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vampyrsm · 8 months

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‣‣ COR UNUM: CHAPTER NINE | KANGITEN

‣‣ Synopsis: Our tale continues with unbridled rage that comes to life as a sea of spider lilies, only to be washed away by an ocean of blood. Tensions are high, and emotions are raw - just what will transpire between two people who were fated from the start to rip each other apart?

‣‣ Main Masterlist | AO3 ‣‣ Pairing: Sukuna x Reader ‣‣ Word Count: est. 14k ‣‣ Warnings: Blank blogs & Minors DNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Set in the Early-Heian Period, trueform!Sukuna, cursed energy usage, extensive fight scene, descriptions of wounds/attacks, threats of violence/death, female reader, smut (biting, very minor blood play, marking, orgasm denail, oral f!receiving, sukuna has two cocks, DP, assplay, anal, fingering f!receiving, spit as lube, no protection, double creampie).

Grief was such an undignified name for what you were feeling at this very moment. It was much too hot to be described as the ice-cold grief that often consumed people whole until they were nothing but a husk of their former selves.

Instead, it burns hot in your throat, tingles at the tips of your fingers that tighten around the hilt of the sword until you can feel the fabric of tightly woven cloth start to twist beneath the pressure. The ringing in your ears grows until it’s deafening, drowning out the rational thoughts in your mind that what you’re about to do is surely to end in the cold hands of Death.

There’s a sudden flood of cursed energy, and it’s not yours. Sukuna pushes it out first and it slices into the length of your back, it doesn’t do any damage — it was a warning. Do anything and you’ll die.

You had never been one to listen to the whims of a man.

Your own energy flushes out of you much too quickly, a flash of pain that frazzles your mind but you push through. Your fingers slip down the hilt of the blade until your thumb and index finger press to the handguard and unsheathe the blade in a subtle click. The energy that hisses out of the sheathe only fuels your own.

One of Sukuna’s arms is drawn back as if he were about to unleash an attack in retaliation to your own, but he’s completely frozen in a state of suspended animation. You see the twitch of his eye, his muscles working overtime to try and overpower your technique so he didn’t get hit.

But he couldn’t have anticipated the burst of energy that came with unsheathing your father’s blade mixing with your own. You were across the room in under a second, the silver of your father’s blade is just a blur in comparison to everything else. It slices through Sukuna’s midsection with no resistance, the blood that sprays from his wound is slow to appear.

The edge of the blade is coated in a thin line of red, blood that hasn’t even begun to drip down onto the floor. You find yourself standing behind Sukuna to his right-hand side, your head lowered just in time for your cursed technique to release.

The spray of blood is violent, coating half of you as well as saturating the once pristine tatami mats beneath your feet. Sukuna sucks in a harsh breath that mixes into a feral growl, you don’t doubt his teeth are bared and his claws poised to rip out your throat.

But he didn’t expect the world to suddenly shift around him in a deafening boom, wood shattering around him before that wood turns into stone and he finds himself thrown unceremoniously through his courtyard and the wall that cages it in.

You step through the carnage you’ve caused, the wall that separated Sukuna’s room from the outside wall is entirely annihilated. Remnants of the shoji door are scattered by your feet along with pieces of rock and gravel that had been upended in your two-pronged attack.

In truth, you hadn’t expected it to work like that but when you unsheathed the blade it was like another set of hands had laid themselves upon your own. Even now you can still feel them pressing down on the top of your shaking hand that holds the hilt so tightly.

Sukuna recovers quickly from the attack, his four arms aid in throwing his body forward from the man-made hole he had found himself in and he moves just as he did the first time you saw him. Fast. Ruthless. This was nothing like the time when you had trained with him, you were facing an entirely different beast once again. This was a beast who had a single goal on its mind; to kill.

Your foot shifts backwards along the ruined wooden porch, your upper body twisting just so with a hand on the handle of the blade as you prepare to embrace the oncoming attack. Your lungs expand with the deep breath you take, the cursed energy that surges at the tip of your blade bolsters itself.

There’s a vicious snarling yell that rips from Sukuna’s throat as he nears your static position. Just as the edge of his cursed energy presses into your own, you push off of your toes and the speed at which you move is imperceivable. You move before Sukuna can even realise that you’ve vanished from the spot you are in, not until you’re face to face with him.

You wonder what he must see when you meet his eyes, does he see the face of all those innocent people he had slaughtered? Or perhaps he sees the face of the man he dared to steal this weapon from? But whatever he sees unnerves him, all four of his eyes are wide at the sudden proximity and his body moves out of reflex.

The blade slices through the air where his head once was, your feet skidding through the divots where Sukuna’s body had previously been thrown through. This time, however, Sukuna is ready for the second part of the attack and brings all of his arms up in an X-position to cover his face and the core of his body.

The violent gust of wind that followed your speed was enough to shift him a few steps backwards, small shattered stones finding home in his flesh from the force they hit him with.

“Lucky,” you mutter to yourself once the wind blows by, you turn to look at Sukuna who is glaring at you over his shoulder. “You should’ve lost your head.”

Sukuna’s upper lip lifts in his trademark snarl, displaying those sharpened fangs that no doubt yearn to be buried into your liver. Even from here, you can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Your gaze shifts away from his eyes when he turns to face you eventually, and you latch onto the deep laceration on his cheekbone. You had nicked him.

“Next time, I won’t miss.”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll live to see a next time.” Sukuna lowers his stance slightly, all four arms exposing his chest. His kimono had been severed into nothing but strings of fabric that laid around his waist where the obi-belt held everything together.

You don’t give him the chance to recuperate his energy, you move towards him. The air shifts with the sudden pulse of cursed energy that pools in your legs, and your hand slides to the handguard to release the blade from its sheath once again. However, there’s a change in Sukuna’s energy.

He draws his arms up to protect his body once again, his speed starting to match your own despite the use of your technique. His eyes too track you more clearly.

“Now that I know what your little trick is, it won’t work on me so easily.” His words from just the previous day sting more than any weapon could, it slices through your impenetrable need to destroy the man before you. He was adjusting to your technique.

Your blood sings with the realisation. You never doubted Sukuna’s battle prowess, if anything you were astonished that you had managed to lay your sword against his skin a handful of times but something about this felt so different. The way his eyes tracked you was akin to that of a wolf who had spotted a rabbit in the clearing. You were now his prey.

His arms don’t budge when you enter his space, nor do they move when you continue to slash your blade against his skin. You expect the spray of blood but instead, you watch as he heals the wounds the second they appear – he was defensively holding onto his cursed energy. You had to do enough damage to stop whatever he was planning on doing.

Sukuna’s eyes still manage to track you effortlessly even when you utilise your technique as you had once seen your father do. At the time, you figured it was just your childish imagination making up the fact you saw three of him but now you understand. You understood just how he did it. But even with the mirage of your body splitting into two different versions of yourself with how quickly you move, he watches.

A slice of a blade against his neck, against his bicep, the back of his legs — nothing. It does nothing.

It feels like dread that starts to build in your stomach, you failed. His eyes sharpen at the dip in your energy, and he doesn’t miss the chance to act on it. A hand shoots out when you’re midway through your next dash, your cursed energy sputters the second his hand lays itself around your throat.

He slams you ruthlessly into the ground, it cracks beneath the pressure before it splinters further when he pins you beneath the weight of his immense cursed energy. You can feel the bones along your back and shoulders scream in agony whilst they’re being crushed between two immovable forces.

Your fingers ache when they tighten around the blade still in your hand, and Sukuna doesn’t miss the movement with one of his lower eyes. He manages to throw his body back in time, the tip of the blade scraping painfully along his second face.

But even still with the space you created, your body hurts far too much to move even a muscle. Your legs feel numb from the tops of your thighs, no doubt Sukuna had crushed part of your spine with the force he threw you down.

“That’s all you got?” He sneers from his spot across from you, glaring at you in the small crater he had created with his cursed energy. “Weak.”

His words brand themselves into your skin, show you for the failure that you are. It feels childish to have tears pricking in the corner of your eyes, stinging against your bruised and bloodied cheeks. How dare he call you weak whilst staring at the grief on your face.

“Fuck..” You breathe the word through gritted teeth and you don’t miss the way Sukuna’s face cracks into a violent grin. His fingers stretch at his sides, veins bulging in his arms as he watches you valiantly try to push yourself up from the floor. “You.”

“Such a filthy mouth for a simple sword-bearing whore.” He goads effortlessly, and it makes your jaw clench until your teeth ache.

You suck in a harsh breath, focusing on trying to figure out a way to get out of the predicament you were in. Your energy burns so hot in your chest, stinging at your wounds and yet the negativity resting on your soul does nothing to ease your pain. Your brain scrambles to scour through the information you consumed just hours prior.

What did that madman spout about reversal in those books? Something about your energy, that energy is made up of negative emotions. So surely if you reversed those feelings, turned that negativity sitting in your stomach to a positive emotion… Your eyes closed briefly, sucking in a shaky breath before you sank into the memory that brought you genuine happiness.

You remember the warmth of the sun on your face, the water that rushed by your feet along with the koi fish that your father had recently purchased. Your father was sitting next to you, his own head tilted skyward as he watched the flitting orange leaves float through the sky on the summer breeze that rolled through. You remember the warmth of his words when he told you how proud he was to know you were excelling in your classes.

That day whilst seemingly insignificant to some was the first time your father had acknowledged you as more than just his daughter — he saw you as someone who could go far in a world designed to fit only men. You were his pride.

Your eyes reopen to the darkened sky above you, and there’s a warmth that coats the entirety of your upper body.

“Oh… someone’s been doing their research.” Sukuna comments from the sidelines, but you can’t focus on him when you feel that same warmth stroke its way down each notch of your spine until it all clicks back into place. Everything made so much sense now, reversing cursed energy would bring out positive results… of course it would.

Now you know how Sukuna felt atop the world. Untouchable. Your own smile grows on your face, eyes shifting to stare directly at Sukuna who tilts his chin up at you, appraising you. The ground vanishes from beneath your back, and the blade in your hand twists effortlessly until it’s ready to strike once again.

Sukuna’s eyes widen at your sudden approach, his body weaving out of the way of your blade once again. Your feet slide along the loose gravel floor until you dig your heel in to spin back around to face him. The blade in your hand drips with blood, mixing with the dirt. You watch as he raises two of his arms up to press them together but… his hands never touch.

Instead, they lay dormant on the floor at his feet.

“With death comes the gratitude for life. I understand now.” You breathe the words, a cloud of warmth billowing from your mouth.

The growl that rips through his throat shakes the foundation of the building behind you, small rocks bouncing on the floor from the pure ferocity that builds in his chest. His body moves down suddenly, and one of his remaining two hands presses into the ground.

It splits beneath his fingers in a spiderweb pattern, the cursed energy that bursts through is violent–and fast. It explodes upwards once it reaches your feet and you’re forced to reinforce your body with your own cursed energy to take the hit. It doesn’t stop you from being thrown backwards however, your back colliding with the ruined wooden porch that lined the outside of the temple.

Sukuna’s laugh booms in the area when he finally stands back up, your eyes blurry from the force of impact. You watch as he flicks his arms out at his sides and in that same easy movement, his hands reappear.

“We’re just getting started, little one. Stand up.” His shoulders roll, the crack of the bones in his neck is loud in the silent aftermath of his attack. “GET UP!”

And so you do. You get up from the rubble, uncaring for the cold that now bites at the exposed skin of your ripped and torn kimono. The cold is nothing in comparison to the rage that still burns so brightly in the core of your soul.

“Good! Good… now we can have some fun.” Sukuna’s tongue drags along the points of his fangs, eyes wide and manic as they scan over your body as he anticipates your next move.

Everything you had thrown at him so far had bounced off of his skin effortlessly, he had clearly adapted to your technique by now and knew what to expect from you. You needed to do something that would catch him off-guard, but what? There was nothing left, you could throw your sword at him endlessly and he would only bat it away to then crush you the second you got too close.

Sukuna’s rumbling growl has your eyes snapping up just in time to see one of his arms raise, but instead of having his hand curled into a fist he has his hand flat, palm facing skyward – as if he just threw something at you. You feel it before you even see it, it’s almost invisible but you can see something slice through the air towards you.

Uneasiness coils in your stomach, your wrist twists the blade in your hand until it’s in front of you. The sharpened edge of the blade points in his direction, in the direction of the attack and you brace yourself for the impact. The cursed energy in the blade blossoms with your own, reinforcing your stance until it feels like not even the strongest earthquakes could shift your position.

“Ha!” Sukuna exclaims when the attack collides with your sword. You feel Sukuna’s cursed energy bend around the barrier you had formed around yourself before it splits into two separate attacks. The building behind you explodes into shrapnel, wooden chips flinging out in every direction.

Your chest heaves with the effort of holding your own against that attack, your energy bleeds back into your body and you can feel the drain that so many wrote about in those books. You overexerted yourself, your cursed energy was dwindling quickly. Sukuna seemed to notice it too, because he lowered his stance as if he were about to sprint at you.

However, he doesn’t move a muscle when he watches your sword fall to the floor with a clatter. He doesn’t dare to breathe when he watches enraptured when you do the one thing that simply feels right at this very moment. Your cursed energy would no doubt be completely depleted after this but if the stories were true… You would win.

You don’t think, and instead only let your instinct guide you; let the lingering cursed energy of your father mould your hands together—

Your hands join as one, palms facing the other whilst your fingers interlock with one another except for your little fingers and thumbs. Instead, you press both your little fingers together as well as your thumbs.

“Domain Expansion: Warrior’s Valour.”

The ground beneath your feet shifts, endless upon endless amounts of red spider lilies pop up from the once destroyed ground. A sea of red ebbs at your feet, and Sukuna stands at the opposite end of the flowing river of crimson flowers, his eyes lock with your own once you lift your head to look at him.

You hadn’t expected it to work so cleanly, you can feel the rigidity of the barrier that encases the both of you within a world of your own creation. There’s a power that surges through you now that you’re caged into your domain with him, you understand now why this was considered the pinnacle of a sorcerer’s technique — it was designed to ensure you won.

Your hands drop from the gesture you had performed, and you find no weapon to grab onto.

“You killed my father,” you breathe, letting the very words that angered you loose from your chest. Sukuna all but exudes smug pride at the fact he had gotten such a response from you.

It only serves to anger you. There’s an audible slash that cuts through the air.

Sukuna falls forward, knees crumbling beneath him. The blood that sprays from the back of his legs paints the already-red flowers in a deeper shade. You understand now how it works, the domain was just an extension of your technique.

“Consider me impressed,” Sukuna comments with what sounds like genuine passion attached to his voice. His head is lifted enough to still look you in the eye, two of his arms are holding up his body from crumbling completely to the floor. “However. You’re sloppy.”

Another pang in your chest and another slice appears on Sukuna’s body. This time on one of the arms that’s holding him up, he falls forward until his elbows are holding him up. He laughs, a little breathless, almost giddy if anything, and you watch when he rears his body back suddenly despite the force of your cursed energy slowing his body down to hold it in place.

The two arms that weren’t holding up his body or injured come together, his pinky fingers fold against one another, thumbs touching to his index fingers and the rest of his fingers join together to form a point. His hands raise just before his face, eyes closing momentarily and then—

“Domain Expansion: Malevolent Shrine.”

You feel your own cursed energy crack and burst from the pressure of his own. The air rushes out of the domain you had formed, the flowers drown in a sea of blood that laps at the soles of your feet.

Every single time you had faced death before pales in comparison to what is before you, Sukuna seems further away and his hands remain held together. The shrine behind him is magnificent, grand and so like the one you had been tasked to clean at the previous temple.

You can’t sense the barrier that you had previously formed, in fact, you can’t sense anything at all. His own domain is so different to your own, no doubt he had forged a powerful pact with himself to ensure his technique prevailed above all others.

He really was the King of Curses.

“What’s with that look on your face?” He comments from across the lake of blood. “Have you come to realise you are no match for me?”

The area around you is painted in a deep cardinal shade, the mountains that shrouded the ancestral temple belonging to Sukuna look even more foreboding in the red tint. The power that bleeds from Sukuna is awfully suffocating, more than it had ever been before, it holds you in place and demands your full attention.

Sukuna clicks his tongue, eyes narrowing when he sees you making no move to advance upon him. His energy surges up suddenly, and it feels like hands come up from beneath the murky water at your feet and shackle you down to ensure you can’t evade what is to come. The air becomes dense, malleable, and when you breathe in, all you can smell is the stench of blood that follows Sukuna around like an old friend.

Your body braces for the impact, the muscles that could still move tense up and ready themselves for the killing blow. This was it. You had failed to avenge your father, had failed to fulfil your goal of honouring his name — you had failed as a Samurai. So you don’t move, you stare at the cold face of death across the sea of red and you wait.

…But the blow never comes.

Instead, the water melts into the ground, the shrine vanishes as if it never existed and the red tint over the sky is washed away with a gentle breeze. Sukuna stands across from you still, but on his face is a frown that only shows his displeasure for how the whole thing turned out.

Why didn’t he kill you? He had you right where he wanted.

His gaze shifts away from you finally, glaring off towards the horizon. Although there is a distance between you, you can feel the confusion that shrouds him. You doubt that he has ever faltered at the chance to kill someone.

So you use his confusion to your advantage. You swipe the discarded katana from the floor, your fingers tighten around the hilt and with the remaining cursed energy you surge forward. The energy explodes around the blade, lashing out at the air and it’s enough to cause Sukuna to snap his attention back to you.

He draws up an arm, the flash of his cursed energy is blindingly bright and yet it draws you in closer and closer until your blade collides with it. There’s a moment of tension before it snaps like a string pulled too tight, your arm is flung backwards painfully until the blade is launched into the darkness of the night.

Sukuna doesn’t miss a beat. The arm he used to defend himself with comes out to grab at your throat, those long clawed fingers dig into the flesh of your neck before he lifts you from the ground effortlessly. Looking down at him you can see that even with the sudden flare of energy, you still managed to break through.

There’s a deep laceration across the unmarred side of his face, the side where his real face resides. It reaches from his jaw and up to his eyebrow, forcing both of his eyes to close lest he wishes to flood his eyes with the blood that pours from the wound.

The breath that billows from his nose reminds you of the ancient stories of dragons, he looks beyond furious. He sucks in a harsh breath only to blow it out, the strain on his body is otherwise unnoticeable. His hand remains around your throat as he holds you up above the ground, unmoving – as if he didn’t know what to do with you.

Your fingers brush along the bare skin of his arm, brushing along the thick band of tattoo there and his uninjured eyes flick down to watch closely. Then he switches his attention quickly to the single band tattoo that’s branded into your skin. It feels like there’s electricity beneath your fingers when your hands wrap around his forearm to try and leverage yourself free from the choking hold.

Another harsh exhale of breath through his nose before the breath is ripped from your lungs, held hostage by a mouth that feels so foreign pressed to your own. He consumes your panicked gasp so greedily, as if your breath holds the elixir to eternal life itself. Sukuna kisses like he fights; with a sense of dominating regality that you can’t help but concede to.

The way his fingers curl around your throat, sharpened claws designed to rip apart muscle and sinew as if they were nothing. His breath is like fire when he exhales roughly through his nose, and then uses your own breath to refill his lungs. He’s so awfully greedy with how he consumes you whole, a type of hunger that can only be described in one way — carnally.

Two of his unoccupied hands come to grasp your waist, the warmth of his skin against yours through the rips of your kimono only adds to the fire that burns beneath your skin. He grows bolder with each passing second, his lips continuing to move with yours until it becomes nothing but a messy clash of teeth and saliva.

His growl rumbles beneath the hands you press to his chest, feeling the sticky wetness of both sweat and blood alike. Your fingers glide through it effortlessly, smudging it into the hardened planes of his body. You paint the blood against his skin, pressing your fingertips against him until your knuckles ache from beneath the pressure.

But you weren’t trying to push him away, no, you were trying to convey that you understood this primal need that was building up in his chest. That you understood the growling pleasure that rippled through his throat when you slid your tongue along the fangs that had threatened to rip you asunder so many times.

Maybe it’s just the adrenaline of the fight that keeps you from screaming and yelling at him to let you go. Maybe that’s why you lean more into him, trying your hardest to tell him you too wanted this.

This being an unknown ache in your chest that yearns to be touched by the man before you. This being something that feels so forbidden but so good. It’s intoxicating; to let go of everything that had clouded your mind in a red tint.

Sukuna occupies your mind flawlessly, as he seemed to do so for the last few long weeks, and now is no different. His sharpened canines clamp onto your bottom lip with a rolling growl, one that sounds like it was dredged up from the depths of hell. He doesn’t let go until you feel the flesh pinch and give way, the blood trickling into the cracks of your lips.

He’s shameless in the way his tongue replaces his teeth, dragging it along the fat of your bottom lip to then simply suck it into his mouth to ensure he got every drop of blood possible. Your nails dig into the muscle of his chest, dragging down until you leave behind red welts that are sure to turn into deep scratch marks come morning.

Yet Sukuna doesn’t stop you from idly injuring him, if anything, he continues to encourage it. His own claws dig into the flesh of your hips, squeezing until your flesh pools painfully between his fingers. It serves as a good distraction when he forces his tongue into your mouth, a muscle so much thicker than your own that you practically choke on it.

Here, with his tongue part way down your throat, you can taste the fury that sits dormant on his tongue. It lashes and curls against you until you’re forced to give in, it demands your subservience.

Your hand slides up along the sullied planes of his chest, up to his throat where you can feel the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows another futile gasp that you attempt to take. Slowly your fingers slide up further until they’re cupping the underside of his jaw, the muscles jumping with each aggressive passive of his tongue and you wonder briefly if he’s so blinded by his pleasure that he cannot see what’s coming next.

It happens far too quickly for Sukuna to stop it. Your fingers dig into the thickened muscle of his underjaw and you push his head away to see the red of his eyes swallowed whole by the black of his pupil. His lips whilst swollen are tinted in a deeper shade of pink that’s no doubt the blood that still beads on your bottom lip.

You can feel the struggle of his windpipe as he continues to try and suck in air despite you pressing so harshly against his throat. He doesn’t seem to care about the lack of oxygen, nor does he seem to care that you’re pressing harder and harder until you can feel the muscle starting to weaken to give way to the pressure.

Instead, he grins. A manic smile that spreads the blood on both his teeth and lips alike. “Do it,” he attempts to growl the world, but it sounds choked. “Kill me or I will devour you.”

It’s an ultimatum that in the past would have had you moving without hesitation — if you hadn’t had a taste of the power on his tongue or the vehemence of his passion, then perhaps you would’ve killed him. Instead, your nails dig vainly into the tightened muscles of his jaw, your lips smear across his own when you lean in.

You don’t miss the way his eyelids lower the closer you get to his face, and you definitely don’t miss the lump in his throat that he attempts to swallow despite the hold you still have on him. You wonder why a man as powerful as Ryoumen Sukuna is giving you the choice of what’s to happen next, you’re certain he could take what he wanted from you even if you tried to fight against it.

And yet. He nudges his nose against your own in a way that feels far too intimate for the predicament you find yourself in. It jolts your heart into a rapid pace, you don't want to feel any type of emotion for him at the moment other than blinded rage, a type of fury that can only be taken out on another person whilst pressed to their skin.

So it’s you who bites the others lip, your teeth aren’t nearly as sharp as his – you weren’t designed for the hunting of humans, but you still bite down as hard as you can. Sukuna’s grin falters for a second, and you wonder if those eyes of his are going to roll back with the pleasure he’s trying to suppress.

His blood tastes bitter against your tongue, tainted by the darkness that courses through his veins so freely. Sukuna doesn’t stop you from returning the favour; dragging your tongue along his bottom lip until all you can taste is copper. Instead, he groans, a rumbling sound that vibrates against the loosened hand at his throat and the flutter between your legs is inevitable.

“Good choice.” He speaks against your lips once you release him, this close you can see the specks of different shades of brown and red in his eyes – a beautiful array of maroon that has you so mesmerised you don’t register that he’s moving. A hand comes up beneath your thighs to shuffle you around until they’re wrapped tightly around his waist.

He wades his way through the destruction of your spat, uncaring for the shattered wood that only splinters further under the weight of his heavy footsteps. The chill of the wind is replaced by the chill of a partly dilapidated bedroom. You wonder if he’ll comment on how you destroyed his own sanctuary – destroyed years of scripture before he could even defend himself.

Thankfully, he doesn’t. Instead, he dumps you onto the large bed you had found to be your own over the last few days. There’s debris that lays dormant around you, specks of old wood and shredded paper yet it doesn’t distract you from the looming beast at the foot of the futon. His arms shift slightly with every deep inhale he takes, his nostrils flaring and eyes roving down the length of your body.

You looked like you had been put through the paces, your kimono was hardly a kimono anymore and the blood that stained your skin had grown tacky over time. It’s unnerving how still he grows when he’s watching, a predator that’s adapted over the years to not alert his prey when he’s about to pounce.

Without much preamble, your fingers pull at the obi-belt at your waist until it’s tugged and untucked. Your kimono then has nothing to stop it from slipping away from your thighs, your stomach, chest, all on display for the man over you. His eyes track the movement flawlessly, all four eyes working hard to ensure he doesn’t miss the way your nipples peak in the midwinter cold.

Much like a creeping predator, he doesn’t say a word when his knees sink into the futon on either side of your legs. He wordlessly crowds you up along the bed until your head is pressed into the pillows. Two of his hands press into the softness of the futon on either side of your shoulders, holding him up above you whilst the other two arms are free to feel what belongs to him.

First, it’s the brush of a knuckle against one nipple, barely a touch before he traces that same knuckle along the supple soft skin of your underboob. He admires your body as if it were the finest china, as if it held the secrets to life just like his beloved collection of literature.

That same hand travels down along your body, pressing between the dips of your ribs a little harder as if he’s trying to find a weakness; a place to burrow himself deep inside of you and perhaps never leave. It’s oddly romantic, sensual yes but it brings a warmth to your face that not even your late-husband had ever achieved.

You can’t help but wonder just what he might be thinking about, if anything at all. He seems rather content with just running fingers along flesh that gives way to just a little pressure. The warmth of his finger transfers into the warmth of his palm when he presses it to your ribcage, his fingers expand nearly the width of your entire side.

He was truly gigantic; a beast that had you laid out in front of it as if you were its meal. You definitely feel that way.

A huff of breath from his nose finally breaks the silence that settled over the two of you. Your ears prick at the sound and you look up to meet his gaze immediately. He’s staring at you with an odd look in his eye, no doubt something complex bouncing around in his mind as he decides on what to do next.

He was a miraculous beast. Each of his moves were planned and coordinated, everything was set into motion underneath his guidance and plan and yet you had thrown him for a loop. You had not only challenged his power but then beheaded his bloodlust in one fell swoop. It wasn’t something a man like Sukuna could ever plan for, and here he is, turning over a myriad of different ideas whilst he watches your chest expand with each breath.

His thoughts are abruptly cut off however when you decide it’s your turn to touch him. Your hand is tiny in comparison to his chest, pressing into the pectoral muscle that acts as a shield to the thing that keeps him alive. You can feel the faint beat of his heart beneath the tips of your fingers, hammering away as if its only wish is to break free and rest in the palm of your hand.

Your fingers trace along the black tattoos that mark his chest, following them up until you reach his neck. Even there, the muscles are so thickly corded that you can’t help but question if you ever really had a chance at succeeding in killing him. He was designed for survivability, brutality, you never stood a chance.

But despite all that, despite all the muscle and raw strength, he caves in easily to the press of your fingers on the back of his neck. His body descends down onto yours until your stiffened nipples rub against his chest. With him so close to you like this, you’re once again gifted the chance to see his eyes and the many shades of cerise that reside there.

“Kiss me,” you demand albeit rather breathlessly, and Sukuna’s lips crack into a familiar grin that holds far too much heat and desire.

“Why?” He questions, though his face inches closer to yours with the insistence of your fingers pressing into the nape of his neck. “Why should I kiss you?”

He’s playing with his food, there’s no doubt about that and it makes your stomach clench. His lips hardly brush against your own, his breath so warm against your kiss-parched lips.

“Please.” You break and beg, and that grin grows impossibly wider; more fiendish. He won so easily and you can’t find it within you to care. Not when he presses his lips against yours.

It’s different to the fervent kiss that he had initiated outside, instead, it’s slower, more consuming. His lips move with yours so effortlessly as if you two were lovers who had practised this same dance for a millennium. Sukuna is the first to break away, smearing his spit-slickened lips down along the edge of your jaw until he finds himself a home against your neck.

Here he lays kisses against the scar that had appeared after his first attempt on your life. His tongue is smooth when it moves up along the marred flesh until he’s pressed just beneath your ear, his breath wet against the shell of your ear when he parts his lips to speak to you once again.

“You should’ve killed me.” His nose presses into the skin beneath your ear where he inhales deeply, and the kisses that lay against your skin once again muddy your words in your brain. You want to refute his claim, that no, you wanted this more than his death — right?

It comes far too quickly. A clamping of sharpened fangs that re-pierce both scar tissue and flesh. It’s an agonising pain that straightens out your spine and draws your muscles taut, and Sukuna does nothing to stop your hands that push against his chest because truthfully, you will never outpower him.

Whilst your brain is addled with the pain of his teeth sinking in until you swear you can feel him nicking your artery, there’s a smoothness between your legs. It makes you jolt in place, the broadness of the wet muscle that touched you is jarring. You hadn’t even realised that he had managed to wrangle your legs apart until they sat high on his waist, two hands holding your thighs steadfast against his stomach.

His stomach — that wet thing you feel is the tongue you had seen so many moons ago. You had noticed he refused to show you that mouth again, most likely because it was a weakness to him that you were capable of exploiting. The mouth on his stomach is ruthless in the way it devours you without shame, the width of his tongue is enough to cover the entirety of the wet heat between your thighs.

It presses with the right amount of pressure against your clit whilst the tip of it wades it through the sticky mess that’s quickly becoming out of hand. Sukuna doesn’t release your throat for some while, his groan is muffled against the skin he’s no doubt destroying with his teeth.

Your toes curl uselessly against the air, the heels of your feet digging into the muscles along Sukuna’s back when he presses his body further into your own — in turn, pressing the tip of his tongue against your entrance until you give way to it. It’s thick, long too, and he has far too much control over the way it writhes against your walls in hopes of bringing you to orgasm.

The moans that tumble from between swollen lips are hard to stop, especially when he figures out just what makes you jerk your hips beneath him when his tongue daringly flicks upwards inside of you. Your hands, unsure of what to do with them, find their way into his hair. Bruised fingers curling roughly against the pinkish strands until you’re tugging on them; hard.

Only then does Sukuna break his hold on your throat, a large hand immediately coming up to press against the ruined skin and it burns in an oddly delectable way when it mixes with the pleasure between your thighs. He hovers over you, lips so close to yours you can practically taste the blood on them.

“Cum.” He demands. An easy command for you to follow when you feel the familiar glowing warmth that seeps from his hand and into the wound he had reopened on your neck. His energy curls around your body so tightly, squeezing your lungs for all they’re worth when you suck in a harsh breath to only release it in a staggering moan.

You can’t help the way you yank on Sukuna’s hair, nor can you control the erratic jerking of your hips against his stomach when his tongue continues to wring out every last drop of your orgasm. It washes through you in violent waves, like the sea breaking on craggy rocks.

From the corner of your bleary eyes, you can see Sukuna’s own eyes narrowed in your direction; watching every move you make, observing the way you break apart for him so easily with just a mere flick of his tongue. His face turns back towards your neck once again, and for a moment that pleasure fades into an inkling of fear. He could kill you, right here and you’d do nothing to stop it from happening.

But he lowers himself down once again, the warmth of his breath rolls across the scar that had been healed once again. It feels raw, sensitive in the way that it would if it were an open wound but you don’t feel the pain of it. So you don’t scream when he drags his hot tongue against the scar, nor do you push him away when those long licks turn into languid kisses and nips.

The tongue between your legs doesn’t stop, however, but it does slow just enough to give you a second to breathe. He’s unashamed in the way he drags the second tongue through the thickening slick between your thighs, dragging it against your swollen lips until he finds that small bundle of nerves.

That too is swollen, and far too sensitive, and you can’t help but squeak under his ministrations. Sukuna chuckles lowly at the sound, the laugh just a vibration against your throat before he migrates his lips to the unmarred side of your throat. He hovers there for a while, contemplating perhaps if he should destroy this half of your neck too — to have his mark on you wholly.

The bite doesn’t come. Instead, you feel one of his wandering hands move downwards until he finds the sticky wet heat for himself. The tongue that had been devouring you retreats in favour of his hand, those thick fingers you’ve seen tearing muscles apart presses languidly against your clit.

They’re thick, thicker than your own fingers that’s for sure and you shouldn’t be surprised at any part of him being bigger than yourself. And yet, you still crumple your face in a mixture of sharp pain and pleasure when one of those fingers slips between your lips and plunges into your still throbbing pussy without so much as a warning.

Sukuna leans himself just back enough to devour your expression, his eyes are half-lidded, carnal lust clouding the usual bloodlust you usually saw there. He watches the way your eyebrows crumple together when he starts to fuck you with his finger, slowly, coaxing you back into that breathless panting state that he had you in just moments ago.

His finger curls and it’s a tight fit already, it presses against your walls so harshly that you jolt beneath him. It’s hard to see past your fluttering eyelashes, but you think you can see the growing grin on Sukuna’s face when he starts to roll his wrist just a little faster; fucking you with his finger until the squelching grows louder.

That same finger withdraws slowly, and the whining begging is on the tip of your tongue before it gives way to the shuddering moan that bubbles up through your throat. A second finger bullies its way into you, the stretch burns violently, a head-spinning kind of pain that has you stuck in a state of delirium.

“Good girl,” he coos, and it’s not nearly as condescending as you would expect from a man like Sukuna. Instead, it sounds like genuine praise, and that has your eyes finally rolling to the back of your head. He takes the chance to nose his way into your throat, dragging the tip of it up along the sweaty expanse of it. “Give me one more.”

It’s the only warning you get, if you could even call it that. His fingers are much more relentless now that he’s shoved two inside, they curl and scissor deep inside of you until you can feel small rivulets of your arousal dripping down the backs of your thighs and ass. Your hands clamp useless on his biceps, nails crushing into the skin until you feel it give way to the pressure.

Sukuna doesn’t flinch at the pain, doesn’t even hiss. Instead, he groans — a deep rumbling sound at the back of his throat. It pushes out a hot breath down the clammy skin along your throat, and sticks to the spit he smeared into the mixture of blood and soot that sat there.

The pace in which his hand moves is dizzying, all-consuming pleasure that has your chest tightening with each attempt at breathing out just to centre yourself. There’s no doubt that you’re hurtling towards an explosive orgasm, much stronger than the one you’d been given previously from the tongue that was now idly running itself up and down the back of your thighs to ensure nothing was wasted.

“S–” You suck in a harsh breath that tapers into a broken moan when he presses a thumb to your clit, manoeuvring it in a smooth circle until your stomach grows tight with tension. “Sukuna!”

“What is it?” He goads, leaning out of the space of your neck to look down at you with a predatory glint in his eyes. He knows exactly what you’re feeling, can feel the way your walls are rhythmically clamping down on his fingers in an attempt to stave off the orgasm that was no doubt going to drain you for all you were worth before anything had even happened.

You’re not sure if you can get the words off of your tongue, to let him know that you’re on the brink of a devastating orgasm. Your tongue feels like heavy lead in your mouth, and your lips are stuck slightly ajar with laboured panting breaths. Sukuna all but watches with lust-filled amusement, four eyes working to lap up each and every expression.

You’re close. You’re so close, it’s right there, just within grasping reach and when your toes start to curl and your back arches just so—

It’s ripped away from you.

Sukuna stills his arm, and in turn his fingers become idle whilst buried deep inside of you. The stretch doesn’t burn nearly as much as the flame in your chest at your potentially ruined orgasm. You meet Sukuna’s gaze, and he’s grinning at what must be the visible burning rage in your eyes.

“I asked you a question.” He replies to your anger, and you wish you could will your arms into moving; just so you could slap him across the face for taunting you with your own pleasure. “Answer me and I’ll give you what you want.”

Perhaps if you weren’t being stretched open on thick fingers you would’ve had a smart retort to spit back to the grinning monster. It comes far too easily to bend to his whim, to let your mind slip away from rationality and give in to the pleasure he promises you.

“Please,” you breathe, head fuzzy and tongue thick in your mouth. “Please fuck me.”

Sukuna’s eyebrows raise a little, but his grin doesn’t falter even through his surprise — he hadn’t expected you to give in so quickly, nor did he think you were asking to be fucked so quickly.

Those same fingers shift just slightly, a quick and cruel curl to press against that overly sensitive spot. You jerk under his ministrations, your nipples rubbing harshly against the smooth planes of his pectoral muscles. You can’t fight the glare you give him when he chuckles at your plight, and you lose the chance to slap him when he leans fully out of your space.

He kneels before you, your legs slung uselessly over the tops of his thighs and hips. His fingers slip from you with a slick noise that has heat burning in your chest and roaring in your ears, it’s obscene just how well he seemed to know your body when it was his first time using you in such a way.

You watch in near-quietness, panting in awe when he drags those same fingers into his mouth, the tongue in his actual mouth isn’t nearly as large as the one that continues to lick at the juices on his stomach. But he still uses it in a way that has you squirming, he sucks the mixture of creamy juices free from his fingers all whilst staring down at you from his newfound position.

A set of arms that aren’t occupied now start to untuck his own obi, a quick movement that has him lashing the fabric across the destroyed room so that the ruined kimono falls away.

Your stomach drops and swoops.

Truly, you should’ve expected that maybe there was more to him than what meets the eye. You should’ve known a man with four arms, two faces and two mouths would also have two cocks. You were naive to believe he’d be… ‘normal’ below the belt.

Your surprise must be something worth laughing at, as Sukuna nearly snorts at the expression on your face. One large hand loops around both shafts, pressing them tightly together before he rolls his wrist to stroke up and down in smooth motions. You can see two thick black banded tattoos on both of his cocks too.

“If I knew this would get you to shut that pretty mouth of yours, I would’ve fucked you a long time ago.” Sukuna sneers down the broadness of his nose, long fingers speeding up whilst he strokes himself. His eyes drag down your body before they settle between your thighs, observing the way you’re spread open for him so prettily — like a meal waiting to be devoured.

Instead of invading your space once again, a pair of hands wrap themselves around your calves and tug you higher up on his thighs. Here you feel the sticky tip of his cocks press against your silky slit, both heads rubbing up and down with the easy roll of his wrist. Sukuna’s eyes naturally all dart down to watch the mess he’s creating, watch the way your pussy continues to drool for him when he presses his cockheads against your swollen clit.

A shot of panic races up and down the bumps of your spine when he dips both tips down towards your entrance, and your fingers only just brush against his chest in the hunched-over position he’s in. It’s not a push nor is it a scratch, and yet Sukuna’s head snaps up to look at you quickly as if you had done both of those things.

“It’s not going to fit,” you wet your lips, blinking away the blurry fuzz that’s settling in your brain. “I can’t take both.”

His gaze flits back down towards your pussy, and you half expect him to ignore your concerns and stuff you full but surprisingly he doesn’t. Instead, he adjusts his grip just slightly on his cocks, grasping one of them fully to guide just the one to your awaiting entrance.

“You will,” he counters, his thighs spreading just slightly to ensure you’re spread to your widest. “With time. You’ll learn to take both.”

And even with just an easy roll of his hips, and the press of his thumb against the topside of his cock, he slides into you with great effort. His fingers were nothing in comparison to the mushroomed head of his cock and the natural thick girth that followed. It has your fingers gripping uselessly onto the dusty futon beneath you, and your toes curling in the air.

Sukuna isn’t better off either, you can see the way his stomach concaves slightly with each deep breath he has to take to ensure he doesn’t lose his mind the further he sinks into your awaiting pussy. The hands that were clamped around your calves have slipped to your thighs, pushing your knees further into your chest.

You feel so exposed beneath him like this. Split apart on one of the cocks belonging to the very man who had killed your father, it’s a sickening thought and still, it has you clamping down on him the further he pushes into you.

Finally, Sukuna’s facade breaks and he hisses through gritted fanged teeth. “Relax woman.” He snarls, the tips of black claws dig into the fat of your thighs.

“Too much, ‘s too much.” You slur with a tapered-off moan when he gives an experiment roll of his hips to see if he could truly fit every last inch of himself inside of you. Your hands push uselessly at his chest when he starts to fold himself down over you, crowding you into the bed so all you can hear, smell and see is him. Him. Him.

One of his free hands comes to grab at your wrists, enveloping both of them with just one palm and he shoves them into the bed above your head. Now you truly do feel exposed. Your entire body is open for him to do as he pleases, and you can see that realisation settle into his eyes when they glimmer with thoughts that no doubt would bring you both pleasure and pain.

His second cock rubs devilishly against your clit, and the underside throbs with a thick vein that begs for more than just a gentle touch of both your clit and pubic hair. The sensation has your eyes rolling limply in your head, and you don’t doubt that it only aids in ensuring you’re as wet as humanly possible for the monster of a man who huffs out heavy breaths atop of you.

Sukuna sounds like he’s been gravely wounded once he does finally bottom out inside of you, the groan is a rumbling growl that shakes through your entire body in turn. The sticky tip of his upper cock lays against your belly button, drooling with arousal.

You can’t see the outside world anymore with how he hunkers down over you, the broadness of his shoulders blots out the night sky. His face is just mere inches away from your own. His breath, hot puffs of air against your sweaty and once-bloody cheek. You’re fairing no better, your own breath mingles with his own until it becomes impossibly warmer between the both of you.

The harsh stretch has already begun to bleed into blissful pleasure, it no longer burns in an unpleasant way but rather it’s all the more enticing. You want to feel that stretch in the morning, whenever you shift your thighs you want to feel the length of him still buried there in phantom memory. But Sukuna is steadfast in the position he holds over you, large lungs sucking in greedy breaths as if he’s teetering on the edge.

You roll your hips, and it earns you a vicious snarl that you’ve seen on the faces of dogs and wolves alike. His upper lip reveals those sharpened canines that had only moments ago ripped apart your neck before he healed you. It’s a warning, of course, to keep still. But you don’t listen, you roll your hips again the best you can beneath the mass of his weight.

“Enough…” He growls the word, sounding much more like the demon he portrays himself as.

But you whine in response, seconds away from pouting. “Move.”

His upper lip twitches again in annoyance, all four eyes narrowed in your direction as if he’s contemplating something. Then his nostrils flare, and his shoulders roll just enough for you to know he’s made his mind up on something.

The next roll of his hips is aggressive, borderline violent. The tops of his thighs smack against your thighs and ass, and the squelch of his cock burying itself once again in the depths of your pussy is awfully loud. Almost loud enough to blot out the half-scream-moan you let out.

His pace from there on out doesn’t falter, not once. His hips roll effortlessly until he’s fucking you so deeply that you can feel him battering against your cervix; as if he’s trying to push himself impossibly deeper. It’s painful but it’s the type of pain that blends so beautifully into pleasure that you can’t stop your eyes from fluttering to a near-close.

“Is this enough for you?” He snarls through gritted teeth, sweat beading along his temples and dripping along the pinkish strands until they stick to his forehead.

You can’t form a reply on your tongue, far too lost in the throes of pleasure that your tongue is useless in your mouth. You can only gasp and moan when he starts to fuck you in quick yet deep thrusts, not fully pulling out in lieu of fucking up into the overly sensitive spot that has your back arching.

His hands on the underside of your thighs adjust their grip, instead, he pushes your legs into the crooks of his elbows before planting his hands solidly onto the bed. Sukuna manoeuvres his body over yours, effectively folding you in half until your lower half is nearly higher than your head. It’s much harder to breathe like this, even more so when he lets go of your wrists so he can wrap a thick hand around your throat.

There’s a moment of stillness, so he could feel the rhythmic clenching of your pussy around the thickness of his cock. His secondary cock still lays against your pussy, pressed so harshly against it that you can feel each time it twitches and throbs with yearning.

His nostrils flare when he levels you with a stare; a look that you’ve come to recognise as one he wears when he’s about to win a conquest. He looks fierce, regal, every part the King of Curses you’ve come to know him as. You half worry that maybe he’ll squeeze the life from your throat instead of fucking you. Those long fingers donned with sharp claws tense at your throat, squeezing ever so slightly in silent threat.

He’s the one in charge here. And he wants you to know that.

“Perhaps this’ll be enough to satiate you.” A snarling of words.

Then he’s moving, again, but this time it’s with a different purpose. It’s still to fuck you, yes, but he’s asserting his dominance over you entirely. His cock slides deeply at this angle, hitting against your cervix and g-spot almost simultaneously. It’s intoxicating, suffocating in the best type of way.

His cock throbs deep inside of you, twitching with each and every pulse of your own silky walls when they clench uselessly around his cock. Nothing would stop him from fucking you like the beast that he is.

“Cum,” he growls, leaning down into your space even more until it feels like your legs may just snap beneath his weight. “Cum for me.”

You couldn’t disobey him even if you tried. His hips roll smoothly, as he has clearly mastered the art of fucking a woman to completion. As if the pleasure of his extra cock rubbing against your clit wasn’t enough, he draws a free hand to press his cock a little harder against your clit – to ensure the friction was so infuriatingly good that you couldn’t help but moan.

And moan you do, it comes in the form of his name. “S-Sukuna!”

The orgasm is violent. As is the nature of things when you’re being fucked by a man-turned-monster. He keeps you locked into position, not budging when you start to buck beneath him and cum for him. It’s quite different to the first, it comes too quickly; too aggressively that you can’t stop the sudden burst of your arousal.

The tongue on Sukuna’s stomach is quick to loll out, dragging itself along his lower stomach where you had squirted. Then it does something that has your swollen pussy clenching impossibly tighter around the cock buried deep inside of you — the thick stomach tongue drags along the shaft of his free cock, savouring each and every last drop of your own release before it vanishes back into his stomach.

It’s absurd. Should make you shiver and look away in disgust at just how he’s modified his body but instead it’s nothing but alluring; something you want to get to know more intimately.

However, Sukuna doesn’t grant you that. Instead, he abruptly withdraws his cock from you in such a way that it has you clenching around nothing. He releases you from the harsh mating press he had you in, his hands tenderly handling your legs so they’re stretched out fully.

It’s an awfully intimate touch, something that has your stomach flipping with more than just the fading bliss of your previous orgasm.

But then those hands grab at your waist, and your world is twisted until you can see nothing but the bloodied and dusty futon. He moves you as if you were nothing more than a doll to him, and perhaps in comparison to him; that’s all you were — a doll, something he could break with just a flick of his wrist.

The thought has you wishing your pussy was clenching around his cock instead of air.

Those large hands on your waist don’t remove themselves, instead, he caresses the thickness of your hips. Presses his fingers into you until your flesh spills between thick fingers, it’s impossible to try and think what he may be contemplating when you can feel two cocks twitch impatiently against the dripping wet heat between your legs.

Sukuna shifts his position behind you eventually, propping himself up on one knee whilst the other foot plants itself next to you. The fronts of his thighs brush against yours, and only then do you realise he’s lowered his body down enough so that he’s aligned with you. A spare hand smooths down the length of your spine, gradually increasing pressure until your face is pressed into the futon.

“Be good, and hold still.” He commands, and there’s more movement behind you. That hand that had guided you downwards shifts up, tangling within your already dirtied strands, uncaring for the blood that has dried and matted there.

The entirety of his palm engulfs the back of your head, his fingers nearly reaching the front of your hairline. You knew Sukuna was massive, gigantic in every way but it’s something entirely different when he has his hands on you. It’s a gut-clenching realisation that you were truly nothing but a gnat when it came to fighting him.

The only free hand left comes between the two of you, grasping at the base of both of his cocks until the tips of them knock almost painfully against your clit. It has you jolting beneath the pinning grip Sukuna holds over you.

Those hands on your hips suddenly grip you tighter, and it’s a second of confusion before you feel the stretch. The stretch of both his cocks in one hole. Automatically it has you clenching impossibly tighter around him, your painful back arch deepens until it feels like you’re going to hurt yourself.

Sukuna hisses through gritted teeth, the hiss turning into a guttural growl. “Relax.”

You can’t. You can’t relax when he’s forcing you to split around both of his cocks. The hands at your hips slip back slightly, grasping at your ass until he’s spreading you wide without any care for how it may make you feel awfully exposed.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he growls again, “Did your husband not fuck you?”

No. He didn’t. You want to snap at him for bringing up your late husband when he’s trying to fuck you full with both of his cocks, but your tongue knows only one thing — to aid you in moaning through the painful pleasure.

Sukuna however seems to know the answer, as he laughs meanly. “Of course not.”

Finally, Sukuna halts in his conquest to stuff you full on both his cocks. You can tell he’s only halfway in, the warmth of his thighs is too distant for him to be buried to the hilt. The grunt that escapes Sukuna is nothing but pure frustration. You can only glance over your shoulder awkwardly at him, and you watch the grin that grows on his face when he formulates his next plan of action.

There’s a quick sudden wet sensation against your ass, his jaw working quickly to ensure that the spit that drops from his tongue is plentiful. He hunches himself back over your body slightly, the angle forces you to take more of his dual-cock painfully whilst also ensuring his stomach presses against your ass.

“No. No man would know how to handle you, you’re too good for them.” The tongue you’ve quickly become acquainted with returns, it presses lewdly against your asshole. Ensuring the tongue is dripping with spit, wriggling it against you feels so foreign – so wrong, and yet it has your jaw dropping to release the most obscene moan of the night.

It makes Sukuna grin down at you. “There you are.”

The tongue shoves harder against you, pressing until that tight ring of muscle gives way and you can feel the thickness of his secondary tongue stretching you wide — wide enough for his cock. His hands still gripping your ass continue to spread you impossibly wider, his body pressing forward just a little more so that he could stuff you further with his tongue.

But as quickly as he had begun, driving you to the brink of insanity with how much control he had over his second tongue, he pulls back. His body shifts, and you’re suddenly free of both of his cocks. It draws a pitiful moan from your cracked and dried lips, and Sukuna only snickers at your predicament.

The tip of his upper cock presses against the tight rim of your ass, teasing there for a moment whilst he returns the lower cock to the still-clenching hole of your pussy. He uses the width of his large hand to ensure he can hold both of them steady whilst he guides them inwards, you expect it to be just as painful…

Instead, it’s anything but. It’s enough to make you drool into the sullied sheets, enough to have you even pushing your hips backwards to aid in ensuring he’s buried to the hilt deep inside of you sooner rather than later.

And it’s here that you finally hear Sukuna moan, not the guttural groans or growls that he’d been giving you since this started. But a genuine moan. And it has your toes curling painfully. You wanted more of that; to hear the man behind the vicious teeth and hardened muscle — you wanted Ryomen.

The warmth of his thighs finally brushes against the back of your own, and you feel beyond stuffed — any more, then surely you’ll burst from the pressure. With each passing second you can feel your brain slowly emptying of any rational thought; all to be quickly replaced with a mantra of Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna.

It’s a brief pause, a moment of respite from the overwhelming pleasure — for both of you. You can feel each of Sukuna’s fingers flexing and squeezing against your hip, the way his hips shift just slightly as if it was an automatic response to fuck you. It’s mind-numbing how good it actually felt, to be stuffed by not one but two cocks.

Then, he moves. It has you gasping into the sheets, sucking in not enough oxygen that only makes your head feel even fuzzier. You deepen the arch of your back subconsciously, your chest presses uncomfortably into the futon beneath you and yet the change of angle; the way both of his cocks bully themselves deeper into you — it has you both moaning.

You don’t even realise you’re whimpering, blabbering nonsense as Sukuna continues to fuck you mindlessly. His hand on the back of your head slips away from your scalp, careful to not painfully tug on the strands of hair that are still coated in blood and dirt. It’s filthy, to be fucking the way you are, and yet it’s the best sex of your life.

That hand instead slips downwards, long fingers curling around your throat until you can’t breathe. His pace quickens, both of his cocks now slick with your juices and spit slip in and out of you without any resistance at all. Loud, filthy, squelching sounds are the result of your shared pleasure.

His heavy balls slap aggressively against your clit, each slap sending miniature bolts of lightning shooting down your spine until they buzz at the back of your skull. The lack of oxygen and sharp bursts of pleasure have your vision darkening.

Sukuna, clearly more aware of what he’s doing to you than you realise, releases your throat for a moment to let you gasp for breath — and with it, comes the most violent orgasm of the night. It has you squeezing so tightly around both of his cocks that Sukuna lets loose one of the most indecent groans you’ve heard all night.

It has you clenching tenfold, unable to control the waves of pleasure that continue to roll down your body to the very tips of your toes. Sukuna’s hands slip away from your hips and up to your waist, whilst the one at your throat glides along your shoulder until he’s feeling along your arm.

Slowly, he lays his weight down on top of you until you’re forced to buckle beneath him. Your stomach presses into the futon, and your legs are forced to stretch naturally down the bed. Now atop of you, Sukuna grasps both of your hands with his own and pins them into the sheets just above your head.

It’s quite the stretch on your body, almost painfully so. But you don’t air your complaints, instead, you simply press the side of your face more into the bed so you can eye Sukuna who’s hovering oh-so-close to you. He looks how you feel; fucked out. His eyes are hazy, and his lips are swollen as if he’d been biting on them to stop himself from moaning.

The new position has him reaching deeper than you thought possible, you can feel every inch of him, every throbbing vein and every twitch of his cock – he was close, you could feel it.

Sukuna adjusts his position slightly over you, bringing his knees back under him solidly. This close you can feel his body heat, an all encasing warmth that has sweat pooling in the dip of your spine and along the back of your neck. He looks impossibly huge like this, all glistening bunched muscles with rings of dark tattoos that should scare you; as they are the markings of a monster.

But it doesn’t. Not at this very moment. It feels too… intimate, for you to feel scared of him. Instead, it swirls something unfamiliar in your stomach, something you had never felt with your husband in his failed attempts to produce an heir. It’s odd. It doesn’t mix well with the contempt you should be bubbling with for the man over you, but still, it has you melting beneath him until both of your bodies meld together perfectly.

His hips roll effortlessly despite the shift in position, but ultimately you could feel the sloppiness behind each thrust. He was much closer than you realised, and that has you propping your hips up just slightly, pushing back into the man who groans his approval into your ear.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he admits in a breath, his voice deepened with the lust that continues to drive his hips forward with a loud slap of hips against the fat of your ass.

Being this close, he’s able to bury his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply whilst his body does the work for him. Muscles that were already tensed and tight like the string of a bow grow tighter, his stomach feels like rock each time it brushes against your lower back.

“This warm, tight pussy…” He groans crudely, nose pressing harder into your hair. “It’s mine. Only mine.”

His fingers had slipped between your own from where they pin you to the bed, and they squeeze you in rhythm with each of his thrusts. His breathing grows ragged; huffs of air and deep groans lost in the way he buries himself further into the mess of your hair.

“Only yours.. Always yours–” You try to breathe, sucking in a harsh breath when he ruts particularly hard. “Ryomen.”

The hands at your waist tighten suddenly, elongated claw-like nails digging into your flesh — and it’s your only warning before he meets his end. Sukuna spills himself deep inside of you, pressing himself as far as he can into you in this position. You can feel the heat of it, burning at your insides as it continues to spill from both of his cocks. It’s an intense feeling, though it doesn’t have you feeling disgusted or even annoyed at the fact he had spilt himself inside of you.

You moan with him, pushing your hips back just slightly with a soft clench of your velvety warm walls. His own hips buck into yours in response, and the rumbling growl that rolls down the expanse of your back from how closely he’s pressed to you is warning enough — don’t push your luck.

Neither of you move for a moment, bathing in the after-sex mystified air that still floats around the both of you. Sukuna keeps his nose buried into your hair, nosing his way across until he passes by your ear and ends by your cheek. You can hardly keep your eyes from fluttering shut at the proximity of him.

As he hovers there, so close that you can count his eyelashes and feel the harsh breaths still billowing out of his nose, you have no idea what he might be thinking. But the thoughts are brushed away when he lays a gentle kiss so unbefitting of the man against your cheek, it’s hardly there – a ghost of a kiss, and suddenly he’s out of your space.

The squelch of him withdrawing from you is disgusting, enough to make you hide your face in the crook of your arm in an attempt to cover your embarrassment. Except, Sukuna has other plans. All four hands are on your body, scooping both you and your tattered kimono up into his arms.

“What are you doing?!” You yelp at the sudden shift in height, and you’re jostled in his arms until your hands press into the sweat-slicked planes of his chest.

“Someone got brave and destroyed the majority of the room.” His words are almost enough to re-spark that fire in your gut but the ache in your body forces it to remain a smouldering flame. “I have other rooms. Not as grand, but somewhere you can rest.”

You suppose he does have a point. You had destroyed the room in near totality, the cold mountain breeze suddenly makes itself known again. It sticks to the quickly drying sweat on your body, and that alone is enough to have you leaning into Sukuna to sap the warmth from his skin.

He doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t even make another snide remark about what had transpired before… that. Instead, his fingers curl a little more into your skin to ensure you’re pressed into him as much as possible. The walk to the room Sukuna speaks of isn’t too long, thankfully, you dread to think about where Kenjaku might be.

If you ran into her on the way to the bedroom… you don’t doubt that she’d ridicule you for it. A flashing memory of her skin tearing appears in your mind, the slick sound of skin separating in such a way has you turning your face into the thick muscle of Sukuna’s shoulder.

Again, Sukuna says nothing of your movement. Instead, he uses one of his lower arms to grab the shoji door handle to slide it smoothly open, ducking beneath the threshold and closing the door behind him.

True to his word, the room is smaller than the one you had torn apart with your cursed energy. But it’s just as regal, the futon bed here is also on a raised platform and is as massive as the one you had been fucked on. Sukuna moves with fluid steps, shifting down onto his knees to smoothly deposit you on the bed.

You want to talk to him. You need to. You can’t brush away the hurt with sex, and you don’t want him to think he had gotten away with it — he hadn’t. You’d never forgive him for what he did, would you? Your lips part, and Sukuna takes steps away from you and towards a chest you hadn’t noticed on the way in.

“Sukuna,” you call out for him, and he makes a point of ignoring you as he digs through the chest to pluck out two different haori. “...Sukuna. We have to talk.”

The black haori is dropped into your lap, and he turns away uncaring for your words. You watch the smooth planes of his back flex with the movement, and he throws his own grey haori over his shoulders before you can see the muscles of his thighs and ass—

“Tomorrow.” He counters instead, turning back to look at you. An eyebrow raises at you in expectancy, and it has you moving to wrap yourself in the silky material. It’s much too big on your body; it’s one of his own personal haori. The sleeves drag along the bed, pooling around you when you settle to look back up at him.

He’s still staring at you, daring you to defy his order and continue on your conquest to get your answers tonight when neither of you was in the right headspace for it.

“Sleep, Y/N. I don’t want to fight you again.” He uses his name like a weapon, it digs into your ribcage and presses into your stuttering heart. You’d never heard him say your name before, always a pet name. You assumed he didn’t even care enough to know your name.

It has you quickly glancing down at your cupped hands, still coated in a layer of blood and dirt. You wished you could’ve bathed before sleeping. But you don’t want to fight Sukuna, not yet, he had successfully drained you of your energy in not just the fight but everything that came after.

So you slide further back onto the bed, pushing down the futon sheets as you go until you’re beneath them. Sukuna remains stationary near the entrance of the room, strong arms crossed over his chest. Once you settle into the bed does he move, turning towards the door and only confirming your suspicions that he didn’t plan on sleeping in the same bed as you.

“Stay.” You say quickly. And as expected, or rather unexpected, Sukuna stills. His hand remains frozen against the door, waiting, you realise – he’s waiting to see if you mean it. “Sleep here with me.”

“I told you. I don’t sleep–”

“Please.” You implore, shifting the sheets back to show that you meant it. He stares at you over one shoulder, eyebrows scrunched together as if he couldn’t quite understand you. You wait for the refusal, the snarling curl of his lip and the blatant disgust that comes with the prospect of something so intimate.

But Sukuna drops his hand from the door, and he turns to face you again. His footsteps are measured, calculated, as he makes his way to the other side of the bed. You don’t say anything, perhaps out of fear that he’d turn tail and run before he actually went through with it. You only lay down when he does, watching as he lays on his front with all four of his arms tucked beneath the pillow to support his head.

Now you understand why he needed the bed space; his arms.

You can’t help but stare at him, however — he looks uncomfortable. Out of place. He’s not facing you, opting to face the other way. Most likely to avoid your prying eyes. So you turn over, your back now exposed for Sukuna to strike if he so wished it.

But you don’t expect him to. Something tonight had transpired, something that changed a part of both of you. You can’t deny that your heart thunders in excitement at the prospect of laying with him, even if it sours when you remember just what had occurred before you were pinned beneath him on his bed.

He killed your father.

Yet he had gone to great lengths to hide that sword from you, why? You didn’t take Sukuna as a man to hide away the fact he won a fight. Especially a fight against someone who was so powerful; not just with cursed energy but the title of Shogun wasn’t something to sneeze at.

You’d get your answers. You’d find out the truth as to why Sukuna had killed your father, and why he hadn’t told you about it.

But for now… you relax into the futon, burying your face into the softness of the sheets that lack the distinct smell you’d grown to enjoy in the previous bedroom. Except, when you breathe deep, you find that the smell is much stronger with the source directly behind you.

And that’s enough to lull you to sleep, to close your eyes and let the worries of what’s to come slip away… for now.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

#dead dove do not eat #cw gore #cw dark content #cw violence #tw cannibalism #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #banner artwork is official game art for ghost of tsushima made by ian jun wei chiew

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duskiers · 14 days

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Words of Regret

Jason Grace / Reader ! ❤︎ :¨ ·.· ¨:

" Hello, I saw your Jason Grace and Reader imagine and I LOVE IT, so can you do a request but this time Jason and Reader are facing some problems because he said something awful and Reader doesn’t know if she wants to get back with him but Jason just begs to come back? " requested ^.^ ++ thank u <33

In the heat of an argument, Jason's words sliced through the air like a knife, leaving you feeling raw and exposed. "I don't know why I even bother with you," he spat out, his frustration boiling over. "You always manage to mess things up."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs and leaving you speechless. How could he say something so cruel? The pain in his eyes mirrored your own, but it was too late to take back the hurt he had caused.

"I didn't mean that," he pleaded, his voice trembling with remorse. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

But the damage was done, the trust between you shattered by his thoughtless words. As he stood before you now, begging for another chance, you struggled to find the strength to forgive him, to believe that things could ever be the same again.

You clench your fists, "I can't believe you said that," you seethe, your voice sharp with anger. "You have no right to speak to me like that."

Jason's eyes widen in realization of the gravity of his words, his own frustration melting away in the face of your anger. "I know," he replies, his tone remorseful. "I messed up, and I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you..."

But your anger refuses to waver, the betrayal of his words still fresh in your mind. "Sorry isn't enough," you retort, your voice trembling with emotion. "You can't just say whatever you want and expect me to forgive you."

Jason's shoulders slump, the weight of his mistake heavy on his conscience. "I understand," he murmurs, his voice tinged with regret. "I'll do whatever it takes to make things right, I promise."

As you stand there, the tension crackling between you, you can't help but feel the distance growing. The hurt of Jason's words lingers like a shadow.

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mikkaeus · 10 months

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house md hilson fic rec - medium to long fics (10k+)

Other house rec lists: short fics | episode tags | postcanon | infidelity trope (all of these are mutually exclusive apart from the infidelity one) // Edit: I added the longer postcanon fics to this reclist as well because this one got the most traction!

These are all House/Wilson unless otherwise stated. Before we get into the fics, here are some of my fave authors that have written several house fics.

fourteencandles: im literally in love with them . 10/10 writing no notes. also long fics?? hello???

ictus: this author has the range! from emotional to fluff to funny. very smooth writing. all of their fics have different vibes which was fun to read. they’re all very good.

Transformatron: fics that are transcendent and porny, all featuring a d/s undertone or theme (wilson as the dom)

Namaste (livejournal / ff.net): Some short fics, some much longer ones. Mostly gen focussing on H&W friendship, with some fics on canon pairings. Interesting character studies and discerning prose.

In order of length. *faves, ***underrated faves

*Brain Damage by fourteencandles (8k) (Ok I know this isn’t over 10k but I wanted all of their fics on one post and it’s close enough so.) This was brilliant. Like a real episode of House, with Wilson as the unfortunate patient-of-the-week, with bonus House/Wilson. Characterisation was bang on, and the plot was original and engaging and had a satisfying conclusion. Love to see House taking care of Wilson.

Down to the Water + Bound for Home by blackmare (~10k) Aftermath of season 4. House and Wilson go on a road trip. Quiet and sad and fragile, with excellent writing. This fic appears to have been fairly well known in lj days but I don't think a lot of newer people know about it.

*A Smaller World by fourteencandles (10k) The thing between them works, if Wilson doesn't push for more. God I’m so soft. I have so many feelings!!! In love with this established relationship hilson, still a little precarious, but with Wilson adapting, and House willing to put in effort.

*What's Past by fourteencandles (10k) The guy who used to have Wilson's job comes back for a visit, and it turns out they have more in common than Wilson ever knew.

*Touch Therapy by nomad (10k) It's not that House needs the human contact. It's just that when you're sharing an apartment, these things happen sometimes. Light hearted and funny, canon divergence from when Wilson’s staying on House's couch in s2. This is pretty much the homosexual waters have started flowing in House's direction post. Excellent dialogue.

***not another medical drama series (10k) by captainharkness Retelling of season 1 with House and Wilson as an established relationship. Great slice of life stories! Ongoing. The first is H/W POV, the second is Cameron, and the third is Chase. My favourite is definitely the second one (someone else’s story). I adore seeing H/W through the ducklings’ eyes.

Synchronicity by copperbadge (10k) Dead patients, car wrecks, drug overdoses, journalists, Comatose Charlie, and orange chicken. Must be love.

systemic by ictus (10k) Ever since Wilson moved in, House has presented with some inexplicable symptoms. Fortunately, he has a team of talented doctors to aid him with his diagnosis. Season 2 fic! This one is funny and sweet and overall a great read.

Rush Down Darkness by Starlingthefool (10k) House MD/World War Z crossover. Told mainly through interview dialogue from house’s pov. Engaging story. House/Wilson definitely takes a backseat to the plot — there’s no grand getting together or anything. That's not to say it's not about them though, because there were still lots of good moments (good in the sense that my heart hurts). More succinctly, it has the vibes of an established relationship fic., although it isn't technically one.

Defensive Strategies by Milkshake Butterfly (~10k) (lj) In which Wilson is tired of being asked out by women when he's not ready to date again, and naturally House proposes a simple solution: pretend to be together. An enjoyable read.

******Commonplace and True by celestialskiff (11k) It would be a simple story--House and Wilson meet at a medical conference, have sex, and enjoy each other's company--but nothing is ever easy, or simple. Explores Wilson's relationship with House, with women, and with himself. House and Wilson throughout the years — with the version of canon where Wilson has cheated on every wife and girlfriend with House. When I tell you I am FROTHING!!! Pining while fucking?? The way it’s never the right time?? The greed of wanting to have your cake and eat it too? (That one’s specifically for Wilson, our beloved three-wives guy.) The vibes are immaculate. The prose is elegant verging on poetic. I’m eating this fic whole and it will be on my mind always. It is THE hilson fic for me. It is criminal that this fic has been up since 2012 and it only has 200 kudos. Go read it immediately & give the author some love.

***Declarations of Independence by Namaste (ff.net, also on livejournal) (11k) House and winter, throughout the years. I really enjoyed this. Excellent writing. Copy pasting a part of a comment by bedawyn which articulates why this fic is unique better than I can: “So far, I've seen a lot of focus in the fanfic (and the eps) on the pain and the Vicodin, but very little awareness of the practical aspects of limited mobility and the emotional impact of those even apart from the pain. So this was a very nice change.”

***Rule of Three by Transformatron (11k) (House/Wilson/Foreman) Foreman sees something he shouldn't have. And, maybe, wants something he shouldn't have, too. This was well written and super hot, with fun dialogue and descriptions that do justice to the excellent writing of the show itself. Foreman is faithfully characterised in a way that made me sympathetic. Also H/W outsider perspective as a third is such a treat to read. Lower me into my grave!!!!

*Warning Signs by out_there (12k) Excerpt: House looked to the left, staring down at the open box. Wilson knew that expression on his face: House was torn between denying it all and gleefully acknowledging his schemes. Normally, his ego won out and, like a comic super villain, he'd explain all. Wilson just needed to stay quiet and wait. This fic was fantastic. I am disgustingly fond. Superb characterisation. Light hearted and funny.

The Oncologist Trap by zulu (13k) (2007) House subtly seduces Wilson. Somehow.

The Line of Thought by tevinterimperium (13k) House and Wilson pretend to be together to play a prank on the ducklings, which is an extremely plausible scenario. From the perspective of the ducklings. Set sometime after 3x15: Half-Wit.

hail mary by ictus (13k) A post-canon fix it! In the weeks since finishing the show and reading this fic there are times I forgot that this wasn’t canon. It’s such a believable (and well-researched) alternate ending that feels like an actual episode.

Son of Mine by simoneallen (14k) Sherlock is House’s long-lost kid. Usually I’m not a fan of cross-over fics but I enjoyed this one. Established relationship on the johnlock side, getting together on the hilson side.

***hearts turn red by ictus (14k) In my head this is the counterpoint to Commonplace and True. When I found it after reading that one it really was a holy shit two fucking cakes?? moment. The delicious infidelity vibes are similar, but the vibes of the writing are pretty different -- whereas the above fic has a more quiet, subdued atmosphere, this one has more snappy prose and it’s more light-hearted with funny moments as well as emotional ones. It’s not just the infidelity theme that makes me crazy about both of them though; it’s how they play on the great tragedy of House and Wilson. In the author’s own words: In a way they do feel a little bit doomed to never quite be on the same page with each other until the very end of the series and by then it's too late. Of course, in these fics, they’re rescued earlier than the end, but the wretched vibes remain. Also, I’m obsessed with this line: By Wilson’s read, House is somehow simultaneously joking and sincere: Schrödinger’s sexual advance. That is the entire fucking show.

An Inconvenient Truth by annathaema (15k) Wilson helps out Cuddy and reveals something about himself in the process. House freaks out accordingly. Also features banana-colored babies, the men's room, and Skee-Ball.

*at the rind by ShanaStoryteller (19k) An AU where Wilson experiences all the near death moments House has in the show as a series of nightmares. Set between 1.19 and 2.05, but spoilers for the whole show. Protective Wilson!! We love to see it. I also like Wilson’s characterisation here - you can very much see how not-normal he is. We love unhealthy co-dependency.

***Esopus Creek by shaycat (24k) An eighty-year-old widower by the name of Eugene Skinner ventures out one September day in upstate New York for his usual morning activity - fly fishing. His leisurely hobby is interrupted by a bickering pair nearby in the river. That chance encounter with Greg House and James Wilson changes the course of his life. Told from the perspective of the last friend the boys make on their final road trip. This was the perfect post season 8, Wilson-still-dies fic. A sad fic but not a depressing one. It’s quiet and heartwarming, in a bittersweet way. Highly recommend. It has great use of outsider POV — I’m always a sucker for it but it worked particularly well in this case to have the angst but not be drowning in it. Also I just really liked the OC.

***Howler Tone by baffledbear (25k) The calls always happen late at night, and they're extremely sporadic, with weeks, sometimes months bridging between them. They talk on the phone otherwise, of course; about patients, or dinner plans, or carpooling. Typical stuff. But the calls that always end a certain way always start a certain way. Wilson is so repressed but so attracted to House. House is taking as much as he can get while still remaining in relative safety. Together they push a platonic relationship to the absolute limits of plausible deniability. Overall totally realistic within the canon of the show — the natural step up from the gay chicken already depicted. It’s just such a perfect scenario for them! That combined with silky smooth prose, faithful characterisation and accurate dialogue makes this fic is a definite hilson favourite and also a hilson-thesis fic.

*The Open Road by Pun (25k) A fandom classic. Road trip fic set in the earlier seasons. It's good; read it.

*He Won't Tell You That He Loves You by hellshandbasket (25k) [In which Nolan pulls at the Wilson thread, and House can't stop it all from unraveling. Repression is a hell of a drug.] Early s6. Another fandom classic that is worth its salt.

no need to worry (making up your mind) by scribespirare (25k) House makes the mistake of telling his mother he can't join her for Christmas because of his new boyfriend. Somehow, this becomes Wilson's problem. Cute and fun. I put off reading fake-dating fics because I was worried about them being OOC but this one definitely wasn’t!

***Sticks and Stones by Transformatron (25k) (WIP) House has an innovative new idea for managing his chronic pain. Wilson’s not sure he approves - but when has House ever asked for permission? This is such a great concept I am climbing the walls!!! D/s with House as the sub. The story is currently still at pre-relationship stage, with House experimenting with BDSM and Wilson being unhappy with the proceedings (for some unknown reason /s). Also the writing is nice and snappy with some great figurative language that manages to incorporate medical themes impressively well.

Fresh Feeling by justkeeptrekkin (30k) House is tricked into going on a team-building trip with his colleagues. He does far more bonding with Wilson than anyone else. Funny and well written. The team interactions are very cute.

***Tracking Time by Namaste (37k) (ff.net) A look at House and Wilson's friendship over the years and how it has changed from their meeting through the end of the first season. I don’t usually read long genfics but this one was exceptional. I like Namaste’s take on House and Wilson’s characters. And they are a very good storyteller — one thing that you don’t tend to see as much of in fanfiction is the old adage of ‘show not tell’. The writing in this fic is careful and subtle, and lets you read between the lines, making it so that no part of the 37k words is a drag to read.

*The Body Found by fourteencandles (46k) Wilson's missing. When I tell you I cried... Premium angst & hurt/comfort. Excellent dialogue with some alternating POV (House mainly, but you also get the three ducklings & Cuddy).

You Already Know How This Will End by fourteencandles (46k) What if House had gone to rehab right after/around "Merry Little Christmas"? (3.10) This fic was interesting. It’s told in a series of short vignettes with a variety of different perspectives. It’s not really a hilson fic (or a fic for any ship). It just explores the characters. I did wish for more hilson but it’s a good read (I mean, it’s fourteencandles). The one hilson scene near the end where they hire a hooker in Atlantic City lives in my head rent free. Warning that the ending is rather abrupt and I didn’t find it satisfying, but I think it works for this kind of story, in a way. Messy people and their complicated relationships, with a lot of loose ends left untied, because that’s just what life is.

***For Every Closed Door by starlingthefool (around 50k?) (lj) Overview of the chapters (14 with 4 interludes and an epilogue) is on the author’s lj (scroll down). House MD/Dead Like Me crossover. I love this fic a lot! It’s canon divergence from Season 3. House gets killed in a freak accident and becomes a reaper, remaining in the mortal world to harvest souls, able to interact with people but not be recognisable to those that know him. As the author says, this is an Afterlife!Fic and therefore a deathfic. They also said it’s not depressing — which is true, because it’s more plotty than an angstfest, and there are lots of light-hearted parts, but it is definitely heartbreaking at points. I literally cried all the way through the last chapter. Happy ending though!!! Don’t worry about the cross-over aspects. I haven’t seen Dead Like Me, and as far as I can tell, it just takes the premise of the show. I’m glad I found this fic whilst trawling 2000s livejournal because it’s really a hidden gem. Great plot, dialogue, compelling OCs — the whole package! I got so emotionally invested in the story. I think there were maybe a few parts that were a little unpolished but just keep reading. It’s really worth it.

*A Modest Proposal and Involuntary Commitment series by ignaz (98k) The one where House and Wilson get married so Wilson can’t testify against House in the Tritter arc. I have an unfortunate habit of downloading fics and then forgetting to bookmark & comment once I’m done, so I don’t have anything detailed to say about this one, but it’s a classic and a favourite of mine.

Twenty Years of Stealing My Food by hwshipper (100k) A backstory taking place over twenty years, from how House and Wilson met all the way to canon. A reimagining of their fucked up, magnetic relationship, with a straightforward writing style. They get together nearly as soon as they meet and maintain a steady open relationship whilst cheating on their various girlfriends and wives throughout the years.

#house md #hilson #house x wilson #house fic rec #house fic #house md fic rec #house md fic #my rec list

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bella-rose29 · 5 months

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Deck the Halls (and not your partner) - part 3

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: swearing, Stephanie is a bitch, lockwood was a complete arse in the past, he's also very guarded in the present, they kiss for like three seconds (because Steph makes them), mentions of sex, mentions of lockwood's family being dead, neither of them can deal with emotions, proof read maybe once

series master list

Anthony Lockwood was starting to think that this family Christmas would be a disaster.

He had no issue with playing the perfect boyfriend at all; in fact, he was doing rather brilliantly at it.

But something wasn't quite right with Y/n.

Now he didn't know how large families were meant to work, since his own relatives were either gone or lived too far away and his only experience with larger gatherings was the few times he'd been to George's, but he did know that the snide remarks about how much cake Y/n should be given and the fake laughter from her aunt wasn't particularly regular.

The cake and tea situation had certainly been strange.

Normally Y/n went through around four cups of tea before noon, and if cake was offered she would have such a large slice that Lockwood would often joke about leaving some for the rest of them. Instead of cracking one of those jokes that afternoon, he was currently staring at her half-drunk mug and a plate of cake that hadn't even been eaten, and Y/n was in the toilet instead of glaring at him.

He didn't exactly like her, but he hadn't been raised to not be a gentleman. He excused himself with a smile, pushing himself out of the loveseat and making his way out of the living room in a search for his fake girlfriend. It took him nearly five minutes to check all the bathrooms in the house, and naturally the last one that he knocked on was the one she was in. There hadn't been any answer, but he had heard sniffles from the other side of the door of their en-suite bathroom and had assumed that it was Y/n.

"Are you alright?" He was starting to get tired of asking that question, but she was clearly not alright, and if this whole charade went wrong then she'd just have more reason to hate him, so he was attempting to carry out damage control.

"I'm fine, just... go back downstairs, Lockwood."

"Anthony."

"Whatever." He could hear her huff in annoyance, and bit back a retort, instead settling for a frown. Lockwood sat down, his legs pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his knees to keep his balance as he leant backwards.

"I'm not going back without you," he said to the door. "Your sister looks like she's going to eat me alive, and I don't think I'll be given the satisfaction of dying afterwards which scares me."

"...What?"

"I said that-"

"I heard what you said, I just... don't know what you mean."

"Your sister... is going... to eat me. And I don't mean 'she's going to eat me like Christmas dinner', I mean 'she's going to... eat... me." He was trying to get his point across through euphemisms, but apparently that wasn't working. It didn't help that Y/n couldn't see his face or hand gestures, but at least he heard the door lock click.

He had barely registered the sound before the door opened behind him and he fell backwards, only being stopped from landing on his back like an upside down beetle by Y/n's legs.

"What the fuck are you doing? Get off the floor, you dipshit."

He stood up, brushing himself off and turning around to inspect her face. She'd obviously been crying, but was trying to hide it, and was now shoving past him into the bedroom.

"What do you mean, eat you?"

"You know..." he gestured vaguely, now feeling embarrassed. He sighed when Y/n only looked quizzically at him. "She keeps looking at me like she wants to fuck me and it's making me uncomfortable."

"Oh, poor you. What a shame for you."

"Oh shove off." She was irritating him again. At least that meant she was somewhat back to normal. "Are you going to come back downstairs? I think your mother has nearly finished cooking dinner."

"Right... uh- I don't know, really." She was folding her arms now, closing in on herself and looking away. Lockwood felt like he was missing something, the key piece of the puzzle that would give him all the answers, and it was frustrating him. It was so close, he was sure of it, but what 'it' was he couldn't say.

"Well you can't leave me down there on my own! You dragged me up here to be your boyfriend for the holidays!"

"You'll be fine. You're great in these situations!"

"Yeah but this is your family, Y/n, you should spend time with them. You never know when-" He couldn't finish, his throat closing up slightly.

"I don't exactly want to spend time around them when I have to pretend that I'm hopelessly in love with you!"

"Well you don't have to go that far with it!"

"Oh like you aren't? What was that earlier? 'Best Touch in England' and 'there's nothing that could have stopped me from falling for your daughter'!"

"I've got to butter them up somehow, haven't I?" She huffed again.

"Look. I have no issue with pretending to date you. I have no issue with pretending to date you in front of my family to make them think I'm not a lair, even though I am. What I do have an issue with is you trying to tell me how to live my life in my own home, and how to act. I know my family, Lockwood, and I know what I'm doing."

"Do you? Because so far I've seen you leave half a mug of tea and an entire slice of cake, which is entirely unlike you. And what the hell was that thing that happened with Stephanie saying you don't need a large slice? Is that why you don't want to come down for dinner?"

"No, it's not that, I just... Stephanie always makes comments about me because she doesn't like me, and I don't really feel like spending an entire meal being watched by her."

"Well then I'll tell them you're not feeling well because of the journey and could we eat up here!"

"You-!" she was still shouting, but broke off when she registered his words. He had only just realised what he'd said himself, and he was taken aback at his offer. "That... would actually be nice, actually. If you don't mind."

"No, I don't. It means I don't have to fake liking you for a while."

Y/n scoffed, but she looked somewhat less disgruntled than she had before.

~~~

Ten minutes later Lockwood was knocking on the door, demanding to be let in.

"Seriously, can you hurry up? My arms are going to fall off in a second!"

"You are such a drama queen," she replied as she opened the door. He would never survive as a waiter, which was surprising since given he had clearly practiced with a rapier for years and had a strong throw, Y/n had assumed that he had somewhat sturdy arms. With the way he was acting now anyone would think he'd never held a thing in his life.

"Yeah, sure, let me come in. I need to put this down, I think I'm going to die."

"Fucking idiot," she muttered, stepping back and allowing him room to walk inside. He put the tray down on the desk, dragging over a second chair to put beside the one that was already there and sitting down. Y/n stood nearby, unsure about sharing a meal with Lockwood as he got stuck in, but then he paused for a moment and looked back at her with a frown.

"Well? Are you going to sit down? Imagine what your family will say when they find out I let you starve."

"Of course all you're worried about is what other people will think of you," she grumbled, reluctantly pulling out the desk chair and sitting on it.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You're so obsessed with your image, Lockwood. It's a wonder that nobody has suffocated on your ego yet."

"I am not obsessed!"

"Ok, sure. Remind me, how long did you spend on your hair this morning?" Y/n asked, her face the picture of innocence. Lockwood floundered for a moment, then stuck a forkful of food in his mouth.

"That's irrelevant."

"I think it's entirely relevant."

"Shut up and eat your veg, Schmoopie."

Y/n threw a piece of carrot at him, and laughed when it landed in his hair and made him shriek.

~~~

Y/n had snuck downstairs with their empty plates and glasses while Lockwood used the toilet.

She had thought she could simply put everything in the dishwasher and go right back upstairs, but just as she closed the door to the machine and turned around she was greeted by her cousin.

"So," Stephanie started, attempting (the key word being 'attempted') to look disinterested. Y/n internally groaned, knowing exactly where this was leading. "How long have you two been... a thing?"

"8 months. And it's not a 'thing', Steph. He's my boyfriend."

"Sure, sure." Her tone suggested that she didn't believe Y/n at all, and was agreeing with her in much the same way that one might agree with a child who had said something wrong, but looked proud of themselves for saying it. "How'd it happen, then? Who asked who? What was the first kiss like?"

"Steph, I'm really tired, alright? And I'm only going to have to repeat this story multiple times tomorrow to literally fifty people, so please just let me go to bed and I'll make sure you're the first one I tell in the morning, yeah?" Y/n started heading for the door, pushing past her cousin.

"Oh, so you have more time to come up with the perfect lie?" Stephanie's words made her freeze with one foot out of the kitchen, and when she turned back the other girl was stood with a smug smile on her face.

"What do you mean?" Shit, her voice was shaking, and she was certain that if Stephanie came any closer she would see the slight sweat that had broken out on her forehead.

"Oh please. Nobody like him would ever go for someone like you, Y/n. I mean, he is way out of your league!"

"Personally I think that Y/n is way out of my league, but each to their own, I suppose." She hadn't even heard Lockwood come in, but now he was wrapping his arm around her waist like it belonged there and smiling softly at her like they hadn't been arguing about five minutes before (the argument was about something pointless, but that didn't stop Y/n from gloating when he gave in and said that she was right). "You alright, darling?"

"Yeah, just tired. Could we-"

"Oh, since you're both here, maybe you could share the story of how it all happened?" Stephanie cut her off, and completely ignored Y/n's responding scowl.

"I think we'll save that for tomorrow, Steph. If it'll make you happy we'll tell everyone at the same time and give a big speech," Lockwood said, and Y/n's insides started churning at the thought. She would have to find a way to convince Lockwood to do all the talking, or even her deaf older relatives would know that this whole relationship was a farce.

"Well, how about a kiss then? I still find it hard to believe that my little baby cousin has a boyfriend!"

"There's two months between out birthdays, Steph. It's really not that much. And we're not just going to kiss for your entertainment!"

"Aw, darling, you wound me. You don't want an excuse to kiss me?" Y/n could tell that Lockwood was having far too much fun with this, pouting and clutching his chest, pretending to stagger backwards in pain, and finally offering up his mouth in a ridiculous attempt to gain a kiss. She knew that he didn't actually want to kiss her, and what he really wanted was to rile her up, but she couldn't help but feel nerves in her stomach at the idea of it.

"Not really. You get enough of them as it is, Anthony." It felt weird, his first name in her mouth, and he paused for a moment in his actions to stare at her, tilting his head and frowning slightly.

"Oh, just one little kiss? You are under mistletoe, after all," Stephanie piped up again, pointing gleefully at the plant that had been badly taped to the doorframe.

The doorframe that Lockwood was leaning against, and that Y/n was stood under.

Shit.

They had an audience now, since her parents and siblings had come out of the living room to see what the conversation was about in the kitchen. Even her grandparents had emerged from their downstairs bedroom to join in. Y/n swallowed thickly as she looked around at everyone, her eyes finally landing on Lockwood. His frown was still in place, but his face was more relaxed. He pushed off of the doorframe, stepping forward and placing his hands on Y/n's waist as he leaned in a little.

"Is this... I mean... do you-?"

"We probably should. We were gonna have to at some point, right?" He was close enough now that she could feel his breath on her cheek, and his eyes kept flicking between hers and her mouth.

"Right." Lockwood brought a hand up to her face, holding her jaw gently as though he thought she might break if he applied any more pressure. His nose was brushing hers, and she had to push herself up on her toes and wrap her arms around his neck to bring her lips to his.

The kiss was short, only a couple of seconds at most, but as soon as they pulled away from each other she missed it.

Why did she miss it?

Claps from Y/n's family followed shortly after, and she was glad for once that Lockwood had no sense of personal space because it meant that she could hide her face in his chest without it coming across as strange to him, since he hadn't let go of her waist.

She absolutely could not start craving a real relationship with Anthony Lockwood.

Not when they hated each other with a burning passion.

And especially not when she had previously heard him say that he would never like her because she was 'not good enough for the company'.

No, she couldn't crave a thing with him other than their usual dynamic.

~~~

Lockwood was warm.

They had turned out the light and gone to bed about forty minutes ago, and after around twenty he had heard Y/n's breathing even out as she drifted off. As per usual he was still awake, left to stare up at the ceiling while he tried everything he could think of to fall asleep.

Normally it was the fear of nightmares that kept him awake, and if anybody asked tomorrow he would tell them that, or possibly something about how he was so used to working at night that he now found it difficult to sleep.

Realistically, though, he was too warm.

He had contemplated the pros and cons of taking off his pyjamas (pro: he'd be cooler, con: Y/n might scream at him and attack him with a blunt object) for the last thirty minutes, and had heard an owl hoot for the sixth time. He was also relatively sure that there was a fox somewhere outside the house, but since he had spent his whole life living in the city he wasn't entirely sure what they sounded like. The ghosts normally attacked any animals that tried to make a home in London, and as such wildlife was limited.

Another five minutes later and Lockwood decided that if he was going to die by having a lamp thrown at his head, he would much rather be more comfortable than warm and stifled, and peeled off the blanket that Y/n had given him when he first got comfortable in the armchair to take his pyjamas off. He folded them neatly, creeping around so that he didn't wake up the witch sleeping in the bed, then got back in the armchair and pulled the blanket over him again.

Why was he still warm?

He huffed in frustration, making a mental list of all the reasons his body could be overheating, then froze.

Somewhere along the way he'd added 'kiss' to the list, and then all of a sudden his mind was filling with the events of earlier and images of mistletoe.

Shit.

It had been awkward after they kissed in the kitchen doorway, Y/n's whole family watching and clapping with joy afterwards, and he had been very glad that she had hidden her face in his chest, because that meant that she couldn't see his own flushed face.

He had told himself that he was blushing because that had been his first proper kiss, and then followed that up by listing all the annoying things about Y/n.

They had been forced back into the living room for another two hours after that, with introductions being made to Y/n's grandparents (the ones that owned the house) and siblings (since they hadn't had the chance to say a proper hello yet). He had felt a little scared when all four of Y/n's brothers crowded around him, including 11 year old Tom, and made a promise to have a chat the next day, and then he'd been downright fearing for his life when Olivia pushed through and draped herself over his arm.

Y/n had simply been snickering in a corner at the whole thing.

Lockwood had glared at her in response, hoping that she might come and save him, but instead she turned back to her grandparents with a smirk and left him to her sister.

When they had finally been allowed to leave for bed, Lockwood and Y/n had got stuck in the doorway in their rush to go upstairs.

"After you, darling."

"No, you go first, Anthony."

Her family had been not-so-secretly watching the whole affair, and after a moment of staring at each other Lockwood had stepped back and swept his arm out for her to go first. He told himself it was because he had been raised to be a gentleman and also so that her family would think of him as the perfect boyfriend, but realistically it was so that he could hide his second flushed face of the evening when his gaze darted down to her mouth.

They had got ready for bed in silence, the only words spoken between them "excuse me" and "thanks" as they moved around, and then Y/n had given him the throw blanket from the end of the bed and turned out the lights.

"You sure you're fine in the chair?"

"Perfectly fine, Schmoopie."

"Do you want to die, Lockwood? Because you're getting dangerously close to seeing my rapier sticking out of your torso."

He hadn't answered her question, instead opting to shuffle around in the chair until he was as comfortable as he could be and bidding her goodnight.

And now here he was, around fifty minutes later, attempting to go to sleep while he also attempted to not think of the feeling of Y/n's lips on his.

He really should give up the game of hating each other that the two of them had going on.

Since that first night where they had met by quite literally bumping into each other, Lockwood had maintained the belief that she was no good for his business.

His meaning for what that meant had changed over the years, though.

Originally he'd thought that she would be clumsy and ineffective in a fight since she'd walked right into him and nearly pushed him over, and then when she'd come for an interview and walked into the doorframe his mentality had stayed the same. He was in too much debt to waste money on an agent that was as accident prone as Y/n.

But then? Then he'd seen her in action.

It had been around four months after she first joined Lockwood and Co (as he had stubbornly refused to go on jobs with her). George was behind on research for other jobs, and Lucy had a case of her own to deal with. Lockwood would have taken this particular one on his own, but Holly had recounted the client's report of what could be felt and dictated that he needed backup or he wasn't going. She herself had claimed there was a mountain of paperwork with her name on, and so Lockwood had been left with Y/n as his only option.

The taxi ride had been silent, with Y/n ignoring him and instead looking out the window, and when Lockwood thanked the driver his mouth was dry from disuse.

He knew he'd been an arse the last few months when all she was doing was attempting to be nice, but now he felt he was too far in to stop. She likely wouldn't believe he was being sincere anyway.

Two hours later they were done, worn out from running around trying to find Sources, and Lockwood had taken a new stance on his feelings towards Y/n.

It would have taken them at least twice as long to locate the Sources if Y/n hadn't used her Touch, and from what he could gather she was actually seeing the scenes play out in front of her, complete with sound and all as though she was actually there. He had never seen anything like it before, and when he went to tell her in the taxi home he was met with a very different Y/n to the one that had been trying to be his friend.

"You were incredible back there, Y/n."

"Not sure why you care, Lockwood. You've spent the last four months avoiding me and putting me on different jobs so you don't have to be around me." Her tone was harsh and cold, so far from the warm voice she had had only a few hours before, and Lockwood couldn't help but bite back.

"Of course I don't want to be around you, I was only saying that to make you think you're actually worth keeping around." It was awful, and he would never normally say something like that, but she was an enigma and he was tired and scared that if anyone found out about her Talent then she would take the spotlight away from him, and the words were out of his mouth before his brain could catch up and tell him to stop. She had stared at him, and for a moment he thought she might start crying from the way her eyes glistened and her lip trembled slightly, but then her expression was turning hard and a scowl settled on her face, and after that it became the norm for Lockwood to catch her eye and be glared at.

He knew he should apologise, but he couldn't figure out how to do it in a way that she would accept, and they were so entrenched in this hatred now that he was struggling to see how they could ever leave.

No, better to stick to what was normal and safe.

Not his normal mentality, but when venturing into the unknown meant exploring why he felt so warm, he was perfectly fine with staying behind the iron chains he had placed around his heart.

part 4

Tag list: @ahead-fullofdreams, @anathemaloren, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @locklyebrainrot, @locknco, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @ran23sblog, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife

let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the tag list! <3

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #enemies to lovers #fake dating #christmas

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mykingdomforapen · 13 days

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LC's Link Click fic shout-outs

I worry I'm going to come off as nagging but I do feel strongly about it. Link Click has some INCREDIBLE fic, written by people who put a lot of time and energy and effort into writing, but they don't always get a ton of reader interaction. I feel like I often find a fic I enjoy, scroll down to comment, and find I'm maybe one of 2 or 3 people to comment on it.

Link Click is technically not a small fandom--on the contrary, it's so incredibly active! But it seems that unless a fic was published in the s1 era or happens to get lucky, this is the norm. Which strikes me as sad, because the fandom is popping and active on other platforms.

So here are a handful of fics (by no means exhaustive) of fics that I've thoroughly enjoyed that I had scrolled down and went, They deserve so much love! (again, not exhaustive!)

liminal by Anonymous

Qiao Ling and Lu Guang talk. Much is left unsaid.

It's such a subtle fic, but so effective in showing Lu Guang's emotions, Qiao Ling's worry, and the nature of their relationship in conjunction to Cheng Xiaoshi. It's truly just so soft and nice.

stain by HeavenlyDusk

The only way for Cheng Xiaoshi to be dead is for Qiao Ling to have died first.

I just love a Qiao Ling confronts Lu Guang about Cheng Xiaoshi's death fic, and this one really captures big sister Qiao Ling and how much she cares about both of her boys. I love it!

resolve and reverberations by macrauchenia

Lu Guang rarely fumbles, rarely cracks, and rarely steps up to the sparring mat first. Nevertheless, on a random day in the middle of September, he does all three. Alternatively, Qiao Ling and Cheng Xiaoshi can't figure out why their best friend seems so *wrong* for no explicable reason.

A slice of life fic that adds such a delicious sprinkle of angst at Lu Guang's expense hehe. But it makes me feel so sad for Lu Guang, who just is so traumatized of losing Cheng Xiaoshi, and then it gives him a soft encouragement at the end. It's so sweet.

Instinct (Part One) by JordannaMorgan

Hired to solve a wealthy client’s personal mystery, Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang discover there are even darker powers in the world than they realized… and the damage left in the fallout will not be easily fixed for anyone.

Man, this fic is so CREATIVE. It is great at suspense, kept me on the edge of my seat from chapter to chapter, and the Cheng Xiaoshi angst is so delicious. And then the ENDING. gahhh, I cannot wait for Part Two and really hope that it will come!! I think about this fic so often

A Day Like Any Other by rane_ne

After three long years, for the very first time ever, Lu Guang finally gets to turn 20.

It's just ... gahhhh. Cheng Xiaoshi is my blorbo, yes, but Lu Guang being so relieved and emotional at the end because he's finally done it, and is turning another year older because he no longer has to dive back because his friend is alive??? GAHHHHH

Memoriam by JordannaMorgan

Even for those who have no powers, photographs are powerful things.

This is a lovely case fic that is so thoughtfully, emotionally, and tenderly told. I love the compassion that the story has for the characters, and it gives me the feelings that the Earthquake arc concluded with--finding joy and kindness even within the tragedy. I really love it.

sept, oct by Toothpaste_Fresh

The first time around, there are no rules, and Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi must learn all of their lessons the hard way. The first time around, Cheng Xiaoshi is the seventh of Liu Min’s victims. The second time around, there will be no seventh victim.

Gosh, this fic is so goooood. I love the speculation of what the first time round was like, and GOSH it's just such a gut punch of dramatic irony, of both CXS and LG being bold and idealistic and naive, and then how it tragically leads to CXS' death. It's EXCELLENT.

Golden Hour by StuckIn_aTimeLoop

The salty breeze feels nice. Cheng Xiaoshi smiles as he kneels down in the sand, happy they managed to make it in time for golden hour. Cheng Xiaoshi holds up the camera to capture his shot.

I LOVE ME SOME PARALLEL SCENES THAT ARE CONNECTED AND INTERTWINED BY AN EMOTIONAL MOTIF!! The juxtaposition of two types of golden hours is done so well, and both are so full of energy of opposite kinds in such a well balanced way. I was so excited when I heard this fic was being written and I was so happy reading it.

the shine in your eyes reminded me of the moon by StuckIn_aTimeloop

Cheng Xiaoshi was barely a child when his parents died. The king took him in, raised him as his own. Now he's older, it is time for him to choose his own knight.

Prince Cheng Xiaoshi and Knight Lu Guang. Need I say more??? It's so indulgent and I love it.

#LC recommends #link click #shiguang dailiren #shiguang daili ren

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suzukiblu · 7 months

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Day four of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

"Dead," Tim says, because it's not like it's a secret in the community or anything. "Joker happened to him."

And a lot of other things. Sheila Haywood and Felipe Garzonas and Bruce's eternal control-freak paranoia and constant inability to just talk, to name a few. But Joker, in the end.

Still, Tim can't help thinking about the chances to have avoided what happened to Jason. Especially when thinking about what's currently happening to Kon.

If Kon gets taken advantage of or hurt or killed because no one's paying enough attention . . .

Tim takes another drink.

"That sucks," Kon says with a grimace. "No wonder Batman goes all weird mama Bat on you all the time."

Tim chokes on an incredulous laugh and also a mouthful of soda, because Bruce is definitely not that and this isn't something to make light of either, but–

But also, he thinks about how no one ever goes "weird mama Bat" on Kon. No one ever has, as far as he knows.

No one takes care of him at all.

Tim really, really doesn't like that. Kon shouldn't have to rely on working for people who think they can build custom-designed personal-use superheroes based off of stolen dead bodies and are constantly making clones that are just inhuman-looking enough to not be able to blend into society outside the lab, and therefore don't have a choice about where they live or what they do with their lives.

Maybe it's not as bad as it sounds, or at least not as malicious as it sounds, but it's still the results of what Cadmus is doing either way. Kon has the option of being a superhero, at least, but he also has a custom-designed face that looks exactly like the face of one of the most famous heroes in the sector and was given absolutely no idea how to either establish or support a civilian life, so that's just about his only option.

Aside from, again, just working for Cadmus for the rest of his life.

Tim definitely hates the world.

"Please don't call it 'going mama Bat'," he says to distract himself.

"Please tell me what else you'd call it," Kon says.

"Micromanaging," Tim replies matter-of-factly, and Kon chokes on a laugh of his own.

"What, is being Robin your after-school job?" he teases. Technically it is, Tim supposes, but he doesn't exactly think of it that way.

"I consider it more of an unpaid internship," he says, since explaining the whole "emotional support sidekick" thing would probably damage Bruce's Bat-mystique, and if he tells Kon the full story there he's basically telling all of Young Justice. Kon barely seems to understand the concept of secrets, much less the concept of keeping them. "Like I get an expense account but not a paycheck, you know? And sometimes we get cookies in the Batcave."

"Cookies. In the Batcave," Kon echoes, his eyebrows shooting up. "Are they bat-shaped?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Tim replies with a pleasant smile. Alfred doesn't usually bother with anything quite that on the nose, but according to Dick there are Halloween cookie cutters in the kitchen that he's not above bringing out when Bruce has been being especially ridiculous, so . . .

"Oh my god," Kon says delightedly. "Does he make them himself? Is there a Bat-apron? A Bat-oven? Or does he just order them special from the Bat-bakery?"

"There is not a Bat-bakery," Tim says, trying not to laugh again. Goddammit, Kon shouldn't be so fucking funny all the time. He's not even that funny, objectively; Tim is just a smitten idiot.

"So there is a Bat-apron?" Kon says with a smirk.

"I plead the fifth," Tim says, since explaining the novelty Halloween apron Jason bought Alfred when he was thirteen is not actually on the table. Details compromise identities, loose lips sink ships; all that.

"Listen, man, Cadmus doesn't have a bakery unless you count the test tubes they cook us up in," Kon says with a snigger, grabbing himself another slice. Tim thinks thoughts about incendiary devices. "They buy our cookies frozen or just get the industrial-sized pudding cans. Or make bread pudding, the bastards. So you gotta tell me about the Bat-cookies."

Tim winces at the thought of industrial-sized pudding cans and bread pudding, because that sounds absolutely horrifying and he never, ever wants to taste industrial pudding. Ever.

"Well, they're definitely not frozen," he says. "But Nightwing started being Robin a lot younger than I did and the last Robin started younger than me too, so I think I'm just reaping the benefits of younger kids needing after-patrol snacks and everyone else getting in the habit of it."

"I could get into that habit," Kon says musingly as he tears a bite off his newest slice. Tim immediately resolves to order takeout after every possible Young Justice mission that he can. Or they could go get ice cream or something, he doesn't know. "What do you think, wanna make me Bat-cookies sometime, Rob?"

Every weekend for the rest of their respective lives, although Tim would never actually say that. He's not even a good baker. He doesn't even like to bake.

This crush is definitely a problem.

"You're not Gothamite enough to handle Bat-baking, Kon," Tim says dryly, and Kon sniggers.

He also ducks his head a little, looking . . . oddly soft, for a moment. Tim doesn't understand why, until he realizes–oh. It's because he just called him "Kon", isn't it. He wasn't even thinking about it; just did it reflexively.

Tim is pretty sure he needs to ruin the credit of every single "responsible" adult in Kon's life for not naming him sooner. Well–Dubbilex can have a pass, considering he was also made by Cadmus and his own name is Dubbilex, so it probably never occurred to him that "Superboy" wasn't a perfectly acceptable name. And also he probably doesn't have credit either. But all the rest of them, definitely and for sure.

Superman is getting an envelope of powdered Kryptonite in his fucking mailbox, to start. Or maybe Tim could aerosolize it and pepper-spray him with it. That might work.

"You don't know, I could be," Kon huffs, putting on a mock-offended expression. "I was born and raised in a lab, I'm way tougher than the average guy."

"A Metropolis lab," Tim says pityingly. "Might as well be a kindergarten science class."

"Oh fuck you, Batboy!" Kon protests with a laugh. "Tell that to the next alien invasion."

"Aliens know better than to invade Gotham," Tim says. Kon laughs again. It's–weirdly nice, honestly. Usually Kon's too busy trying to act cool in front of whatever "audience" he thinks they have to actually, like . . . just talk all that much or anything. And also usually he gets offended really easily or starts being annoying about something he doesn't know as much as he thinks he does about or just . . . something.

Tim admittedly is less and less annoyed and more and more endeared by that kind of stupid behavior these days, but still. It's the usual pattern their interactions follow.

He guesses they're actually just, like, hanging out right now. It's not like there's a bad guy or a crisis or even any teammates around or training to do, so . . .

Yeah. He guesses they're just hanging out.

Kon decimates the pizza and wings, Tim pretends to be helping and takes a few mental notes on how much Kon is eating and what that may or may not say about his required caloric intake, and they just kind of keep . . . hanging out, really. And they talk, at least as much as Tim lightly interrogating Kon and subtly evading providing any personal identifying information counts as "talking".

Tim really doesn't know if the guys at school or Young Justice are more authentically his "friends", at this point, but at least Young Justice knows there are things they don't know. Everyone from school . . .

Not so much, with them. They all only know Tim Drake, and none of them have any reason to suspect the existence of Robin. Young Justice only knows Robin, but at least they know there is a Tim Drake somewhere, whether they know him or not.

Maybe they are the ones who are more his friends, thinking of it that way.

It'd explain why things never really go anywhere with civilians and he's developed this stupid inadvisable crush on Kon, at least. Though not why things fizzled with Steph, since she knows Robin better than anyone in Young Justice. If he should be having a stupid inadvisable crush on anyone, at least it could've been someone with an equally stupid and inadvisable crush on him.

Unfortunately, he and Steph have officially friend-zoned each other and also Kon exists, so Tim is having his stupid inadvisable crush on an alien hybrid metahuman clone in a terrible living situation with stupid taste in sunglasses and a mysteriously infinite-seeming supply of leather jackets. So now Tim is in this situation and his supervillain timeline needs recalculated, and also he's going to be buying Young Justice so much takeout to make sure Kon gets to eat something that isn't cafeteria food in a way he won't get offended by.

Hopefully, anyway.

"Well, I'm glad the new job's working out," Tim comments eventually, after some very careful conversational maneuvering, and Kon . . . pauses.

"I guess," he says after a moment, picking olives off the remains of his current slice and not quite looking at him as he says it. Tim resists the urge to absolutely pounce on the blood in the water and makes himself wait. "I mean, it's fine, it's not like it's bad there. Like, I don't love that it's my only real option and I don't love the same lab that made me out of DNA that it literally got out of a literal grave being in charge of me, but it's not like Westfield's still running the place or anything. So like, could be worse."

Tim hates the world. All of it. Seriously. Alfred's snickerdoodles get an exception and that's it. Nothing else.

"I'm sure it'll all work out," he says, because yeah, he officially needs to actually do something about this. He doesn't know what something, but something. If he doesn't, who else is going to?

Kon puts on a fake grin and says something stupid and easy in reply, the comment lighthearted and dismissive and a screamingly obvious coping strategy from someone who doesn't see any way out of their current situation but through, and Tim . . .

Tim finishes his Zesti and starts to think.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #young justice #young just us #rinfic #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon #long post

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littlespoonevan · 1 year

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left half my heart in our living room

that episode did severe emotional damage to my psyche and then i turned on grow by sigrid and proceeded to make it worse :) i don’t know what this is i just needed to write some words because buck and eddie said So Many words in this ep and i felt all of them 💔

spoilers for 6x15

I feel like she sees me.

The sentence sticks in Eddie’s head. Niggling at the base of his skull like an itch that won’t go away.

“You’re quiet,” Buck says when they’re on the way home from the cemetery and it’s around that moment that Eddie realises he hasn’t said anything since they got in the jeep. Too consumed by their conversation from before.

I feel like she sees me.

He looks over at Buck now, one hand on the steering wheel, one resting on his lap, and he looks…comfortable, on first glance. But then Eddie notes the tense set of his shoulders and the way he seems to be staring at the road a little too hard, like he’s purposefully trying not to look in Eddie’s direction.

For one bitter moment, Eddie wonders if Natalia would notice those things but he shakes the thought away. He shouldn’t put this on her. She only knows what Buck’s told her.

“Do you really believe that?” he asks finally, voice quiet and a little bit too tentative. “That she sees you better than-“ me “-than any of us?”

Buck’s mouth parts and it’s clear he hadn’t expected the question. Eddie watches him while he works himself up to an answer – the way he shifts in his seat, the way his eyes dart to the rearview mirror instead of Eddie himself, the careful intake of breath before he finally decides to speak.

“I mean, it’s different,” is what Buck settles on. “Her perception of death and how it affects you, it’s-“

“Because none of us have ever had any experience with death,” Eddie can’t help cutting in.

“Eddie,” Buck sighs and it sounds like please.

“Chimney’s heart stopped last year,” Eddie says. “And when I got-“

“She doesn’t look at me like I’m a ghost, alright?” Buck says, sharp and slicing through Eddie’s intended comment about his own brush with death.

The words make him stop short. He clenches and unclenches his fists in his lap as he digests them. "What d’you mean?”

Buck sighs again and it seems more upset than before. “Maddie, Bobby, you- you all look at me like…like you’re not even sure I’m really here. Like I’m gonna disappear at any minute. You think I don’t see it but I do.”

“Because you died, Buck,” Eddie exclaims, frustrated and weary and more vulnerable than he’d planned on letting himself be. “You died. And for three minutes and seventeen seconds I thought I was going to have to live in this world without you and I didn’t want to.”

That makes Buck clap his mouth shut and he doesn’t say anything else but Eddie can see the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. The car stops abruptly then and he takes stock of his surroundings for the first time since they got in the jeep. They’re outside his house now.

He takes a measured breath and unclips his seatbelt, shooting a wary look in Buck’s direction. His hands are still gripping the steering wheel and he’s staring straight out the windscreen but he cut off the engine, at least.

“Come inside,” Eddie requests softly, climbing out of the jeep and not waiting to see if Buck follows.

He lets himself into the house and hears the slam of Buck’s car door as he’s dropping his keys on the side table. He hesitates when he gets to the living room, unsure whether he should keep travelling to the kitchen or just drop down on the couch and bury his head in his hands.

Buck comes inside before he can decide, the click of the door soft as he closes it behind himself.

“You looked at me like that too,” Eddie says without turning around. It’s easier saying it without Buck looking at him, even though he can feel Buck’s stare like a brand on his back. “After the well. And- and the shooting. I remember.”

“I’m used to losing people,” Buck says after a beat. “The fact that I got to keep you felt like a trick somehow. Like if I looked away for too long you’d be gone again.”

Eddie huffs a humourless laugh, feeling tears sting behind his eyes. He finally turns, finding Buck standing in the entryway. He gives Eddie a helpless shrug when their eyes meet.

“And I’m not allowed to feel like that?”

“You are,” Buck insists, body shifting like he’s about to charge forward but in the end he only takes one step. “I just don’t know what to do with it.”

“Why not?” Eddie asks and they’re teetering dangerously close to a conversation they’ve never let themselves have before but he doesn’t know how to stop pushing either.

Buck answers anyway.

“Because if I think about how much you see me – how much I let you see without you even asking – I feel terrified. Because I’ve spent years trying to get you to let me all the way in but it’s really fucking scary to imagine me doing the same thing. To believe that you’d even want that.”

Eddie works his jaw, swallowing against the heaving ache in his chest. He gets it, is the thing. No matter how much they’ve taken care of each other, no matter how much they’ve acted as one another’s soft place to land, there’s still a voice in the back of his head that says, you’re being a burden. Stop it.

“I don’t care if you want to start dating again-“ Lie. That’s a lie. “-but don’t- don’t say-“

As if sensing he can’t actually get the words out, Buck immediately starts shaking his head. “I won’t,” he says. “I won’t. I’m sorry.”

Eddie nods, clears his throat, and glances between the couch and the dining room. He doesn’t know what to do now, doesn’t know how they go back to having a casual beer, but before he can come up with something to say to break the tension Buck is stepping forward, crowding into his space and folding him into a hug.

I don’t remember the last time we did this, Eddie thinks even as his muscle memory reacts. His arms come up around Buck, one hand gripping his shoulder while the other wraps around his waist. Buck’s face burrows into his shoulder and Eddie only hesitates for half a second before he presses his temple against the exposed line of Buck’s neck and breathes him in.

“I’m not gonna disappear,” Buck whispers and, ridiculously, it makes fresh tears spring behind Eddie’s eyelids.

“Me either,” he replies and Buck’s arms tighten around him in response.

And he thinks they’re at an impasse now, a sort of crossroads they can’t turn back from but aren’t able to move forward from yet either.

If this is where they have to stay for now, he thinks he might be okay with that.

#buddie #buck x eddie #911 fic #my fics #911 spoilers #6x15 #everyone listen to grow by sigrid right now!!!!!#(and make gifsets please 😇)

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whimsicalwritingsandmore · 2 months

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The Hybrid House | ateez x reader

Pairing: hybrid!ot8!ateez x rich!girl!reader

Genre: fluff, romance, slice of life

Warnings: mention of su*c*de (it isn't detailed, just mentioned), description of emotions after aforementioned event.

Word Count: 1223 words

a/n: just to clarify with the chapter warnings, it is not my intention to sensationalize su*c*de. it's just mentioned but I do describe the impact a little on one of the characters, so I included a red asterisk * at the beginning and end of where it starts and ends.

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Chapter 2

Things were never the same as before.

After returning home from Thanksgiving that year, your parents barred you and Axel from having any contact with your Great Aunt or anyone from there. Growing up became a monotonous journey of adhering to meticulous expectations and suppressing emotions that would creep in out of nowhere, sometimes late at night and continuously bang in your chest and surge through your veins like an icy slush, begging to be felt. You were expected to excel and outshine your cousins every academic year, and if you didn’t, you would have to face the grueling and mind-numbing one hour long lecture from your parents about how inferior you were to your cousins and even siblings, and how detrimental it would be to your life, if you didn’t achieve their your goals.

You felt like a hamster in a wheel, and so did your brother. Axel was no longer the same person he was. The magical life you both knew and enjoyed and that instilled a sense of possibility and hope every time you visited your Great Aunt was ripped away and holidays were never the same - no longer wonderful but rather filled with exclusive and lavish but toneless dinners with the same repetitive and dull conversations about either the successes of each person or the snide remarks about the failures of others.

You both became robots, submitting to your parents’ way of life. Axel was no longer the same. The brother you knew, who would resist and find ways to sneak around your parents’ dictator rules, became cold and distant. You noticed the haunted and hollow look in his eyes - it showed a profound emptiness filled with sadness with his expressions always mirroring a wilting flower. When he moved out to attend college (that your parents’ selected), he pulled you in a bone-crushing hug before leaving and patted the top of your head with a meek smile as tears glistened in his eyes.

“I’ll always be there for you.”

You had just turned 15 and by the end of the year, your world crashed and burned when you were told the worst news - Axel had jumped off a bridge and the medics were unable to save him. The weight of despair and agony crushed your whole existence, and you felt like you were drowning in an ocean of endless sadness and despair. The silent screams you would hold back erupted as an avalanche of sorrow, pain and a dark cloud of grief descended on you with tears stinging like shards of glass and the ragged gasps between sobs making it feel impossible to breathe.

It took all the effort from your two other brothers to hold you back when one of your parents’ colleague and his wife made a snide remark about Axel when they came to offer their condolences at the memorial.

As for your parents, they became different people - they pretended as if Axel never existed, never told your youngest siblings who were born a few months before the event about their brother and pressured each of your siblings so pressingly, it led to the point where your eldest brother showed disdain at the mere mention of Axel’s name and your older sister iced you out if you asked anything regarding doing something for Axel’s anniversary.

Only your other brother showed some support but the bond between the two of you seemed to have become so damaged, he would retreat on his promises and disappear, ignoring you if he was passing by and you were in the room. So every night on the day of Axel’s passing, you would sit in the treehouse that became dusty and cluttered, and cry uncontrollably, secretly praying to go back to how things used to be when you were at your Great Aunt’s.

“What did we do to deserve this?”

And then, after a brutal and nasty argument with your older siblings, you studied diligently to curry favor with your parents and then requested your father to send you to an elite university in Upper New York. You decided to follow in Axel’s footsteps and work your way around your parents’ demands so that things could happen in your favor. You became calculative and observant and succeeded in proving your worth to your parents who as a gift, gave you a top position at the family’s company. Following this, you worked to establish your own personal company to help break away from your parents and move further away from your siblings.

You took on one of your father’s failed projects and successfully achieved what your father couldn’t do. You saw things for how they were instilled in you to view - dollar signs that could help you move up even higher than before and gain unlimited independence from your family and anyone.

But your parents still tried to control one area of your life, your love life. They tried to set you up on dates and arrange courtships where possible. Luckily for you, it fell through one way or the other.

However, despite your money-making centered lifestyle, you weren’t completely obsolete to everything. Maybe it was the part of you that learnt from Axel and continued to cherish his lessons. Even if you would never admit it, love felt more than just an arrangement to have more money. Although you were heavily ingrained in the fast-paced, upscale lifestyle, something pulled you in the other direction when it came to love.

Nevertheless, you continued to live your life day by day as it came with meetings, negotiations and the few occasions that included luxurious drinks and food at restaurants or clubs or on yachts in different parts of the world.

Until one day, after a hectic meeting you received a call from a lawyer, more specifically, your Great Aunt's lawyer. Once again, your world was interrupted with life-changing but heart wrenching news - your Great Aunt passed away just a few moments ago before you received the call and you were now the inheritor of her estate, money and home.

That night, you stood on your balcony unable to process all of it. You were now a hundred or probably a thousand times richer, but your Great Aunt who was a part of the best moments in your childhood that became vague and indistinct in your mind, was no longer here.

Tears cascaded down your face into your concocted cocktail. This was the first time that you cried like this since your brother Axel.

You contemplated telling your parents but then decided against it, remembering that your family did not have any good things to say about your Great Aunt after all these years. This was a secret only for you to know.

And your best friend Yeonjun.

Recruiting Yeonjun, you told your parents you were accompanying him on a trip to Asia to help him secure a business deal with some clients. They paid no heed and waved you off and sent you on your travels.

Now, you were in a car outside of Seoul's airport waiting for Yeonjun to finish placing the bags in the trunk.

It was at this moment the realization was slowly dawning on you: it had been 13 years since you last came to Seoul, which meant it had been 13 years since you last saw your friends.

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Taglist: @ateezennie23 @edenani @seonghwasslytherin

#ateez x reader #ateez series #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #poly ateez x reader #ot8 ateez x reader #poly!ateez

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vse-kar-vem · 4 months

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joker out cooking livestream recap:

-they cooked chicken in mustard or somethjng. potatoes are in it as well

-nace's government name is, in fact, nace ! bojan thought nace's grandmother calls him ignac but no

-bojan tries to transfer the potatoes into a bigger pan. which they cannot find. they do find ANOTHER pan (disgustingly unwashed)

-jan's parents are currently taking care of igor, who has everything he needs: food. a roof over his head. cuddles if he wants. jan is not worried

-we have a short discussion about dishwashing soap. they use the original green fairy brand soap which is nace's favourite. jan doesn't have a favourite. bojan claims that WASHING HIS HANDS WITH DISH SOAP IS WHAT KEEPS THEM SOFT ("i have baby hands") ??????? APPARENTLY?????

-then jan and nace walk around the house feeling up each other/every one else's hands. bojan's hands are confirmed the softest but it's concluded that his secret is not dish soap but being a singer and not an instrumentalist (or playing an instrument badly, his words not mine)

-throughout this entire livestream jure sharpens two knives. good for him, it's very impressive (he slices grapes! and lemons! truly a resourceful kitty)

-we learn that kris is not here because he's MODELLING???? HUH???? 🫢🫢🫢

-we get an update on kamila's flowers (withering on top of the fridge. 😞)

-the connection was SO BAD im not kidding, which was why we missed out on a lot of stuff ☹️☹️ they don't have wifi and are relying SOLEY on data

-their favourite british supermarket is aldi, because it's cheap and the quality is ok. obviously they diss british produce, which like fair enough

-they sing a little ditty about their current circumstances-- shit wifi, potato cooking, etc (ft. NACE'S SINGING VOICE!!) honestly it was highkey a banger

-they answer some questions ie. "drop hints" about the new song. we get 2 rhythms and one singular chord

-they decide do an mtv cribs (tiktok cribs) style house tour which would be GREAT if anything would load 😐😐 so we ended up with a very very cut-up fridge tour (they have at least 2-3 cartons of milk and slovenian sausage (?). also oyster sauce

-the stream REALLY starts lagging here (as if it wasn't already). ok me personally i only caught "-- doesn't want us to go in his room" (about jure or kris??) jan and nace consider going into bojan's. then extended lag on a very ominous staircase. no rooms seen by me at least 😞😞

-they come back down and answer more qs! that i don't remember! sorry this recap was for me and not you 😞

-oh yeah they get asked "who cleans the kitchen?" a beat. jan and nace both laugh "yeah, who cleans the kitchen??" i think that says a lot about this household

-they talk a bit more about the song-- will give you (uncle roger voice) eMoTionaL dAmAgE. that hurt my soul to write but at least i (cantonese) am allowed to do the accent, unlike SOMEONE ELSE ON THIS LIVESTREAM (thanks bojan. at least you were shit at it enough so that it came off just slightly interesting and not anything else)

-that's all i can remember!! bojan finishes cooking, jan and nace sign off to eat. prolonged minute of staring and waving at the camera. i notice they are both very beautiful men. end of stream !

#bojan cvjetićanin #joker out #jan peteh #nace jordan #jure maček #i love yapping #ALSO tell me why their apartment of grown ass men has the same kitchen hygiene as my food tech class last year of 14 year olds 😭😭😭😭#takes me back to my bench mate telling me there's no need to dump the sink filter and straight pushing bits of food through it with a knife #🤠#vee rambles

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doppel-dean-er · 10 months

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unpopular opinion that might go against everything I've expressed up to this point: idk if I want Trobed to be canon in the movie.

like yeah, queer representation would be amazing, and if it ends with them in any other relationship I will sue for emotional damages, but like..... part of the fun of shipping is that it's fandom-made. I think the argument that Trobed is queerbaiting mostly gets caught up on season 4, with all the boyfriend jokes, the dick checking, etc. but we also have to acknowledge that season 4 was made by the same people who made Aliens In America, obviously that doesn't speak for the writers specifically but it does give you a significant insight into the thought process behind the increase in gay jokes.

at the same time, idk how it would handle that relationship. we've seen every explicit relationship in the show go south within ten episodes and I just idk. like, they only have to handle it for two hours at most, but there are too many variables it's so iffy and aurgh, I don't know if I trust the writers to give us this one solid.

I just don't think it's very likely to happen. but if it does, if they kiss on screen and/or explicitly state "yes, we are in a relationship, and we are in love" I will bake a cake, a whole cake, with a cup and a half extra of salt. the cake will be inedible and I will eat an entire slice on camera as proof. i'll also decorate it with an apology for being wrong, this is a dead serious promise because I know for a fact it won't be canon (like 99.7% sure).

i've been consuming so much explicitly queer media recently that I regularly just forget that Troy and Abed aren't canonically together. if push comes to shove, and they aren't canon in the movie, we can always just convince each other that it is :]

#and I *hope* it is canon just so we're clear #I would LOVE that sm #but like. guys im sorry it probably won't happen #i like making my little fanfictions and having them not really grounded in canon <3 #that's the fun of fandom!! taking something you like #tweaking it a little #and making your own thing!!!!!#it's FUN guys #community #community nbc #nbc community #trobed #abed nadir #troy barnes

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msookyspooky · 2 months

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Fours a Franchise

Part 13

wordcount:9k

[I have been combing over this sm bc like...Yeah. There's no coming back from this one PLUS matching it with the next chapter that I already have done just doing the same to it. Sorry for the wait and emotional damage! 😁🖤 Just making sure it all lines up with the plot. Thank you!! 🖤🖤🖤 BTW this starts with Jill's POV, Dewey, Jill, Gale, YN, then Dewey, then YN again in case it's confusing since it's in second person still.]

Jill got off the table stumbling while trying to catch herself. She had to get this just right.

Shards of glass littered on her before she staggering in her high heeled boots over to where your body lay. Silence other than her heels scuffling over the tile as she stepped over Trevor's body to get to you. Not caring about the boy that supposedly 'loved' her. Hell, she sicked Charlie on that bottle blonde whore Trevor was cheating on her with and her friend too. Made it look like Steven Oarth and Casey Becker from 96. And Jill laughed her ass off too when she saw the video Charlie shot of Jenny gutted. Some people get revenge for cheating by keying a car and ripping seats...Jill got it by killing the other girl, her collateral friend and ripping Trevor's face off. Well making her pawn Charlie do it, to be precise.

Blood dripped down her face with her breathing labored as she stepped over Trevor's mangled upper body; Eager to get to you. Had to make it look good.

...As soon as she saw Billy and you too close; She kicked him as hard as she could, the best she could, out of the way. Couldn't have him looking too nice to us. Not yet.

He released a pained groan; Half conscious as he rolled over. Coughing and falling limp again a foot away all before Jill collapsed where he was with your unmoving form. She stared at you on the ground nose to nose just inches away. Studying you up close like she had in pictures so many times. Almost holding your hand as sirens sounded down the street. Closing her eyes and letting being sliced, stabbed and hurled into objects by her own doing finally take her.

-----------

Dewey all but slammed on his breaks in the yard and rushed to the scene. Gun drawn frantically yelling out orders, "Come on! Move it!"

A neighbor had finally called hearing the commotion. Dewey made a u-turn on the highway and got here as soon as he could.

He unknowingly rushed to the scene, heart pounding after everything tonight. His wife almost getting killed, Randy dying so cruelly and the call with you trying to leave town.

But as soon as he entered ...His heart sank at the scene of the crime.

He should've known. Knew you would try and do this yourself. Why did you always do this? Why did you always act alone? Why did you either run away or run towards the danger?

Seeing you face down on the floor in a pool of blood made his heart plummet.

"Oh God no..." Dewey mumbled getting closer.

In his eyes, Jill's hand was on yours for comfort. Both of you tried to protect each other till the very end as far as he could see.

Judy gave orders to the other officers as second in command while Dewey got closer to you.

He didn't even see you breathing from here. He took in the sight...A boy with his face peeled off bound on the floor. A body sizzling in a leaf pile outside. Two men he didn't recognize bleeding everywhere. The whole house is a wreck...And you and Jill in pools of blood close to each other.

"Dear God..." It was 1996 all over again. This felt more brutal than the last two times. Whoever did this was sick. Absolutely as demented as Billy and Stu to do the things they've done here tonight.

And to you...You and Randy tonight...

It was almost as bad as finding Tatum so long ago. The party at the Macher house in general. And even then, this felt like a never ending nightmare tonight. Non-stop horror that got worse every hour.

He failed. Two deputies under his command are dead. Randy and you died tonight under his watch. His wife he should've protected was in surgery. He failed all of you...He failed Tatum, Sidney, Randy, Gale and now you...

Dewey felt tears trying to burn his brown eyes as his guts twisted into guilt ridden knots. His face red from the strain of trying to keep it together as Judy looked shocked at the crime scene. Peeking over his shoulder but covered it with a pokerface to keep doing her job.

He motioned for EMT'S to come in as some officers helped cheek bodies or load people up. Jill was the first to 'wake up'. Asking in an innocent voice like any scared teen girl in this situation. "W-What happened? Are they dead? D-Don't let them hurt me or YN-" She weakly gave as EMT's checked over her, getting her on a stretcher. That just broke Dewey's heart.

He took off his hat out of respect for you and hung his head. Releasing a shaky sigh before leaving the house. He had to. He subtly went out the broken backdoor as tears threatened to spill. Biting his lip and running a hand over his hair.

Jill was already knocked out again and wheeled into an ambulance out the front door.

He failed. He felt like he failed everyone. He became a cop again to help, became Sheriff to make sure this never happened in this town again...And because of following the law and forgetting who he was as a man; Putting that badge before his own common sense... He failed. Randy and you were dead. Two kids he swore to protect like he couldn't his little sister. All grown up and yet still so young. You and Randy just entered your 30's and now you were gone right when your lives were truly starting after so much trauma.

"Sir?" Judy stepped outside asking him softly as he sniffed and waved her off.

"I'm fine, Deputy. Just give me a minute."

Suddenly, they all turned to hear an EMT yell out from the kitchen. Right after Jill went out on a stretcher so it only meant one thing. "We have a survivor! Female!"

And a small twinge of hope that soared like a rocket ran through him...You were alive!

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Jill woke up to blinding lights and so many microphones and questions and people calling her name as she was wheeled into the hospital. An awestruck relieved smile painted her bloody lips as she blurrily looked around. It's what she always wanted. Everything worked out. She was famous. She was a star. She was the final girl.

She wanted to laugh and hollar and cheer that her name would be talked about for decades. No ordinary life or anything like that. She could live like a celebrity while being America's Sweet Little Cherry Pie in the media's eyes. She was golden now.

She got worked on and patched up but pretended she was so shaken. Fake tears that didn't even spill as she whimpered and both nurses and Doctors comforted her. One nurse said, "That poor thing. She's so brave. She's an Angel."

Jill wore a sly smirk the second that nurse left; no cameras in the hospital rooms. She released a sharp laugh she quickly covered. Shielding her mouth and acting like it was a sob when a nurse went by to check her vitals.

Yeah, her eye was hurting badly. She broke blood vessels in it. Bruised up. Just got her shoulder stab wound sewn up. On pain relievers. Everyone felt bad for her. Everyone was a bunch of fucking idiots that bought it.

She got closer than any other Ghostface. Billy and Stu could never! And soon they'd be recognized and going to prison, if they lived, and NO ONE would believe they weren't involved!

But Jill wasn't stupid. She had to play dumb. Blame Charlie for now and those 'bad men' that she didn't know till the authorities figured it out. Couldn't say a lot as the new victim and ruin it all that she knew too much...Damn! This was gonna be a great twist for a book all about her. Your 'Out of Darkness' hack job novel could be used for laughs or kindling now.

Jill could practically laugh and squeal with glee if it wasn't for her faking it.

Most of all. You were DEAD! She stabbed you so many times and you were fucking dead.

Dewey came in and Jill quickly acted subdued and tired when really she felt high on meds and life right about now. She gave a fake sniffle, voice heavy with false tears as Dewey was at her bedside.

"How are you doing?" He softly asked.

She shook her head, sighing heavily. "Feeling...Guilty. I mean...My friends. It should've been-" She choked on a fake cry.

"Shh...You made it, Jill. That's all that matters." He softly told her with a sad frown as he sat beside her bed.

Jill sniffed and gave in a shaky voice, "Charlie tried to kill me. And those men came in talking about things with him...And I...I heard they killed my mother-" She clutched her mouth to prevent a 'sob' and Dewey had tears of sympathy in his eyes.

Jill got so lucky getting an idiot like Dewey. A bleeding heart moron that lost two people he was close to tonight and almost his bitch ass wife Gale. That's all Jill could think of. She had to cover her mouth to hide the smile at Dewey crying...She had this in the bag.

"And Robbie and Kirby too. And Trevor-"

"Shhh." Dewey soothingly gave. "Just lay back. Try to rest."

"I-Is your wife?" Jill asked as she took a deep breath.

Dewey smiled, "She'll be fine. She's recovering."

Jill smiled back because at least the journalist that could gain her notoriety was alive to report this. A cheap shoulder wound was on purpose. She ordered Charlie to make it look worse than it was so they could use Gale in the future; not caring if he killed Randy or not. That was his own personal vendetta. Some geek jealous of a slightly older, cooler geek. Getting Charlie to think she loved him...Her?! Jill Roberts, a girl way out of his league?...It was just too easy. Dewey was just as stupid buying her pity party and as soon as Gale saw those dollar signs; she'd be easy too.

"If I ever write a book one day; I want her to write it with me." She smiled looking at her shoulder. "Be a good team with our matching wounds." She had to sell it. Looking down all contemplative. "We're survivors now...I just wish YN was too." She gave a 'sad' smile. Playing like America's sweetheart by having sympathy for the one that didn't make it.

Dewey looked serious. "Jill...They're not sure yet. It's still touch and go...But she's in ICU along with those two other men that are being monitored." He smiled. "If you think they were involved then we'll look into it and make sure when they wake up they're safe from hurting anyone ever again if they did...But YN? She might make it."

Jill felt a cord snap in her brain as she forced a smile that didn't match her eyes.

"....What?" She swallowed. "I-I-I but I saw...Charlie kill her?" She quickly thought up.

"Look." Dewey sighed. "We don't know yet but she's hanging on."

Jill swallowed. Cursing every word in her head. Screaming internally as her stomach twisted.

"I...I want to see her." She gave with urgency to her whisper.

"She's not awake yet. She was lacking oxygen for a bit. She might not remember everything and we'll have to help her with that...In time. Just get some rest, okay?"

Jill forced a tight lip smile that probably anyone with brains could see wasn't a pleased one as Dewey left her dim room with only the beeping monitors as a sound.

Jill nestled in the pillow acting like she was trying to doze off...The second she heard the door click shut; Those dark eyes snapped open with a deadly glare.

She wasted no time taking off her wires and heart monitor. Unplugging the cord before its beeping alerted nurses and made her way out the door of the isolated community hospital to ICU. No visitors were allowed with it being so late. Most nurses and staff switch shifts. Perfect.

She slunk in the shadows of the hall when a nurse on night shift went by before making her way to you...You would tell them everything. You would ruin EVERYTHING. You had to go.

-----------

Gale laid there on meds from her minor surgery hours ago. Pretty awake now just foggy headed. It cut a few tendons but she was lucky. She'd be fine with some rest.

Her mind was a million miles away though when she heard the news about Randy and you upon waking up.

"Damn..." She mumbled under her breath rubbing her face tiredly with her good arm the more she thought about it.

Hoss and Perkins Dead. She knew that would weigh heavily on her husband's mind.

Randy having an arrow through his shoulder- neck area and hung from the barn by a rope, guts all strung out like...Like Himbrey in 96.

Gale scoffed to herself. She felt like she should've known. She was the target and Randy was the distraction. Whoever did this studied those murders like the back of their hand; like they were there. Probably obsessed with horror movies like those freaks Billy and Stu too.

She sighed heavily...Now, you were in critical care and had no idea if you'd have amnesia or disabled or if you'd even live. Doctor's just said you were sewn up in your stomach area.

She wasn't one for sappy stuff. Wasn't one for friends. But...Well, she spent a better part of a decade or more talking to you and Randy. Plenty of dinners and talks.

She sighed remembering her last conversation was you and Randy thinking she was a liar making false promises. Of putting her career before people. How did she go from waking you both up yesterday morning at Randy's house to in a little over 24 hours? 20 hours to be precise. Randy was dead and you were in critical care.

Gale felt sad, yeah sure, but it was such a strange emotion really. At least for her.

...Maybe she did actually not care as much as she acted? Maybe...Maybe she was deluding herself with all this. Gale felt bitter seeing you have the spotlight while no one hardly knew her and her 'tarnished brand' anymore.

She loved Dewey but domestic life in Woodsboro wasn't cutting it. It didn't cut it a decade ago before her separation with Dewey and it wasn't working now despite trying the last decade to make it work. She was 47 years old now. She wasn't getting any younger.

But it confused her more that on one hand the thrill of getting the story was all she knew and she finally felt like Gale Weather's again instead of just Mrs. Riley...But at what cost? She got stabbed, Randy was dead and you were in ICU. And yet it was her life.

She shook her head to herself.

What was she saying? Of course she cared a little. You and her may be frenemies at times but you still were her maid of honor at her wedding. You still called her. You both were linked to these murders for life. And you were her husband's practical surrogate sister as he annoyingly called it.

She lightly rolled her eyes but frowned at everything.

So...Charlie and Robbie? Charlie and Trevor? Then who were those two men Dewey mentioned?

Her dark hair was matted from tonight as she laid her head back on her hospital bed. "...Why? Why did you do that?" She asked herself aloud in the empty room as if Ghostface was there.

It didn't make sense...Maybe her brain wasn't working properly with hospital grade drugs still in her system but why? Why were you at that house? Why were you and Randy not together when he was killed? Why was she only stabbed in the shoulder? That Ghostface had a clear shot of her chest or throat or even her head like Dewey said Perkins got so why a shoulder? Why some superficial wound she'd most likely live from?

Dewey popped in smiling lovingly at her. She smiled back...Sometimes he was the only thing grounding her.

"How do you feel?" Dewey asked his wife.

Gale shrugged lightly, eyes droopy and tired. About to force herself to shut off her brain and sleep after the night they had. "Same as earlier...How is she doing? Alright?"

Dewey sighed but nodded, coming closer to his wife's bed, "Yeah she's a strong kid."

"She's gonna have to be." Gale mused. "What about those two mystery men? Any ID?"

Dewey mumbled, "Yeah those guys are a mystery alright. But no, no ID on them. I haven't seen them myself but they're for sure suspects. In fact, I think I'm going to pay each a visit and see what I can figure out. One is in a different part of ICU than YN and the other is upstairs...Jill seems scared of them...Poor kid." He frowned.

Gale nodded, "Yeah, mystery contenders. She's a strong kid to fight off Charlie and possibly those two if they are involved. I'm sure YN helped her a lot...."

"That's YN. A fighter. Jill is too." Dewey smirked, "She asked if you were okay. Says you should write a book together." He smiled more, chuckling at the coincidence. "With your matching wounds."

"Why? She was stabbed in the shoulder too?" Gale kept smiling while laying back.

Dewey nodded...And yet looked away thinking to himself. Gale did too...

Now, Gale's brain may be a bit foggy but...Something wasn't adding up...She went straight to the hospital from the barn. She never...She never saw Jill? And Dewey didn't talk to her till just now...

"How did Jill know I was stabbed in the shoulder? Did you tell her?"

Dewey scrunched his face in thought. "Well...No, I-"

Gale opened her mouth to say something wasn't right when Dewey's radio sounded loudly on his shoulder.

Dewey answered just to hear Judy frantically tell him. "Sheriff, the two male suspects are gone! The one in the ICU was reported missing first. Me and another officer just checked upstairs and the other male suspect is gone too."

"What??" Dewey's face scrunched as he stood up straighter.

"We don't know how they slipped out or how long. Searching all floors, Sir. I'm on my way to check Jill Robert's room now. "

Dewey gave the affirmative and clicked off.

Dewey quickly got his gun and with wide eyes exclaimed as it dawned on him where Ghostface would go. "Shit...YN!" Before bolting out the door heading to ICU. "Stay here!" Dewey ordered.

Gale grumbled to herself. All before smacking her bed. "Oh fuck." She sneered out before jerking herself tiredly off her bed to get dressed quickly. "Married over a decade and he thinks orders work on me-"

Yeah, those men were definitely suspects but something wasn't right...How did Jill know Gale had her shoulder stabbed?

-----------

Jill rounded the corner and right when she got near your room a hand grabbed her by the mouth and dragged her into the shadows. "You're not nearly as smart as you think you are." Billy hissed in her ear. Medical gown on with pants underneath. "That knife didn't even penetrate an organ. If you're gonna gut someone? Do it groin to sternum-" He shoved her against the wall hard. Pissed off, injured, but still a grown man's strength as she grunted in pain from the impact. Billy positioned his one hand on her jaw the other on her throat. Ready to snap her neck or crush her windpipe. Whatever was quickest.

All before she bit his finger as hard as she could as it got near her mouth. He hissed in pain before releasing a harsh groan as she elbowed him in his stitches then turned around and kicked him in the groin as hard as she could as his knees buckled.

"Stay out of my way, fucking has-been." She warned as he was on his knees trying and failing to get up from how vicious she was with her hits. She rushed to your room; too zoned in on ending you.

Billy clenched his teeth and sucked air through them "I swear to God, I'm not resting till I kill everyone in this bitches family! Goddamn twat-" He growled out under his breath as he tried to brace himself against the wall. Still a bit high himself from anesthesia as he fell back against the wall again.

Jill entered your room. You were slightly awake, probably a nurse waking you. The teen girl wryly smirked at the luck she had of you barely hanging on. All alone.

"You just won't die." Jill mused with an exasperated arm motion as she came into the room.

You blurrily saw her form. Trying to fully wake yourself up to sit up as Jill stalked towards you with a glare. "What are you? Michael Fucking Myers?"

You quickly tried to grab the button for help. Still half out of it but Jill got it sooner. Yanking it away with a deadly smirk on her face. "Yeah, I don't think so."

You went to make a noise and soon nimble fingers clamped down on your throat as hard as they could as she straddled you on the bed. It hurt. Everything hurt like hell as she tried to choke you as hard as she could; her weight pressed on your stitches.

"Fucking die already!!-" She grunted out putting force into her hands to crush your airway.

You looked up seeing the rage filled evil look in her eyes. Her dark eyes even darker as pupils dilated to saucer plates in full kill mode with one eye red and blood vessels popped. She wanted you dead and would stop at nothing to get it. You smacked on her cut up forehead, pressed on her eye with your thumb before grabbing her by the hair to slam her hand into the metal railing beside you.

You practically tumbled out of bed to try and get away from her before releasing a strangled cry of pain as she jumped down and almost shoved her knee hard into your stitched up organs and abdomen. It hurt the flesh beside it but that still felt like anguish.

...All before she cried out when a fist slammed HARD into her temple. Toppling her over.

You gasped for air seeing Stu wobbling on his feet having hid in the bathroom. Heavily stitched up and medicated.

Jill released an enraged groan through her teeth clutching her face over her red eye. "I'm just a teen girl, you prick!"

"Do I look like I give a shit?" He retorted. He didn't waste time lunging at her the best he could, his adrenaline pumping as she rolled out of the way.

You quickly forced yourself off the floor with pained hitches in your breath.

Stu huffed and grabbed Jill by her body throwing her into the medicine cabinet where shards of glass broke. She cried out landing with a thud. Stu picked up a shard to kill her as he dropped to his knees to corner her.

"...Man, ya know. You're not bad for a chick. But you made a big fucking mistake the second you put on that mask." He warned. Raising the glass overhead with both hands. Ready to plunge it into her and end her life. A smirk playing at his lips ready to do what he does best. "Even bigger one going after my girl."

He yelped out as something sharp stabbed through his neck...A brand new empty needle that went deep in the side of his neck. Jill grabbed it when it fell from the broken medical cabinet. He blindly tried to get it out.

Jill stood up and you used your IV cord holding it in both hands to jerk her back to try and stop her before a strangled yell escaped you as she elbowed you in your stomach. Turning around to force you to the wall and her fist hitting you hard as you yelled. Blood seeping through your bandages and gown.

"How are those stitches?!" She exclaimed with a grin. It's as if being thrown into a medical cabinet like that didn't phase her. She was clearly on a mission that only death would stop her. It didn't help that she was just on some good pain relievers while you and Stu still had anesthesia in your lungs.

You screamed in agony as she punched you so hard in your stitches, your knees gave out on you.

Stu glared at her, rushing to her as she let you go and dodged him, slinking into a small corner near the shadows of the room. By far the less injured one in this room as she went to run into the closet.

"Hiding already?!" Stu demanded snarling at her. He was ready to beat the living shit out of her as he tried to jam that door open.

Using all his strength he jerked it open, locked or not, "It's over, you-"

A huge hollow bang sounded. A heavy metal bedpan hit him square upside the jaw as he stumbled back. Stu looked almost cross eyed, jarred and trying to get his footing before she slammed it upside his head a second time and he went down. She hit him so many times you were scared she was gonna kill him right then and there!

You tried to get up and keeled over. Mouth hanging open in a silent scream as blood stained your hospital gown. Your stitches are opening again and you were so fucked up right now.

Jill heard you make a noise and stopped beating Stu, walking towards you. She went to swing the pot over her head to do the same to you...Maybe worse. "Is this how it's gonna be, YN? The ending of the movie was supposed to be at the house...I mean, this is just... Silly!" She wryly chuckled

You weakly stared up at her seeing Stu knocked out cold. You noticed someone else but kept your eyes on her.

"You'll never get away with this."

"Of course I will!" She grinned even if her eyes looked manic. "Who is going to believe Billy and Stu didn't kill you?"

Before she could swing on you, she released a scream as something sharp stabbed her from behind. Looking down at her abdomen at a shard of glass sticking out all before it was painfully yanked out. She yelled again looking down in shock.

You looked up to see Billy glaring behind her. A bloody glass shard in hand before he leveled it at her throat. "I've had enough of this shit!" He made the first cut on her throat ready to yank it. "You want to be famous? You got it."

Jill went to fight, eyes wide in actual fear that she was seconds away from being cut.

"DROP IT!" Someone barreled into the room, keys and other metals clanking on his belt...Police boots thudding into the room.

Your breath caught as you heard that familiar male voice...

No...No, no, no.

You looked to see Dewey with his gun drawn. Aimed at Billy.

-----------

Dewey looked on in shock at the scene before his cop instincts kicked in. You stayed there frozen and so did the man holding Jill hostage. He kept a firm grip on Jill using her as a human shield with that bloody shard of glass in hand.

What the hell was going on here?...

"Let her go!" He ordered the man but he stayed hidden behind Jill. Side stepping with her close to his chest so the Sheriff couldn't get an accurate shot without hurting her. The bastard.

Dewey watched how you looked like a fish out of water with your mouth and eyes wide open. Blood seeping through your hospital gown onto your fingers as you held your bandages.

Jill had been stabbed, blood seeping from her gown as well as tears of pain in her eyes. A man laid knocked out on the floor while the other held her hostage.

Dewey steadied his aim, nervously running his bottom lip over his top teeth a moment at how hairy this situation was. He didn't know who these men were but they were clearly the killers. They hurt you and hurt Jill too. Trying to finish the job.

Then Jill opened her mouth, "Dewey help! I came here to see YN and these guys she invited to the house were here! They're the killers, Dewey! Please!"

He glanced over seeing your expression twist into what he thought was in shock for poor Jill...But...You invited them?

He saw your breathing stop seeing what Jill was saying and your jaw clenched.

"Wha-" Dewey didn't think he heard her right. But then his stomach sank as the stabbed teen continued.

"She called them at Kirby's house telling them to get there and take care of things. I thought they were there to help but YN and them..." She trailed off in tears as the dark haired man holding the shard of glass to her neck sneered at her.

Dewey's eyes widened as he kept his gun aimed. "Let her go! Let her go right now, damn it!"

You finally stammered out from your spot in the room, "No Dewey... S-She's lying! Her and Charlie-"

Jill shook her head with tears as she looked at you, "I trusted you, YN. I thought you were there to save us! You and these guys helped Charlie!"

Your jaw went slack as Dewey saw your face contort in outrage. "Dewey she's lying! God damn it, she's fucking lying!" You yelled over her with a strained voice.

He felt his heart hammering and mind buzzing...No. There was no way! There was no way you were in on it. No way you were helping these killers...But why was Jill saying this?

Dewey looked positively confused and frantic. "Damn it, I said let her go!"

You sat up, pain or not. Groaning in anguish that seemed to fuel your anger. You were angry and bleeding, Jill was bleeding and scared, these men were holding Jill hostage and Dewey felt yanked back and forth.

"No! Don't you dare let her go!" You yelled at the man and then glared with pure desperation in your gaze at Dewey. "Dewey, fucking listen to me-" You growled out through your teeth in frustration.

"YN?" Dewey asked apprehensively with the gun still aimed. "Why is Jill saying you're involved?! Why don't you want her to be away from that man!?"

"Because she's the killer!!" You almost screamed in desperation as Jill almost got out of Billy's grasp and to Dewey's surprise, you gasped. As if Jill getting away from the man was a bad thing? Was Jill actually the killer? Then who were these guys? Dewey felt as panicky as the room was right now.

He almost envied the guy knocked out by a bedpan on the floor and wished he could be there too!

Finally, the man spoke up. Getting tense himself with a fighting hostage and gun pointed at him. "I'm saving YN, you idiot! This girl is the killer! She hurt YN, not me!"

....

The whole room grew silent.

He...Knew that voice.

Dewey felt his brows scrunching and his body tingling. A chill down his spine because...No...No, it couldn't be. But as soon as he spoke and as soon as Dewey saw those eyes...He just knew. A deep instinct. Then looking at the form of the laid out man on the ground...He recognized him by what side of his face he could see.

Gale was right. All these years Gale was right...Gale was right.

The picture from a decade ago and that feeling he got was full force now.

...He recognized that voice...Things were clicking as he looked into the man's dark gaze. Eyes wide with fury and shock, jaw clenched...As he stared down the man that played dead all these years... He was looking at his sister's killer for the first time in years...And Jill claimed you were involved?...

-----------

You stared enraged and frantic and pained and plain out scared. She couldn't do this! She couldn't get away with this! If she couldn't kill you then she was going to lock you away as long as she stayed the famous innocent victim.

You wanted to grab Dewey's gun and just let Billy hack away. She was making you feel like a cornered animal at the lies she was spewing that you were fearing Dewey was eating up.

But all those thoughts halted as Dewey uttered a word. "...B-Billy?...No...No way it can't be..." The middle aged Sheriff dragged out in a strained whisper. "...It is. It's you."

You felt pale. It was Randy in that barn earlier tonight all over again and with the risk involved; this was so much worse.

You went to speak but nothing came out. Your mouth was dry, head foggy, hands clammy, so in pain you might vomit, short of breath, throat tight...This was a nightmare.

Even Jill was silent as everyone saw Dewey's demeanor change...Silence in the room. Your breath quickened seeing the satisfaction in Jill's eyes as you realized she was winning. She wanted to play innocent while putting the blame on Billy and Stu...And if she couldn't kill you? Then you too.

"...YOU." He growled out. So uncharacteristic of gentle and polite Dewey.

"D-Dewey wait-" You forced out with a wince; getting closer.

"Stay back, YN! He's dangerous! It's...It's Billy Loomis. Gale was right. He's alive. He's the killer again!" Dewey was in fight or flight as he glared down Billy but even you could see the shock slowly bit by bit being replaced with rage.

You held your breath feeling cornered. What could you say?! What could you possibly say that wouldn't end in you being as guilty?

Billy mumbled, "I'm not, Billy...I-...Look. You're mistaken-"

Dewey snapped, "I'M NOT! I saw your picture a million times, I picked you kids up in my jeep, I was filing reports while hearing the old Chief of Police talk to you and your Dad...IT'S YOU. You lived..." Dewey sneered as angry tears pricked his eyes. "You killed my sister."

You felt your heart hammering away in your chest. Of course Jill manipulated. Crying fake tears, "Oh God, Dewey please help me!"

"Stop!...Please stop." You gingerly inched closer "Dewey, I know how this looks but Jill is the killer...Jill is not innocent, do you hear me!?" You urged in a harsh whisper.

Dewey looked bewildered and angry. Rage slowly taking over. Leveling the gun at Billy as Billy tried ducking behind a much shorter Jill which made his grip not as secure.

You kept trying to talk sense into him. "Dewey, think... Why would Jill even be here if she was innocent? Why would she need to see me this late at night in ICU?" You demanded holding your bleeding stomach.

"Why is Billy Loomis here!?" He countered.

You didn't know what to say without digging your own grave.

Jill shook her head, her voice a quiet pitiful tremble. "I was worried about you, YN. So I came to see you and these two were here and...You all were trying to escape and-"

Dewey glanced down eyes widening at Stu's passed out tall form on the floor then narrowing as Jill was painting a picture...It was just sealing the deal that Jill was truthful in his eyes.

"Shut the fuck up!" Billy snapped, not able to handle the lies from her as he jerked her in his arms. "You came here to finish the job with YN, we knew it, we beat you here to put you down-"

Dewey got closer with the gun. Eyes narrowed. "Not on my watch, Loomis. Put the glass down and let her go...Or else."

Billy didn't. However, he actually looked nervous for once behind that smoldering dark gaze. "...Why? So you can shoot me? Get revenge?"

"So, I'm right...You are Billy Loomis. 15 years later." Dewey mumbled with an edge to his voice all while Billy didn't say anything. "Turns out, evil doesn't win. Your time was bound to happen...What kind of sick man preys on innocent teenagers?! Even as a teen yourself, you were demented! I trusted you and your friend Stu to be near my baby sister and her best friend and look what happened!!" Dewey boomed with an emotional outburst as years of pent up anguish was coming out.

Jill shoved away and ran to Dewey. "Dewey, shoot him!" She rushed to hug Dewey's side, playing up the innocence as Dewey protectively put her behind himself.

Billy looked with wide fearful eyes. As much fear as you saw when you shot at him on stage all those years ago or when Neil nearly choked him to death in Hollywood.

And then...A strange sort of acceptance washed over him. Billy gave a frown but seemed to untense his shoulders and let the hand with the bloody shard of glass fall. It's like he was accepting his time was gonna come eventually. That his past from Woodsboro in 96 would bite him in the ass one day. That one day just surviving like a street rat criminal would get to him.

Dewey went to pull the trigger as Billy closed his eyes a moment. Dewey was so lawful you expected him to just handcuff Billy but the vengeful look in his eye and after tonight? You weren't so sure.

You may have let him shoot him had so much not happened but after they returned to save you twice tonight and after Jill tried to frame you too?...You knew what you had to do. If not for them then for your own selfishness to have extra hands to destroy Jill.

"DON'T!-"

You rushed as quickly as your body allowed.

....

Dewey gasped and jerked his gun away before he could pull the trigger as Billy opened his eyes again in shock...Seeing you standing in front of him in pain from rushing over but still trying to block Billy's body with your own.

You didn't know why. Didn't know what you were doing. Other than the Billy standing here was not the one you fought over a decade ago. He stood up for you to Randy tonight, he came here, he saved you twice tonight, and with Jill painting you as an accomplice? Your choice was to let him die and go to prison for something that Jill was framing you with too and everyone would trust her...Or try to reason with Dewey that Jill did this before a rash decision was made and suffer the choice afterwards. You probably still should just let Billy die yet with your world thinning and them actually helping you...

"YN? What are you doing?!" Dewey asked in a voice that was filled with betrayal. With hurt as his brows shot up and he shook his head in bewilderment.

Billy looked down at you in shock, his mouth parted and eyes wide.

You sucked in a shaky breath and looked straight at Dewey as you shielded Billy. Making a choice you can't come back from as you held your bloody stomach through your bandages.

"Don't do this. You follow the books, you follow the rules, you make things right the lawful way...Dewey, they deserve death or prison for everything they've done. They do..." You pointed an accusing finger at Jill. "But not until she gets it also! If she's handcuffed, then you can do what you want but not until then. She isn't a victim. She's the killer!" You glared at the teen playing innocent. "She killed her own mother tonight at her house after Perkins and Hoss were dead."

Jill furiously shook her head at Dewey but you saw the glare she gave you before he looked at her. She wanted you dead. So much she looked ready to forfeit and lunge at you; Dewey here or not. You wish she would.

"Her and Charlie planned all of this. She is the killer that recorded everything! Check her phone and you'll find deleted videos in the hard-drive!-"

"YOU MONSTER!!" Jill screamed. She never ever expected to be investigated, that much you could tell. Thought she would get away scott free and never be questioned or her phone searched.

"No, you are!" You jeered in disdain. "Charlie killed Randy and stabbed Gale upon your request! You killed the cops and your Mom and you or Charlie killed Dewey's deputies. Jenny and Marnie, Olivia, Kirby, Robbie, Trevor all to recreate what Billy and Stu did so you can be me!"

Dewey looked frazzled. Like he wanted to scream at all of you to shut up so he could think.

Jill scoffed, barely concealing her rage with the victimized acting. "Then why did you call Billy and Stu to the house?! Why are they here?...Isn't that what Randy and you fought about before he got killed? That he knew?" She gave like a stab in the gut with a cruel smirk trying to fight its way to her lips that Dewey couldn't see with her back to him...But you and Billy could.

Billy grumbled under his breath, "You fucking cunt."

You froze, breathing heavy as Dewey's eyes widened to saucers. He SHOULD be questioning how Jill would know any of that, unless she was recording and watching Randy before he died. And it's no secret Dewey wasn't exactly the quickest thinker but especially this clusterfuck warzone happening right now. He SHOULD be taking into consideration all the evidence that even if Billy and Stu were here; Jill's story wasn't adding up. But he was so hurt by this news all he could think of was one thing.

"How would you know that unless you saw it, huh!? How would you possibly know that!?" You argued. "It's over for you, Jill! You saw those recordings uploaded to the dark web because Charlie's camera was sending feedback to your fucking phone!"

Jill looked tongue tied. Glaring. Ready to jerk the gun out of Dewey's hands to shoot you. You never thought you'd feel relieved but you kinda did. Even if you got shot; it would prove Jill isn't innocent.

But Dewey...Had other things on his mind...Something that looked as painful to him as it did Randy tonight.

"...Y-You...You knew." He stumbled out with hurt in his voice, gun still raised.

"Dewey...This isn't important right now-" You tried to even say but he cut you off.

"The hell it isn't! You...You actually knew. This whole time?" His voice cracked.

Billy and you stood still, Dewey's eyes only focused on you, and Jill had nothing but smug satisfaction in her gaze even as she was in pain bleeding out.

Gale ran in and looked bewildered at the scene before. "What the absolute fuck..." She mumbled under her breath.

Jill quickly informed her like some kid tattling on another. "Oh God! Gale, Dewey saved me! I came to see YN and-"

Dewey held up a hand to silence her as he glared at you with tears in his eyes. "...You knew...YOU KNEW!" He yelled in betrayal.

"Dewey, stop! I didn't-"

Gale was faster than her husband as she saw Billy. "Jesus Christ. Is that?-"

"Billy Loomis and Stu Macher...Apparently...You were right Gale." He sniffed, shaking his head with a wry smirk as tears threatened to spill. "These were the guys all those years ago, weren't they?...YN, you're telling me you knew they were alive and lied to my face? You lied to all of us! You were helping them?!" Dewey looked close to just breaking down.

"This isn't the time! The murderer this time is Jill-"

"Did you!?" He demanded with such hurt and desperation in his eyes to say it wasn't so. That this was a mistake even if he knew better. "God, you did...The photo, the motel, the secrecy, you so distant...GOD YN-" He almost broke down crying right then and there at the pain you were sure he was feeling.

You stumbled, "Dewey I'm sorry but it's not what it looks like and I will explain everything after you arrest Jill! Please." You pleaded just as desperately.

"You helped hide the guys that murdered my little sister, YN... She was your friend! Tatum loved you! She trusted you!...I trusted you." His face scrunched in emotional turmoil as he shakily held the gun; still pointing at you and Billy. "Randy tried to tell me tonight. And a photo...The damn photo I had from the motel a decade ago and..." He shook his head.

Gale even looked at him oddly, "Photo?"

"Dewey, whatever you think...I swear, I didn't know-"

"Stop lying! It's too late, the pieces of this puzzle are adding up too much." Dewey demanded. All before addressing Gale. "YN going into her motel room with these two men...I knew she was acting weird and I pocketed the picture to save her from being accused by the media." Dewey sniffed shaking his head. "What an idiot I was. I thought they looked familiar but I didn't want to think...I just never thought-"

"What?!" Gale exclaimed at something that huge being hidden from her by her own husband.

You knew you weren't getting through to Dewey so you turned to Gale who didn't seem nearly as victorious as she should.

"Gale! Think! Plleeasse, I'm begging you; think!" You pleaded desperately not seeing a way out of this. "You know Jill isn't innocent. Why would she be down here? How would she know everything she does? Evidence points to her! Just check her fucking phone at the police station!" You yelled out as Gale looked away for a moment.

Gale looked so conflicted.

"Gale, please! I can explain everything just listen-"

All before Gale glanced at Billy behind you...Then steadied a glare your way. "...You ruined my fucking career and name. I had evidence you knew and you made me look like a fucking fool to the whole world! Ruined my relationship with Dewey for years over your sorry ass lies." She jeered in contempt. "You were my fucking bridesmaid and you do this to us? I can handle it, you know I can. But to Dewey!?"

Your heart squeezed at how bad this was.

Gale huffed, "You're just as guilty as I said you were...You made me look like a moron and broke my husband's trust hiding his sister's killers!"

"I did hide them but not how you think I did. I didn't, I swear! I didn't help them, I've never helped them other than towards other Ghostface's!"

Billy even spoke up, "She really didn't, morons. If you just get that lil bitch behind you in handcuffs; YN could explain-"

"Shut up!" Dewey ordered angry tears pricking his eyes. "YN, I can't believe this...I just can't...I can't trust you. Not a word!"

Jill shook her head with fake sadness, "YN, we all trusted you. Did you actually kill my cousin Sidney too?" She was fucking mocking you at this point.

You almost snapped. Ready to say things that dug your grave more but it was insane being painted this way and no one backing you up on 'the good side' while the true villain played everyone like puppets. The puppeteer herself smirked subtly beside Dewey.

Billy's breath quickened and jaw ticked behind you as you felt frozen.

"Wait a minute...If Billy's here then where's Stu Macher?" Gale asked as back up was on its way and Dewey had you and Billy at gun point.

"Huh?-" Dewey mumbled and even Jill's eyes widened in realization. Too busy arguing with you to notice.

"...You said Stu Macher? Where is he?" Gale mumbled with a raised brow close to Dewey.

Just then, Deputy Hicks charged in with guns blazing. "Sir! I'm here-"

!!!

All before Stu who had to have sneakily crawled on the floor while all eyes were on you and Billy, stayed hidden in the dim lit room. Then used the damn bedpan to womp Judy upside the head just hard enough to daze her and snatch her gun. By the time Dewey aimed his gun, it was too late. He had a gun and Billy quickly grabbed you from behind.

"Billy, what the hell!?-" You yelped out in a bit of pain and shock as Billy used you for a human shield and started dragging you out the room.

"Sorry YN, but we gotta get outta here now." He mumbled behind you before giving a cocky look to everyone.

Stu kept the gun aimed at Judy and when she tried to get it back he let off a bullet into her chest. You gasped not expecting him to go that far but then reminded yourself this is the guy that gutted his ex and hung her in a tree.

Stu grabbed your stuff off the chair in the room and smirked. He gave a grin to Dewey. Dewey glared, going to shoot at Stu.

"Do it and your Wifey dies." He leered, gun now aimed at Gale who held her hands up with wide eyes.

Billy already had you halfway out of the room as you tried reasoning. Everything was happening so damn fast. "Wait! Wait, wait, wait- This is gonna make shit worse! Stop!" You frantically begged. "Dewey! Please, I'm sorry! I swear, I was telling the truth years ago! I swear on everything I did not help them kill Tatum or Sid-"

It fell on deaf ears as Dewey glared with the gun pointed. Following his gaze at you and Billy while Stu was doing urgent hand motions to hurry up. Billy's gaze never left Dewey's as he side-stepped you both out of the room avoiding broken glass on the floor.

Now, it was Jill's turn to panic as she ordered Dewey with a snarl, "Do it! Shoot the fucking bitch! Shoot them!" And when you almost got out of the room with Billy she went for Dewey's gun.

"Jill, no!" Dewey shoved her away from almost getting the gun.

...And you saw the look on Gale's face. You saw it. That look of shock at Jill's tone and shift in personality even when 'hurt'...You knew Gale had to have her doubts but her damned ego was too great at being right all this time.

"Dewey?" Gale urged as Billy started slipping you both out of the room.

Jill joined in, "Aren't you gonna stop them?! They...They killed my friends!" She quickly saved. Still playing up that pathetic act.

"I can't without shooting YN!" He exclaimed.

Jill scoffed, "SO!? She's in on it! You heard her! She knew about Billy and Stu! She's the killer."

Gale eyed Jill. Dewey shook his head. Only you and Billy visible now but unable to get a shot at Billy holding you.

"YN!" He yelled to get your attention as you were dragged down the hall. "...Don't ever step foot in Woodsboro ever again. If you do?..." He trailed off shaking his head. You both knew. He'd arrest you by any means necessary...Or worse.

"...Dewey..." You mumbled with your chest aching.

"YN, c'mon." Billy jerked you away as Stu provided cover as you all moved in the shadows as much as your pained bodies allowed. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.

Dewey had tears in his eyes. Lowering his gun and hanging his head. Jill scoffed and went to go to the hallway before Gale used her good arm to jerk her back, "What the hell are you doing?"

Jill lost her determined glare and looked like she was caught before she jerked away from Gale to quickly rushed to Dewey hugging him and 'sobbing'. "I was so scared! I don't want them to get away and hurt others, please!"

Dewey numbly wrapped an arm around Jill. "It's okay...They won't hurt anyone or I will stop them by any means necessary myself. I promise..."

Gale mumbled, "What are you gonna do?"

... Dewey called into his radio for an officer down and to not let YN, Billy Loomis or Stu Macher escape the hospital. He may not be able to kill us but if he thought in any way we had hid Tatum's murderers under his nose all these years and the police did catch us? Well...At least we could get medical attention, be seperated from those two and receive help we need or face some justice.

Dewey clutched Jill like he would you. Like he did with you back in 1996 in the hospital after that hellish night. A single tear running down his cheek as he tried to hold it together. An older, more experienced man now even if this betrayal still hurts. Jill was his to protect now...Even if it was from you.

Judy groaned a bit, getting up in a haze. No blood but hit in the head with a metal pan and shot with her bullet proof vest on just enough to knock the wind out of her.

And Gale just...Watched the scene beside herself as her husband let you escape while comforting...The victim.

(Remember when we were getting taco bell and listening to Wasn't Me in the car in the 2000's? Yeah, I miss that 🥲)

#scream #stu macher #billy loomis #my writing #scream fanfiction #yn fanfic #she her yn #my stories #polyghostface #scream 4 #fours a franchise

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