite decide yet. She did NOT like the idea of it being a cold case forever looking for Billy and Stu…She hated someone else getting the glory for the inevitable of pointing out Jill's low survival rate and her superficial wounds plus Olivia's death recorded from her bedroom window as her neighbor…

Gale momentarily halted making him something. “...I don't know.” For once, was the answer. The only answer she had. Nothing made sense to her. You and Jill wouldn't talk and Dewey was gonna fight her on incriminating Jill and you. For hiding those two; Gale had no issue sending your ass to prison for tanking her career over lies you were still lying about but Dewey apparently did. 

But she also didn't want to make an enemy of her husband.

Fuck.

She sighed heavily while making him a grilled cheese. “....Fine.” She laid the plate down harsher than necessary in front of him. “We'll twiddle our thumbs waiting around to find Billy and Stu but mark my words, Dewey. If another murder happens? I am bringing that tape in play and that second murder is on you and Woodsboro PD. If YN goes to prison for whatever involvement she had then so be it. You can't protect her forever; especially if she's a damn murderer too.” 

With that, Gale left the room. Leaving a weary Dewey half drunk and tired and so emotionally drained he might as well be catatonic as he numbly nibbled on the grilled cheese his impatient wife burned.

[ladykailitha]

Howlin' for Yule

Hello and welcome to my Christmas AUvent Calendar! Every day from now until the 24th I will be posting a ficlet that is 500-1500 from an AU I've done over the years.

All stories will be marked with the tag #12 aus of christmas so you can follow along as I will only be tagging my permanent list for this (it would get too confusing otherwise).

The next one on our list is: Werewolf verse. You can read the story here. All links will be to the first chapter, but the chapter itself will have links to the rest of the story.

Do you know how ridiculously proud I am of that title? Do you? Because I am so damn proud of that title. Also welcome to the one that got away from me. I could have kept it short. They dance, they schmooze, and they go home.

But I wanted to write more with this one and when I realized if I wanted this to end on the 24th, I should have started on the 13th, instead of the 12th, I figured I could extend this and post it Christmas Eve.

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9

~

Eddie stood in front of a mirror and fussed with his tie. He usually got a chuckle from seeing his reflection in a mirror because according to Wayne that one only became a myth recently with them no longer using silver to back them anymore. But not even that thought could bring a smile to his face.

Because he had to look super nice for his boyfriend’s big Yule Tide ‘do up at the new vampire coven’s place. After the Creel house had almost burnt down when Jason attacked, Chrissy thought it would be better to move the coven somewhere safer. Closer to civilization so that if that happened again, they could get help faster.

They had bought a beautiful mansion in Loch Nora that was able to house all the remaining members of the coven comfortably. It even had a large room just for balls. Which is what this most certainly was.

When Chrissy suggested it back in October, she had merely suggested party including the vampires and werewolves as a way to foster peace between them. But Steve, the beautiful big brained and even bigger hearted had suggested a Yule Ball for all the supernatural beings in Hawkins.

So that meant that all Eddie’s friends were going to be there and he had to look nice.

“You look like you’re going to a funeral,” Wayne groused from behind him. “Probably your own judging from the sour expression on his face.

Eddie whirled around in shock. Wayne was standing there in early 18th century clothes in golds and browns. He looked amazing. “Why can’t I look like that?!”

Wayne looked down at his attire and then back up. “Would you like to?”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “I mean we really don’t have much time to make me something like that.” He waved at Wayne’s outfit. “Because I don’t think your clothes will fit me very well.”

Wayne chuckled. “Oh ye of little faith. You take that monkey suit off, and I’ll play fairy goduncle. Go on.”

Eddie raised a questioning eyebrow but did as he was told. He hadn’t been gone two scant minutes when he came back and all the clothes were laid out on his bed. Silks, velvet, and lace all in black. He would cut a dashing figure for sure.

He hurried to get dressed and then rushed out to the front to the kitchen and poured out a bowl of milk, placing it on the windowsill.

Wayne chuckled from the living room. “She owed me a favor, but I’m sure she will appreciate the treat anyway.”

Eddie shook his head. “It’s just good manners.”

Wayne nodded solemnly. He had raised this boy right. Not just in the ways of the supernatural, but in the ways of being a good human, too.

Then the sound of horses arriving, clattered outside their window and they both exited the trailer to see an elegant coach and four black horses.

“Your boy sure has a flare for the dramatic,” Wayne huffed as he was helped into the carriage by an actual footman. Something that Wayne had never experienced in his long life.

Eddie could only agree. In the last light of the shortest day of the year, the driver and footman seemed to glimmer as though they had a glamour placed over them to look vaguely human.

They pulled up to the coven’s new home and Eddie let out a wolf whistle. “The new Dominus seems to have her own flare for the dramatic.”

“Nah,” Wayne said as he exited the carriage, “that just comes from being a vampire.”

They were shown into what Eddie could only call a ballroom. It was massive. It was currently setup with long mahogany tables with little nameplates in front of every placement. The eating utensils were gold, the glasses were crystal, and plates were fine china.

It screamed opulence and once Eddie would have turned tail and ran. But not anymore. Being a vampire changed that, for sure, but what really cinched the deal was the man, standing next to the Dominus in a beautiful red and gold outfit similar to what Wayne and Eddie were wearing.

Steve Harrington, Roane Pack Alpha.

To be continued on Dec. 24th

~

Day 11

I could have waited until the 23rd to post this one, but there was something symbolic about posting it on the day of the winter solstice. The longest night.

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[ducktoo]

So this is how it ends

Lee Chaeyeon x Reader

Note: wishing her the best in her recovery fr. Popping the disc is damn painful TT

A bit short and more melodramatic this time.

The apartment felt…too quiet. Too still.

For a moment, you wish the hum of the refrigerator or the faint ticking of the wall clock could drown out the silence hanging between you and Chaeyeon.

She sits across from you on the worn gray couch, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as if she's holding herself together. Her eyes are on the coffee table—avoiding you. The small, shaking breaths she takes tell you that this isn't going to end well.

“Chaeyeon-ah” you murmur, breaking the silence.

Her shoulders flinch. Slowly, she lifts her gaze to meet yours, and it stings. It stings because you know that look—the one where her brown eyes lose their sparkle, turning dull like they’re bracing for impact.

“I think… I think we should break up,” she whispers.

The words come out so softly, so hesitantly, it takes your brain a second to catch up.

Break up?

“W-What?” Your voice comes out hoarse, barely audible.

Chaeyeon squeezes her hands tighter, her knuckles turning white. “We’ve talked about this before. IZ*ONE… It's done. The group’s gone, and I—I need to focus on my solo career. I can’t… I can’t do that and keep this going.”

“This?” The word tastes bitter on your tongue. You stare at her, searching her face for any sign that she’s joking—that this is some cruel prank. “Chaeyeon-ah, we’ve been together for years. You can’t just—”

“I have to.” Her voice cracks. You see the tears brimming in her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall. She looks away again, blinking rapidly. “It’s not fair to you. I’ll be too busy to give you what you deserve.”

You let out a humourless laugh, though there’s no smile to accompany it. “So you’re deciding this for me? Like I wouldn’t understand? Like I wouldn’t choose to support you?”

“It’s not about understanding,” she snaps suddenly, and the sharpness surprises you both. Her chest rises and falls as she struggles to keep her emotions in check. “I need to do this alone. I have to. I need to prove myself, and I can’t keep being distracted—”

“I’m a distraction?” you interrupt, your voice trembling.

Her lips press into a thin line. She doesn’t answer.

The silence is unbearable now, heavier than before. You swallow the lump in your throat and run a hand through your hair, trying to process the mess of emotions twisting inside you—hurt, anger, confusion. You want to yell, to fight back, to say something that will make her change her mind. But when you look at her—Chaeyeon, sitting there with her tear-streaked face and trembling hands—you can’t.

You exhale shakily, leaning back against the couch. “So that’s it?”

She nods, barely. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that,” you mutter bitterly. “Don’t apologize if you’re the one walking away.”

Chaeyeon flinches again, and for a split second, you see it—regret. But she buries it quickly, biting her lower lip as she stands.

You don’t stop her when she walks toward the door. You don’t beg her to stay, even though every part of you wants to.

Her hand pauses on the doorknob, and she turns to look at you one last time. “Take care of yourself, please.”

And then she’s gone, leaving you alone in the apartment that now feels far too big, too empty—like something important has been ripped away.

The tears come before you can stop them, silent and steady as they trail down your cheeks.

So this is how it ends.

-

The cacophony of bustling production crews, whirring cameras, and chatter from staff surrounded you. It was just another day as a cameraman for Music Bank. You adjusted your headset and checked the focus on your lens, scanning the glossy stage set before the next performance.

"Alright, position four, get a wide-angle for the intro shot," your director’s voice crackled in your earpiece.

You nodded absently, though your attention was piqued when you noticed the name on the lineup for the day: Lee Chaeyeon.

You squinted at the monitor displaying her pre-recorded teaser clip. The name tickled something in your brain, but you couldn’t place it. She was a rising soloist, right? Her name had floated around in industry circles for a while, though you never connected the dots.

Moments later, the lights dimmed, signaling the beginning of her stage. You fixed your camera on the center of the stage, watching as the outline of her figure materialized behind the foggy haze. The soft melody of the intro cued the LEDs to paint the stage in hues of blue and white, bathing her in an ethereal glow.

When she turned to face the camera, your breath hitched.

It wasn’t just her. It was her.

You gripped the camera a little tighter, your fingers stiff. It was Lee Chaeyeon, your ex—the same Lee Chaeyeon who once laughed at your dumb jokes, held your hand like it was her lifeline, and left you in the aftermath of IZ*ONE's disbandment.

“Position four, stay steady!” The director’s voice cut through your sudden daze. You snapped back to reality, your professional instincts overpowering the storm of emotions clawing their way back.

Chaeyeon moved with the fluidity you always admired, her steps precise and her expressions sharp. Her choreography hit with a precision that sent the crowd into cheers, but all you could see was the subtle difference in her now. She was more confident, bolder than she had been years ago. The Chaeyeon you knew had always been a perfectionist, but there was something about her presence now that felt untouchable.

"Close-up, position four," your director ordered.

With a steady hand, you focused on her face, and for a fleeting second, her gaze locked with the lens—locked with you.

Your heart thudded. Did she recognize you?

The performance ended in a flourish of lights and thunderous applause. Chaeyeon bowed deeply, her smile dazzling the crowd as she caught her breath. You followed her with the camera as she exited the stage, the angle catching her wiping a bead of sweat from her temple. Your chest tightened as you remembered how you used to hold her face gently, brushing strands of hair away after rehearsals.

Focus, Y/n. It’s just another artist. Just another gig.

And yet—you can’t stop staring.

-

The show was on a break, giving you time to reorganize equipment and check over footage. Your hands moved methodically, but your mind remained miles away. Seeing her like that—so poised, so untouchable—made your chest ache in ways you thought you’d buried.

A voice brought you back to reality.

“Excuse me, is this where I can check the camera playback?”

You turned and froze. Chaeyeon stood there, her outfit changed into something more casual but equally stunning. She looked at you with a polite curiosity, her hands clasped nervously.

Your throat tightened as you scrambled for a response. “Y-Yeah, uh, over here.”

She approached, her eyes scanning your face. It was as if she was trying to place you, too.

“Thanks.” She leaned in to look at the monitor, her proximity flooding you with an all-too-familiar warmth.

You cleared your throat. “Great work out there.”

She glanced at you, her lips curving into a soft smile. “Thanks. It’s always nerve-wracking, even after all these years.”

There it was—that same vulnerability she’d let you see behind closed doors.

As she reviewed the playback, you couldn’t help but speak again. “You’ve come a long way since... IZ*ONE.” The name slipped out before you could stop yourself.

Her fingers paused over the monitor. Slowly, she turned to face you, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied you. Then, recognition dawned.

“…Y/n?”

Your heart sank, and you let out a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “Hey…It’s me.”

Chaeyeon’s expression flickered between surprise and something unreadable. “I didn’t think…” she started, then stopped. “It’s been so long.”

“Yeah.”

-

The silence that followed was heavy.

You ended up sitting together in a quiet corner of the backstage area, away from the chaos of staff and idols rushing about. The small table between you felt more like a chasm, holding years of unspoken words, lingering questions, and emotions you thought had been buried. Chaeyeon sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes flickering between you and the floor, like she was weighing every word before she spoke.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she started, her voice quieter now. “Last I heard, you were working in… film?”

You shrugged, keeping your tone neutral. “Things changed. Just like you, I guess.”

She nodded slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah. A lot has changed.”

For a moment, silence fell between you. It wasn’t the comfortable silence you used to share, sitting side by side in cafes while you worked on your laptop and she doodled choreography in her notebook. This was heavier, filled with years of distance and the things you were both too afraid to say.

Chaeyeon looked up at you suddenly, her eyes sharp yet vulnerable. “How..um…have you been?”

You hesitated. The question sounded innocent, but there was something in her tone—something almost desperate, like she needed to know the answer more than you did.

“I’ve been… okay,” you said, the words feeling both honest and insufficient. “Busy with work, trying to keep up with life, you know how it is.”

She nodded again, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I’ve thought about you. A lot.”

The words caught you off guard, and your chest tightened. You hadn’t expected her to be so direct, not after all this time.

“Have you?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

Chaeyeon let out a small, bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Of course I have. Do you think I could just forget about you?”

The vulnerability in her voice made your throat tighten. “I don’t know, Chaeyeon-ah. You left so easily. It felt like I didn’t even matter...”

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. “It wasn’t easy,” she said, her voice trembling. “It was never easy.”

You leaned back slightly, stunned by the raw emotion in her voice. “Then why did you do it? Why didn’t you at least try to talk to me?”

She exhaled shakily, running a hand through her hair. “I was…scared. Scared of failing, scared of holding you back, scared of ruining everything we had. When IZ*ONE ended, I felt like I was starting over from nothing. I didn’t know who I was without the group, and I didn’t want you to see me like that. You deserved someone who had their life together, not someone who was falling apart.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. For so long, you had convinced yourself that she had left because you weren’t enough. Hearing her now, seeing the way her hands trembled as she spoke, made you realize how wrong you’d been.

“I never wanted perfection, Chaeyeon-ah,” you said softly. “I just wanted you.”

Her breath hitched, and she looked at you with an expression so full of regret and longing that it made your heart ache.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

You stared at her, the raw honesty in her words stirring something deep within you. For years, you had carried the weight of your heartbreak, blaming yourself for not being enough. But now, sitting across from her, you realized that she had been carrying her own burden all along.

“I missed you,” you admitted quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I tried to move on, but… I couldn’t.”

Chaeyeon reached out hesitantly, her fingers brushing against yours. The touch was light, tentative, as if she was afraid you might pull away. When you didn’t, she let her hand rest on top of yours, her warmth grounding you in the moment.

“I don’t know if it’s too late,” she said, her voice trembling. “But I want to try. Even if it’s just as friends, I want you in my life again.”

You looked down at her hand, the memories of your past rushing back all at once—the late-night phone calls, the quiet moments of comfort, the way she used to look at you like you were her whole world.

Slowly, you turned your hand over, letting your fingers intertwine with hers.

“It’s not too late,” you said, your voice steady. “But…let’s not start as strangers pretending to be friends. Let’s start as two people who still care about each other and see where it goes, you know?”

Her eyes widened slightly, and then she smiled—a real, genuine smile that lit up her face in a way you hadn’t seen in years.

“Mhm..” she said softly. “Let’s start there.”

For the first time in a long time, the weight on your chest began to lift. The past might still linger, but the future felt a little brighter with her hand in yours.

Maybe this time, you think, you’ll get it right.

[goodluckclove]

clove my kind comrade. i have a very emotional writing advice question for you. this turned kinda long, i apologize

i've been working on college applications these last few months, with the majority of that time taking the form of essay writing. and in these months it has been discovered that, at least to my dad's standards, my normal nonfiction prose writing skills are absolutely abysmal. i would write a draft, think i had everything pretty much shiny and complete, only to have everything i had worked so hard to finish absolutely picked to shreds by my dad and told i needed to start over. and there's nuance to this; i do quite literally forget a lot of writing tips and processes that worked for me, and it took last week's adhd diagnosis 17 years too late for me to stop hating myself for not being able to write a 300 word essay in a week. but this has left deep scars on my psyche and sent me for the most intense mental heath loop ive had in years.

that all contributed to a very intense anxiety ive developed about writing. i'll open a wip (or hell start writing an ask) and i will feel such a sense of dread. it's like i'm reaching into an oven that i know i've burned myself on so many times before. i can barely write a sentence before i start overthinking things too much and give up. this is specifically talking about my own personal writing. five minutes ago i opened my most self-indulgent wip that only four people on earth would ever be allowed to see and felt such an overwhelming fear of "what if it's bad". "what if it doesn't read this way to people". i've never had that before. i write what i write, and it's generally pretty damn good. but the anxiety i have about these stupid college essays has bled into MY work, MY own fun projects.

essentially, what i'm asking you is if you can offer any advice of how to conquer this anxiety. i know that an essay and a gay little fanfiction are fundamentally different things that cannot be equated with each other, and i know that other people's opinion on what is ultimately a self indulgent project can be easily and happily disregarded. but i can't have a self indulgent project if i can't even bring myself to physically write it.

this turned into a vent lmao. i hope you and Wife and the cats are doing splendidly.

Hi Bas! This ask made me deeply angry when I read it last night! Shame from artists, especially young artists just starting out in life and in their craft, apparently provokes a pretty deep rage in my soul.

I'm fine now. I'm at a coffee shop. Thank you for a pretty vulnerable and heartfelt insight into your brain-space, and I'm going to give it a pretty long and ramble-y response because that's what it deserves - and honestly, you've known me for long enough that I'm sure you kind of assume this is what's coming. Before that, though, I get the sense you're pretty anxious and drained. In the name of meeting your sincerity I would like to offer a look at the drawing my surrogate child demanded I draw for them after they saw the terrible Sonic the Hedgehog I drew from memory last night. Their prompt was "T4T Sonic/Shadow"

What do you think? I gave Shadow a wallet chain. I've never drawn fan art before but I do think going forward I'm going to give most, if not every famous IP I draw a wallet chain. This made me grin a lot because it's so fucking weird. Also it's not canon. Canonically Shadow would not smoke a blunt. Canonically Shadow the Hedgehog vapes.

Okay I made myself properly silly time for business. Come follow me into a hypothetical situation so I can talk to you (and anyone in your position - which is a lot of people your age) more intimately.

Okay, so I'm at a new coffee shop. It's open concept, fairly minimal an industrial in decor. I'm in this seated nook in the back at a bench by a large round table. The lighting is soft. There's a lot of plants and the baristas are like kind of anti-social which usually means the coffee is going to be great or pretty bad. Luckily it's the former - I got this iced maple cardamom latte. They have other drinks too. Tea. Your usual coffee varieties. They have a rosemary syrup you can put in lattes that I might try if I feel like I want another coffee later. Take my card and order something. I'll wait here.

You're back? What'd you get?

Mm. Fuck. I should've gotten that too. Nevermind, it's fine. I'll probably come back here again.

Okay, so college essays. I'm going to go ahead and just open by saying that college essays are absolutely not the same as nonfiction prose. Flat out, end of sentence. They're aren't apples and oranges - it's like comparing an apple and a used 2007 Honda Accord.

Good nonfiction means different things to different people. I personally enjoy a bit of humor and love for a subject, even if it's mundane to most of society. My wife prefers a Wikipedia-level of dry Academia. Different strokes.

College admission essays, however, are not good. They're really not. From a vague amount of research it seems this has been an issue for decades now.

You can still write like a bad college essay, don't get me wrong. Something riddled with typos or dribbled out by a generative AI. But if you look a little bit at what the people who actually check applications are, it seems the spectrum isn't "bad to great" as much as it is "bad to fine". My own college essay was some bullshit about how I learned about myself and the world around me by going to the grocery store before school and buying a baguette to have for lunch. It was stupendously mediocre. I got into college.

There's a lot of reasons for this. It could be because the average 17-18 year old isn't given the tools or opportunity to write really solid nonfiction - probably because the society we live in doesn't expect them to have anything to contribute in that way, but that's beside the point. You're taught essays. Ways to format papers that, from what I gather, only really apply in academic settings. When I was in high school the average essay had pretty stark parameters students were expected to follow, and from what I've heard those parameters have only gotten more specific.

With all that in mind, I understand why you're freaked out. If you look up tips on solid college essays the advice is like just comically vague. Be authentic! Focus on deeper themes! Pose a philosophical question! That last one actually made me laugh out loud when I read it, because it's so insanely discordant compared to how I've seen people you're age be treated. To go straight from people assuming you need your hand held on nearly anything to having a person say "Hey solve nihilism in 450 words " is baffling.

There's real advice in this odd, clickbait-y quips. You shouldn't feel like you have to play a character or pretend to be something you don't want to do, because that comes across in the text pretty easily. You should consider exploring a topic, because it reveals more about you as a person and that's valuable to the application as a whole. You - I'm going to go out and say you don't need to pose any sort of philosophical quandary at all, actually. That's a pretty wild thing to ask a huge portion of New Adults to be able to do.

So this isn't nonfiction. This isn't a think piece or a memoir, even though people might compare it to both. This is closer to a cover letter. You should still try, but do so knowing this is separate from your skills as a writer. Once you do that, you'll hopefully be able to relax enough to actually let your character slip into the work. What you mainly want to do is express a sense of your voice and sort of imply an idea of the type of presence you would be as a student at your school of choice. That's the point of the application as a whole. It's not going to win a Pulitzer. It would be truly, very weird if an admissions essay won a Pulitzer.

The other thing that I think might be making you and people in your shoes feel crazy is that you're in the period of your life when a lot of adults around you are going to say just the wackest nonsense. Oh this application determines the rest of your life! The stakes have never been higher! This is your future! You're setting the entire course of the rest of your life right now, somehow!

That obviously is also not true. Next year will be a decade since I graduate high school, and I still actually have no idea why some people had that level of intensity. It strikes me as incredibly counter-productive. I explained this to my kid, and they were shocked when I told them how many paths there are to get a higher education. You can get your first few years at a community college and then go to a university. You can go to a polytech school (They make them for the arts too! my brother went to Cogswell and it was such a cool campus) and get straight into industry experience. You might get into a university and transfer to a different one because it has a better program or opportunity.

All of these are cool. Not going to college is also cool, although it comes with other pitfalls. You can also go to college later on down the line. If you haven't figured it out yet, existing in the world is actually really flexible and open in terms of life choices. A college application, essay included, is not likely to play a huge part in the grand scheme of your life. The results of this will give you a sort of better understanding of your options for a plan for the next - like - year, maybe? It won't even determine it. It's more of a cool, maybe or a cool, I guess not right now situation.

It's also way harder for most people to work with a smaller word count. Less words mean less margin for error. That's stressful. You aren't a failure for struggling to write 300 words in a week when you can't choose the parameters of the writing, can't change the deadline, and probably have a bunch of people saying how crazy important all this is. Those are batshit work conditions for someone who doesn't have ADHD.

For someone who does, I can see how easily this would warp the perspective you have on everything else you do. Being picked apart by someone who hasn't been where you are in like 20+ years but still expects you to take their words as gospel? Confusing! Maybe feeling the inexplicable need to compare yourself to any published nonfiction you've read and loved, even though this isn't even nonfiction - and if it was, those writers have definitely been working in the genre longer than just goddamned now.

I think I've told a few people your age that this is the point where you kind of have to pick and choose how often you listen to the adults in your life. That feels irresponsible for me to say, but I do stand by it. When it comes to the transition between high school and college, most established adults are just crazy biased. Maybe because they raised you. Maybe because they're blinded by nostalgia and think that high school was the best part of their lives. Maybe they aren't familiar with the work you want to go into and what's needed to get a start in it. Or they could just straight up not understand how the college system works now.

It is such bullshit that you eventually have to craft a sense of internal intuition out of essentially nothing but it is a thing. It takes time, though. I won't pretend like you can make it happen immediately right now.

What matters is that you're okay. I promise you that - you're okay. Looking you straight in the eye, Bas, you're a good writer. Not "good for your age", I have read enough of your actual writing to know that you're pretty solid already. I've also read enough of your posts and had conversations with you to know for certain that if you wanted to pursue nonfiction you'd be pretty good at it right off the bat. This would be under the usual standards of a nonfiction writer, of course - meaning you get to pick the length, subject, and when you finish it.

You are in the unfortunate period of going through multiple transitions at once. It's hard enough to navigate the way relationships change when people decide (or struggle to process) how you're an "adult" now (also not really true in a lot of ways, but that's another ramble). But going so long under the assumption of having a Default Brain Experience and then realizing that all of the struggles you assumed were normal are actually an imbalance of chemicals is jarring.

It's treatable, yes. Once you get on a medication that helps with the dopamine everything is immeasurably easier, holy shit. But even then it's still painful at times because the difference is so palpable you sometimes stop and think why did it take so long for me to be able to have this? Why did no one see I was struggling? That was my experience, at least.

This is a crucial point in life where you have to be extra kind to yourself however you can. Once you get on stimulants, if you go that way, drink a lot of water and remember to eat (Some of them can make appetite wonky and I think they all dehydrate you). Be careful with caffeine because they do make you more sensitive to that. Maybe like just stop thinking about whether or not your writing is bad or doesn't work in certain ways because I am a Professional Writer and those kinds of thoughts have literally never been helpful to me. When they pop up in my brain I literally say "no" and force myself to think about something else.

Whether your writing is "good" is not an actual question. Is it coherent and does it contain a noticeable and unique voice? Yes. Is it what you want? I can't answer that, but if you say no the way to fix that is usually read more/write more/think more/share with other more.

Also does it read the way it should to other people? Stop it. Don't worry about that yet. You have to finish the damn thing or else it won't read any way to anyone. So much of writing is Second Draft You's problem.

Anyways that's all I have to say. My heart goes out to you for being pulled in so many directions. From my own experience it gets slightly easier once you submit the apps, but people do continue saying dumb nonsense until like midway into your first year in college. And if you end up leaving college for some reason or another people will keep occasionally saying dumb nonsense. But usually by then you're more equipped to ignore them.

You're going to be okay. You are an intelligent, insightful, artistically capable and deeply kind individual. Whether you share your thoughts and make your stories, true or not, through text or art or a mix of both, you have so much to offer. Just remember that.

Also I'm hungry. I've been writing this for a while and I didn't get any work done on the painting for my wife, but it's almost noon and I didn't have breakfast. There's an American Chinese place near here and they have pretty cheap lunch specials. Come on, get your stuff and let's take a break.

Mongolian beef yum yum.

[theborzoiarebackintown]

Margo winning her first BOB and major at just over a year, and her winning her second BOB and GCH finishing major at just over four. It’s truly something to see these dogs slowly mature over the years!

[a-non-event]

"You got yourself a partner."

[xxri]

maría for the ad astra zine! lc u will be missed T_T

[hauntingblue]

ARCANE EPISODE 7!!!!

MY GOD I WASNT READY FOR ANY OF THIS!!! WHAT WAS THAT!!!

Also ekko wallpaper I got with my fries lmao

[crownrots]

↳ SIDE HOTD (2 /∞ ) 📜🏹 DYANNA THORNWOOD ── glass is only brittle until it breaks, then it's sharp. (x) (x) (x)

[the-voice-of-night-vale]

social anxiety can be really funny in retrospect bc it will have you saying shit like 'is it weird to call a doctor's office and schedule an appointment?"with 100% sincerity and panicking about it as if that's not the silliest thing in the world

[tonycries]

FEVER FEVER FEVER

Synopsis. Sèx pollen - it’s never felt so good.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, sèx pollen, PÚSSYDRÚNK MEN, creampíes, bréeding, making them whímper, oraI (fem), true form Sukuna, Sukuna’s two mouths, ínappropríate use of jujutsu, 7:3 technique, GOJO’S POWERS, matíng presses, overstím, bóndage, first times (Choso), losing control, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Can you guess the title reference heheh?

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - WICKED!

Toji Fushiguro swears he isn’t affected - he swears that stupid, stray technique didn’t actually hit him when finishing off today’s job.

After all, it’s not like he’s some weak, pathetically needy-

“Please, doll.” Toji gasps - he heaves - hot and heavy between your pretty legs. Letting his roughened tongue slide its pathway across that perky scar sitting right on the edge of his white-glossed lip, re-tasting you. Himself. And he can feel the way his overworked tip twitches at that cute wide-eyed gaze of yours, mouth dropping at him begging. “Don’t make me ah- say any of that s-stupid stuff again.”

You huff out a low bout of teasing laughter that makes him flinch, “Hmm, but I don’t think I heard you properly, baby?”

God, he wished he couldn’t smell your sweet saccharine scent fogging up his mind, he wished the mere sound of your honeyed tone didn’t have him gushing out in another sweltering hot wave. Growling, “W-when this is over I swear—”

“Time’s ticking…”

Damn.

“P-please-” The word comes out strangled - pained. “Can I p-put it back inside, ma?”

It’s a beg - a plea.

One that has Toji’s ears flushing an angry red, and his eyes looking up at you tearily in a way that uttered he’d die right now if he didn’t get another taste of your heavenly cunt.

You can barely even start to let your head shake with a nod before a choked-up groan bursts from Toji’s wobbly lips. And he’s flipping you over with one simple push of his large, strong arms attached roughly onto your hips. Pushing your pliantly face into the soft, silken pillows on all fours like he couldn’t bear hearing any more of those sweet sounds of yours. For the sake of his sanity. 

“Yes-” he gasps, digits curling around his thick hilt to guide them into a pretty peck against your cunt. “Yes yes yes yes- finally- ah finally-”

He’s drooling. Still so greedy even after hours now. 

Swollen cock so rawly red and angry, he’s splattering out freshly translucent swashes of precum against your puckered hole. Creamy and drizzled with rings of cum from just before that he hadn’t been able to lap up mere moments earlier. 

Toji couldn’t get enough- he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t think it’s even physically possible. 

“Can’t believe what ya d-do to me-” His words are hushed, unsteady - like they were on the verge of shattering into a million pieces. Pressing a lingering trail of kisses down your arched spine, he gulps in your heady pheromones. “-oh, s’not even that fucking p-pollen, ya have no fuckin’ idea.” 

But ah he gets even harder at your scent. Shuddering out a heavy groan, every powerful limb of Toji’s utterly loosening at the way your toasty cunt was hugging him so tightly all over again. You’re being massaged against his mouth-watering abs when he pushes even further in-

“Where the fuck do you think you’re g-going, huh?”

It takes you a few cockdrunken seconds to realize that this is Toji talking to you - deep baritone a few octaves higher, cracking ever-so-slightly at the end in a way you’d never even imagined before. And a few more to recognize that you’d been clawing at the rickety headboard, jittery hips sneaking mere inches away from his ruthless size. 

You’re gasping, letting go immediately. “I-I didn’t mean- you’re just so big, Toji.”

And, truly, he was. 

There’s so much of him.

You didn’t know whether it was the sex pollen that had him fitting out the snug inches of his girth so massively bigger than usual. Strawberry tip red and painting your puffy pussy lips to be dripping wet, it seemed like just the tiniest piston has his rotund head spreading open your taut insides. 

Has Toji’s head reeling. Has him getting angry at the slightly melty recoil that had his bawling tip parting from your insides for a split-second. 

Addicted. 

But this makes Toji hiss, it makes his strong arms wrap around your waist in a vice-like bodylock. Eyes crinkling with watery beads of tears, he catches your lips in a filthy, filthy kiss. “No- don’t fuckin- you can fucking take it- want it- need it, ma, please- think m’gonna die without ya-”

Gripping harshly onto your hips to slam into the very depths of your pussy, he’s feeding your sopping slit with every his girthy inch. All the way until his hefty balls kiss wetly up against your ass. 

THUD!

“Oh shit-” your voice quivers, eyeing the sagging end of the bed. “Toji, you broke the-”

But that didn’t matter to Toji. Why would it?

SLAM!

In fact, it’s the fucking last thing he could think about before swiftly maneuvering your body to press against the fucking floor with a strained gruff. 

And in a split-second, something muscular and weighty is being pressed onto the back of your head. You gasp when you realize that it’s Toji’s foot, angling his gyrating hips perfectly right to swipe an oozing glide of wispy precum down your battered g-spot. 

He’s panting - heaving out, “Heh, s-spread ‘em-” Frantically kneeing apart your limp legs wider, “oh, yeah tha’s it. Shhh sh sh-” You didn’t know whether Toji was trying to soothe you or his greedy self. “Take this f-fuckin’ cock f’me, alright?”

Splaying out one palm midway down your stomach to massage and feel for his riotous nudge, exactly where he could feel himself ramming in for the nth time. Over and over- 

Hmm…maybe this sex pollen wasn’t too bad. 

“W-what?” You’re whirling your bleary gaze over your shoulder to sputter and Toji registers that his drunken mouth has accidentally babbled out loud. 

But the only response you mercifully get is Toji spooning his fingers down to swirl over your neglected clit. A sleazy grin smearing all over his face at the way his thick digits slip and slide from how coated your sensitive nub was with his seed. 

“M’jus’ s-sayin, ma-” he grins, and you feel his tight, cum-filled balls thwack! thwack! thwack! against your overstuffed cunt even harder. More wickedly. “This sex pollen’s making me a bit…hungry again.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 7:3

“M-my love-” Nanami hisses through a wince at the way his rich baritone was breaking pathetically - hoarse, choked-up. He’s never felt this way. Never. “J-jus’ one more?”

Never been so greedy. So horny.

Like he’d die if he doesn’t paint your pretty pussy white.

And if the way your husband had you folded into a mean mess of a mating press wasn’t enough to agree, he’s planting a pretty peck right against the battered bullseye of your g-spot with his swollen tip. Hard. 

The spongy cushion making him collapse onto his elbows with a groan, repeating his same, syrupy mantra. “Please o-one more-”

Nanami’s stamina was incredible by itself but now?

Now it had you blinking back your sobbing tears, swiping away the sweat-dampened strands of blond from his face with a trembly hand, “Only one more?”

Oh, Nanami’s voice opens to agree, his lips crack open to repeat them- those words barely babbling out of his loose mouth before your clingy walls suddenly give him a tempting squeeze. And any and all rational thought is sucked thoroughly out of him-

“I-I don’t know-” he’s breathing out, letting his head fall into the safety of the crook of your neck. Hips still stuttering forwards to spearhead into your gummy depths. Mindlessly. He could feel the drippingly wet slosh of his cum coating his shaft. Drinking in your sweet, sweet scent, “Don’t- don’t know why this is happening. Don’t know if it’s ‘nough- don’t hngh- know if it’ll ever be. J-jus’ want you a pretty m-momma, darling.”

And it’s all that he’s been thinking about for the whole day now.

Right from the very second he’d been hit with a special grade technique during a mission, to the moment that Nanami had stormed up to your apartment and taken you right then and there on the living room floor.

Hours ago.

“P-please-” 

Nanami doesn’t even know what he’s begging for, but it’s just about all that he can sputter out like a little prayer. 

However, you do, apparently. Flashing him a cockdrunken smile that makes his breath hitch, and his tip bawl out a new velvety wave of precum that splatters against the ends of your cervix. You hum, “Mhm- o-one more, Ken–”

Immediately being shut up by a sudden slam! into your sweetest spots, he’s rutting in so deep, so thoroughly that you’re left deliriously wondering whether the circumference of his girth would be left indented onto your melty walls. Again. And again and again and- shit, was he using his jujutsu?

Was he even in control?

“Can’t stop- can’t stop can’t stop- I-it’s like-” Jackhammering pound after angry pound so hard that you’re being pushed further and further up the floor. “You’re too good to me- no!” he cries, accidentally sliding out from between your glossy folds to smack! smack! smack! his furiously reddened cock down the splatters of seed that drip down from your slit. Twitching until he bullies back in- “-promise m’gonna m-make it up to ya- hah- promise m’not gonna miss.”

And then he’s letting your unsteady fingers clutch tightly around the silky fabric of that yellow, speckled work tie that he hadn’t even bothered removing. “H-hold onto this- hold- in case I get too…” 

“Ken-” you hiss, feeling the cold circumference of Nanami’s wedding ring prod at your clit. So full you have the distinct thought that you could almost explode. “M’not s-sure if it’ll fit though-”

But Nanami didn’t want that - couldn’t even bear the thought-

“W-won’t fit?” Nanami shudders, eyes wide. “It won’t…won’t fit?” 

Sounding so devastated. 

Cracking a low whine at the very back of his throat when he immediately flinches away - spreading out his rounded fingers across your stomach to press. He coats his warm cock with a sudden gleam of cum eagerly, “S’this o-okay now? Will- will it fit, my love?”

And it’s so, so filthy.

You’re mewling like such a slut, “Yes- yes yes yes yes- m-more-”

Nanami was practically burning up, heaving for air. His feverish pleas panting out condensely against your face. 

“Gonna fill this ngh- cute cunt up until she’s overspilling.” Rummaging his dick inside your gooey cunt dangerously accurately, grazing up the thumping pace of his veins down the crevices of all your sensitive spots. Even hidden ones. “Have you all round and ah- glowing with my kid.” Uncharacteristically leaving a sodden swat! at your plump clit to watch your gush out in another creamy ring. “Can’t rest- can’t fuckin’ stop until I do. Feels like m’burning.”

Your fingers wrap even more desperately around his tie, pulling - hauling.

Yes, he gulps. This is what he wanted - what he needed. What the pollen was begging him for. 

His lips leer down to glissade wetly across your own, not even a kiss because he could barely even manage one. Unable to even raise his droopy eyes to meet your stare, “-hah- what do you want- t-tell me what you want, my wife.”

Your own lips quiver. “I-I want two babies, Ken-”

Oh. 

Oh, fuck. 

When Nanami was out of control, he was unrecognizable. 

Hips slamming against yours in a few more sloppy strokes, before filling up every empty space with hot pumps of his seed. Voluminous. It’s spurting against your walls with a wet thwack! and not even your hand around his tie makes him slow down.

The air crackles with a few more sparks of jujutsu - except Nanami couldn’t control it. Couldn’t grasp the way even with his technique, he was so drunk on your pussy that his cock was just barely drawing wet glides of cum down your g-spot. Almost missing. 

Making him malfunction his cursed technique. 

Yet, the only thing you can register is when your own orgasm hits, white-hot tingles flashing down your spine. Toes curling, pulse thundering so loudly in your ears that you almost miss-

“O-one…just one more, my love?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - (Un)affected

“I don’t…I don’t-”

Now, Geto Suguru had absolutely zero idea what he was about to babble away - maybe that he wasn’t affected by that sex pollen curse he’d swallowed, maybe that he wasn’t losing a slight bit of his sanity with every feverish drag of his fingers down his painfully hard cock.

“-don’t need anythin’ but your hngh- pretty face, gorgeous. Help out your leader, would ya?”

And oh, you looked like such a dream below him - with your glassy eyes blinking up at him, tongue darted out so obscenely to catch the stray splatters of his aphrodisiac-like precum. Pearly, winking beads that drip! drip! drip! down his visibly throbbing length. 

His beautiful second-in-command.

And he was so ruined. 

Sounding so pathetic when he whispers, scared at the way he knew his words would crack pathetically at the very end. “B-bring yerself closer, no need to be hah- shy- let me- let me…please.”

But he looked so pretty above you.

Splayed out in such a messy way on the throne for the association leader, dark brows knitted, sweat trickling in glistening rivulets down his forehead. Strands of Geto’s long, dark hair stick to his forehead when he smacks your pouty lips with his angry cock until they’re rubbed raw. 

“Wan’ you to cum, Sugu–” you’re batting your lashes in a way that makes his swollen cock twitch in his hands. Smearing your palms up and down the creamy skin of his muscular, manspread thighs, “-cum on my face, please?”

Fuck, he was so unfairly sensitive right now that just the singular gust of your words hitting his cock made Geto’s abs ripple. Make his entire body wrack with shudder after shudder as his weepy tip spits out a translucent few beads of precum. 

“S-such a naughty mouth.” he’s hissing, trying for the life of him to not act like the simplest glide of your palms had Geto fighting back his high already. “Better be ah- careful. Can’t talk like that n’ not end up s-stuffed full, honey–”

It’s a warning. 

For both of you.

Geto’s finding his roughened digits fly down faster and faster his length, squeezing ever-so-slightly harder near his mushroom slit.

You whine, “But I want that, Sugu.”

You little minx. You evil, evil little-

And he can’t fucking stop the way his hefty balls clench - painfully, obscenely, sluttily in a way that has the pinkish divot at the very end of his cock spurt out in a ribbon of steaming hot seed.

You’re closing your eyes, waiting for more- but Geto has other plans. 

Plans that have him swiping over the thick pad of his thumb to press down hard at the very ruby head of his erection, choking back a slew of swears when he wavers off his orgasm for just a second. Just long enough to drag you upwards with one free hand attaching to your waist. 

Up, up, up-

“Sit on m-my cock, gorgeous-” he’s spitting, wet and panted against your lips. Dizzying. You gasp at the sodden drag of Geto’s bawling tip down your pre-soaked pussy lips, meshing in a wet, wet French kiss. “-c’mon. Ride me. Ride me please- m’burning up.”

And it was the only opportunity you’d get to hear the dangerous Geto Suguru whine, to see him blink his long, teary lashes up at you when you sink your drooling cunt down his girth just an inch. 

He was so warm splitting you open. 

So steaming hot when your tight pussy floods with string wads of cum, such a mind-numbing orgasm that Geto can feel it before he even registers it. One that has his toes curling, his arms locking around your waist to fuck up into you like he hates you. 

“D-don’t get it twisted m’early because of the ah- p-pollen.” he groans, back muscles flexing with every perfect curved arch upwards into your greedy hips. The wet thwack! of skin-on-skin resounds throughout the tatami room and makes Geto drool. Unable to even spell out coherent sentences right now - well, not until he feels your sloppy hips slow down just a tad.

“Sugu- m’tired.”

Truly, his stamina was too much. 

Swat! His fingers leave branding little imprints, before roughly attaching to pinch your pulsing clit, “Work on it, gorgeous- tha’s an order. Because m’not hngh- anywhere near done. Jus’ milk me- milk me dry…oh, yeah let that pretty pussy have her fun-” 

“O-oh fuck fuck fuck-” You clutch precariously at the mahogany woodwork of his chair, thighs aching with the sheer effort to try and bounce your drippingly wet pussy down onto his rudely jostling cock. “-there’s so much- ah- can feel it drippin’ down my thighs-”

“Sh-shut up.” Geto’s managing to get out through grit teeth, planting another unabashed smack on your cunt simply to prove his point. Begging, “God, please- mercy-”

Because your honeyed tone is so sweet, your words so filthy that they have him spurting out a few more fatigued rivers of cum. 

Rasping out the tiniest of whimpers with each of your damp bounces, he makes you work. “O-open that mouth.” And you listen - of course, you do - letting those pretty, spit-glossed lips fall open into a soft ah! All so perfect for him to spit- the taste makes you hot. Burning, like an aphrodisiac. And now you’re feeling dizzy. “Bein’ way too talkative f-for a ngh- second-in-command. Aren’t ya?”

And obviously you don’t point out the slight drizzle of drool that makes its way down the corner of his coral pink lips, obviously you don’t point out just how hot and heavy he was swirling lewdly inside your walls. Stretching you out to the max - still so hard despite cumming for the nth time already.

No, instead, you smile drunkenly. “Why? D-does it affect you, sir?”

Smack!

“Sh-shut up n’ keep riding me, gorgeous.” And you could’ve sworn that Geto’s voice broke.

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Bed chem.

Choso was ruined. Absolutely fucked out…and he was so pathetically embarrassed about it. 

Unable to wrangle the teary ah! ah! ah! ripping from the very depths of his throat every time your drenched cunt was dragging down his sensitive shaft. Still clothed, still glissading along his thumping veins teasingly - but he felt like he could cum already. 

“P-please, baby-” The thick pads of his jittery fingers find their way to the edges of your soaked underwear, hooking inside ever-so-slightly - and the tiniest sneak peek of your puffy pussy lips makes him gulp. “-please I feel like m’gonna hah- die without ya.”

“But, Cho—” And that nickname in your sweetened tone is enough for him to buck right off the silken sheets. “-how am I supposed to help you with the pollen, otherwise? M’jus’ being a good friend.”

You wanted him to say it.

You wanted your best friend to beg.

“I-I…”

And oh, he trails off - because you’re helping him slide your sticky panties just enough down your thighs. Flashing him such a dangerous smile right as you watch Choso’s mouth drop, dark brows scrunching together when he heaves out a moan.

“I d-don’t know, baby- I don’t- I don’t know-” And he felt like he was burning, he felt his melty mind getting dizzier by the minute as your slobbering cunt drags in determined gyrations against him faster. Swollen folds spreading to coat the pattern of his throbbing veins in a gleaming sheen. Humping so ferally. “B-but you smell so good and f-feel so oh- all I want is…” 

You don’t get to hear the rest of his sentence. 

Within a split-second, your panties are left in tiny tatters for him to breathe in. Filthily.

Drinking in his fill before he has one pinning both your wrists behind your back. The other plugging into your cunt to circle a slow swivel enough for him to bully inside-

Heaven. He was in heaven. 

“This. This is what it oh- feels like? This is a-all I want-” he’s hiccuping, voice breaking into such a pretty whine every time his raw cock is tapping against the softest areas of your gummy walls. “-to fuck my p-pretty best friend. All I’ve ever wanted- S’my first ngh- time, y’know?”

You’re fluttering your eyes back open to bore down at Choso’s fucked-out expression. “S’your first time? Wh-why didn’t you ah- tell me, Cho?”

And maybe because he was embarrassed, maybe because all it takes is a single clench of your saturated cunt around his girthy shaft for him to shoot out a few wisps of cum. Half-orgasming already. 

But Choso only plants his powerful thighs flat on the mattress to pressurize his slow drills upwards.

Tentative, almost. As if he wasn’t utterly rummaging your insides, poking at your glossy cervix with sopping wet glides of his fat cock, stretching out your taut channel to massage spots you didn’t even know existed. 

The pollen had him greedier than ever. 

“Mhmm– because th-there’s no one else f’me.” His lower lip wobbles cutely, dewy eyes drooping to an almost closed state with every drag of his cock down your elastic walls. Filthy. Feverish. “S’jus’ for a bit- just- hah- just for the pollen, remember?”

Oh, right. You’re shuffling your hands precariously onto Choso’s bulging pecs to determine your grinds even more thoroughly. Pound after pound that left your ass stinging with impact. It was so hypnotic that you’d almost forgotten about the entire reason you were…helping in the first place. 

You fingers bully between his plump lips, muttering, “Open f’me, Cho?”

And of course Choso would do anything you command in a heartbeat. Anything. The only thing on his mind when he lets his mouth fall slack - just in time for your syrupy stream of spit. Hitting right onto the middle of his tastebuds, swallowing. 

So heady that he half-wonders whether you were the cause of the sex pollen itself. 

Holding back a few strained pleas for mercy, he’s placing a wet line of pecks down the side of your teary cheeks- shit, when did you even start crying? Choso can’t help but let his pinkish tongue loll out to lick a languid stripe up those salty dredges, groaning. 

“Just for the p-pollen and…”

“And what?” you’re crying out, feeling one set of his ringed fingers curl deftly around the nub of your clit. Swiping a wet drag of his rotund pads down the very sensitive edges of the hood, it makes your thighs shiver down even faster to meet Choso’s addicted pace. 

“And then…”

In a split-second, you’re being flipped over so meanly. Splayed out like such a slut on the plush mattress when Choso drags your limp legs up onto the curves of his deltoids, abs flexing and rubbing up against your ass when he folds in half down, down, down into the meanest mating press you’ve never thought possible. 

Choso’s gleamingly sharp canines sink into your ear lobe, breath feverishly hot against your ear. In fact, all of him was absolutely burning right now. Heaving. “-then m’gonna hngh- marry you.” Spitting into your open mouth - broken. Desperate. “F-fuck the talking stage, fuck dating- m’gonna wife you up.” You feel his hips get sloppier and sloppier, spearheading Choso’s fat cock to the very bruised bottom of your pussy. “Shit- gonna propose. Be my wife- the mother of my kids. Breed this cunt- Let me please- ngh- please by my wife.”

Maybe it was the sex pollen that had him babbling so much, maybe it was you.

But either way - Choso doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a shit when you’re opening your lips enough to mumble, “I-I do- Cho.”

His best friend. Enough to make him rut up into you wildly like an animal. Clashing his wet tip over and over in sopping slides down your g-spot. Again. And again and-

And the only answer is Choso’s whimper, “A-and please…can your h-husband cum inside, baby?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Mouthy?!

Sukuna’s hooking two of his fingers into the corner of his mouth - his other mouth. A wide, ravenous smile. Larger, greedier, positioned right underneath your shamefully spread cunt. “Move that damn hand before I hafta do it myself, woman.”

And oh he sounded so impatient - so utterly strained like just a few seconds longer would have Ryomen Sukuna rampaging. 

Your entire body burns with embarrassment, jittery legs almost coming to a close at the feverish pant of his second mouth. Drooling, ravenously condensing out little droplets of saliva that splatter onto your quivering hole like a blank canvas. 

“B-but are you sure, Kuna?” you’re whimpering, biting back tiny gasps at the way his tongue drags its sodden taste-buds along where you were straddling him with your sheeny inner thighs. Face sitting but…not quite. “Y-you’re that needy?”

Oh.

Oh, you should’ve known better than to accuse the infamous King of Curses of being needy - no matter how utterly true it was right about now. 

Sukuna didn’t know what potion Uraume had accidentally knocked into his last meal, but it had him so ruined. He couldn’t even breathe without all the blood in his towering body rushing straight into his painfully swollen cocks, couldn’t even think without feeling like his veins were boiling with the sudden greed to taste you.

Because Sukuna might have had his meal…but he was still starving. In a way he didn’t even know before rolling his tongue past your glossy folds. 

And he was chuckling out a dangerous bout of rumbling laughter that makes your lower lip wobble, “Don’t fuckin’ call me n-needy. M’jus-” Addicted? Hypnotized? Battling with the feeling that he’ll die without your pretty pussy? Deep voice petering out when he couldn’t even begin to justify the way that Sukuna was dragging his lolling tongue down your sodden folds, twirling the very pointed tip over the hood of your clit. “-fuck- I don’t need to give you an explanation, p-puny human. Just ride me.”

That’s all the answer you’re getting before he hunches over - long tongue tunneling even deeper around your melty walls and Sukuna was drooling. Smacking many, many wet kisses.

He’s throwing his head back into the decadently royal pillows with a slight, cracking whimper at the sweet, sweet taste of you on his tongue. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. Swivelling wetly so that every single bead of your juices drip its silky way into his widely opened mouth. “Jus’ need a taste- just one taste.”

Your juices were like nectar, making the pollen rush.

“C-can you even taste like this, Kuna–?” your voice comes out in tiny whines. Positioning your shivery hands on either side of his shoulders to steady your legs - it just felt so unbearably good. 

Swat! 

And even with his thick, calloused fingertips, it felt like Sukuna was putting in twice the strength to plant a branding smack onto the curve of your jiggling ass. “Silly girl, of course I can taste this pretty cunt of yours-” Smoothing over the raised digits, and bearing you with such a sleazy grin. “-askin’ soo many q-questions, huh?” 

“But-”

Smack! 

“Shh, why don’t we let her speak for a second, now- hm?”

Silencing down his own grunts until all that resounds in the chamber are those sloshing squelches of your cunt dragging back and forth Sukuna’s monstrous tongue. The sounds of his wet muscle gyrating in and out hotly - it was almost burning. 

“Heh, real talkative this one is, too.” he’s snickering. Two of his arms attaching roughly onto your trembly hips, and a third covering your sagging mouth. “-why dontcha hngh- play with this pretty cunt of yours a lil’, brat? Make her all nice n’ even wetter f’me to taste?”

And it’s all you can do to dance one hand down to run over your poorly neglected clit, toying with that nub just the way you liked - and the way Sukuna liked, too. If the way his mouth - both his mouths - were smiling told you anything.

Yet, he wanted more.

“Fuck- fuck, wait.” And Sukuna smacks! away your hand with his free one - he couldn’t even last a few minutes with anyone other than himself staking a slutty claim on your cunt. “Let- let me.” Every roll of his tongue goes hand-in-hand with the meanest little drag of his fat thumb down your clit. At your surprised yelp, “Shut up and ride it.”

You’re clenching your teeth, bouncing your thighs up and down to glissade a ride everywhere from the ridges of Sukuna’s defined abs to the edges of his slurping tongue. 

“Heheh yeah-” he’s giggling - giggling. Drunk on you and your ravenous hips, you were moving against him so filthy at this point and he almost feels himself - the king of curses - blush. Head lolling backwards but eyeing down to watch how spearheaded you were on his tongue, surging in and out in wet sloshes to fuck your pretty cunt open on him. “Clenchin’ around me so tight- looks like you’re gonna cum, hm?”

“I-I am…so close, Kuna-”

“Don’ needa tell me- this cunt is speaking ‘nough for the both of ya. Right about-” Your eyes spark with sudden stars as he leaves another sudden smack! on your ass, your clit, and then one on your thigh. Before pulling- hauling- “-now.”

And the very moment you feel that build-up within your stomach snap - gushing out in wet wave after wave of your orgasm. All you can do is grab on helplessly to the- the headboard?

Blinking open your bleary eyes to realize that you were sitting on Sukuna’s mouth. His actual mouth. Cracked wide open for him to lap up every single bead and splatter of your squirting.

Such a filthy mess.

“There we go-” he’s groaning, eyes falling half-lidded. And through the corner of your eye, you catch the way his second mouth licks its lips devilishly. “-now I’m almost full.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - “D-do you hate me?”

“What?” you’re blinking down at your dear boyfriend. “Of course not, Toru-”

“Then, y-you really think this will hold me back, sweetheart?”

The words are barely out of Gojo’s mouth before he already knows that they’re bluffs, already knows that the strongest is powerless against those thick black blindfolds restraining his wrists to the bedposts - and you. 

You, you, you-

With your trembly legs straddling his lap, hovering your cunt just above his strawberry blushed head so deliciously. Your sodden pussy lips slobbering all the way down his length in a way that Gojo finds dizzying. He just can’t help but tug-

“Now now, I said no pulling.” Your honeyed tone makes his fat tip twitch despite the way it was dripping with a filthy warning. “Jus’ the tip, Toru. Remember?”

Right…not. 

“Yes yes yes yes-” Gojo gasps wetly, feet planting on either side of the mattress to buck up and push. To smear a pretty peck right past your folds and against that tight ring of muscle, hot. And, shit, maybe it was that fucking pollen but Gojo whimpers, how he wished he could touch you. “-jus’ the tip. The tip hngh- please jus’ take me I don’t even c-care.”

But he did.

Oh, how much Gojo cared ever since he’d let himself be hit by that weak sex pollen jujutsu as a joke. 

Never expecting to end up babbling thoroughly pussydrunkenly like this, to have his twitchy cock sinking in a mere inch into your melty walls and feeling like he was about to burst. 

“You say that but this is way more than ‘just the tip’, Toru–”

And Gojo can’t help but look, to snap his teary eyes downwards and drink in the way your puffed-up pussy lips were bulging all around his thick cock. Just barely past his sensitive slit, he could catch that thumping pulse at your cunt like you wanted to milk something delicious. 

“A-are ya sure, pretty?” he’s snickering, gripping on tightly to use the lewd leverage of his ties to rut up, up, up- “Doesn’t l-look like hngh- s’enough to me.”

Shit.

He can’t help the way his prattling mouth sags open when your tight cunt swallows up another greedy inch. And if any of you two had been in a slightly less delirious state of mind, then you’d have noticed the way the dim bedroom lighting flickers, the way your bed shifts. 

Keening at the slight thickening where his hilt was fatter, spearheading your taut pussy so open. It’s like his prominent veins were throb throb throbbing to massage forbidden sweet spots that you didn’t even know existed. 

You’re taking a few sloppy seconds to find your voice, gathering up every shred of will in your body to make sure it doesn’t break. “D-don’t act like you’re hah- forgiven for g-getting yourself into this mess, baby-”

Ah, Gojo practically purrs underneath you. “Jus’ feel like m’gonna d-die without ya-” Bed creaking when he riotously thrusts upwards to match your tantalizing pace with a much sloppier one of his own. That smack-on-smack after every pound music to his ears - but not enough. “But, if you let m-me outta these ngh– ties then maybe I could-”

“Toru…”

Oh, he was in trouble.

But that angry scoff on your pretty features only had Gojo moaning, gulping in desperate heavals of your scented pheromones. Dizzying. 

“Satoru.”

Fuck- fuck fuck fuck, Gojo was out of control. 

Head throwing back at your voice, lips gasping. Furiously ramming upwards into you with every ounce of strength he had - and Gojo could feel his limbs weaken, his bones ache with fatigue but he needed more. 

Maybe it was the pollen, probably it was him.

Burning for it.

“Aww don’ be like that. J-just the tip- just the tip-” he’s hiccuping out, eyes rearing almost half-closed. Sweat drips down the middle of his spine, your slick smears down in a wet gush onto his tufts of white when your pussy lips kiss his toned pelvis. Way past the tip but Gojo couldn’t stop- “-a little more-” Pushing mindlessly deeper, “-the tip- fuck you can take it- jus ah-” Wouldn’t stop. Can’t stop.

“Toru-” your words pitch into something pathetically whiny now. “-m’so close…”

He already knew

Of course, he already knew. His six eyes could catch that extra wad of drool coating your inner walls, the way your rapid pulse was probing even louder against his overwhelmed cock. Almost painfully. 

“Mhm– I know I know-” he gasps, ripping out a guttural moan when you’re craning over your pretty self to lick a path down the side of that sliver of drool at his mouth. “-cum f’me then- cum- hngh- cum on my cock, please?”

“I should hah- leave you right now, for lying about j-just the tip.”

But who was Gojo Satoru against you?

The slight threat only just leaves your glossed lips before he feels a stubborn pricking behind his eyes. Fuck, what a spectacle this would be to anyone right now. Big, bulbous tears crinkling down the side of his cheeks, Gojo bats his wet lashes innocently up at you. “Please?”

And with a shudder, you’re cumming - crashing headfirst into your orgasm. 

Fuck, you’re wondering whether this curse was contagious with how strong those waves of your high are. Peak after peak and only much, much later do you realize that Gojo’s already ripped straight through his restraints.

Left as mere tatters by the pillow when he latches on roughly to your waist and pounds up his drilling rams, over and over to target your poor, bruised g-spot. Fucking you through your high, vision swimming, lights exploding- 

And Gojo doesn’t even realize he’s cumming until he’s managing to crack his glowing eyes open to bore down at the milky ring of white painting around his thick hilt. Gasping in wonderment, he’s running a singular digit down the glossy puddle - before popping it into his mouth. Sucking. 

“Sweetheart…would you h-hate me if I said I’m ah- still feeling the sex pollen?”

“...”

A/N. Hope you lovelies have a great dayyyy <3

Plagiarism not authorized.