#What Is a Weak Chin?

[front-facing-pokemon]

[swaneroticaa]

Tumblr beef is so retardeddddd like girl we on the online psych ward go AWAY

[acourtofquestions]

"You'll come back," Manon said.

It sounded like more of a threat than anything

Dorian smirked. "Would you miss me if I didn't?"

Manon didn't reply. He didn't know why he expected her to.

He'd taken all of a step, when Asterin clasped his shoulder. "In and out, quick as you can," she warned him. "Take care of Narene." Worry indeed shone in the Second's gold-flecked black eyes. Dorian bowed his head. "With my life," he promised as he approached her mount and grasped the dangling reins. He didn't fail to miss the gratitude that softened Asterin's features. Or that Manon had already turned away from him.

A fool to start down this path with her. He should have known better.

The hours that passed were some of the longest of Manon's existence.

From anticipation, she told herself. Of what she had to do.

Abraxos, unsurprisingly, found them within an hour, his reins sliced from the struggle he'd no doubt waged and won with Sorrel. He waited, however, beside Manon in silence, wholly focused upon the gate where Dorian and Narene had vanished.

Time dripped by. The king's sword was constant weight at her side. She cursed herself for needing to prove-to him, to herself-that she refused to let him go into Morath for practical, ordinary reasons. Erawan wasn't at the Ferian Gap. It'd be safer. Somewhat. But if the Matrons were there … That was why he'd gone. To learn if they were. To see if Petrah truly commanded the host there, and how many Ironteeth were present. He had not been trained as a spy, but he'd grown up in a court where people wielded smiles and clothes like weapons. He knew how to blend in, how to listen. How to make people see what they wished to see. She'd sent Elide into the dungeons of Morath, Darkness damn her. Sending the King of Adarlan into the Ferian Gap was no different.

It didn't stop her breath from escaping when Abraxos stiffened, scanning the sky. As if he heard something they couldn't.

And it was the joy that sparked in her mount's eyes that told her.

Moments later, Narene sailed toward them, making a lazy path over the mountains, a dark-haired, pale-skinned rider atop her. He'd truly been able to change parts of himself. Had made his face nearly unrecognizable. And kept it that way.

Asterin rushed toward the mare, and even Manon blinked as her Second threw her arms around Narene's neck. Holding her tight. The mare only leaned her head against Asterin's back and huffed.

Manon hadn't dwelled long on what she'd say.

And as the three hundred Ironteeth witches filed into the hall, some coming off their patrols, Manon half wondered if she should have. They watched her, watched the Thirteen, with a wary disdain.

Their disgraced Wing Leader; their fallen Heir.

When all were gathered, Petrah, still standing in the doorway where she'd appeared, merely said, "My life debt for an audience, Blackbeak."

Manon swallowed, her tongue as dry as paper. Seated atop Abraxos, she could see every shifting movement in the crowd, the wide eyes or hands gripping swords.

"I will not tell you the particulars of who I am," Manon said at last. "For I think you have already heard them."

"Crochan bitch," someone spat.

Manon set her eyes on the Blackbeaks, stone-faced where the others bristled with hatred. It was for them she spoke, for them she had come here.

jacket, then hoisting up her white shirt. Rising in the stirrups to bare her scarred, brutalized abdomen. "She does not lie."

UNCLEAN

There, the word remained stamped. Would always be stamped.

"How many of you," Asterin called out, "have been similarly branded? By your Matron, by your coven leader? How many of you have had your stillborn witchlings burned before you might hold them?"

The silence that fell now was different from before. Shaking shuddering.

Manon glanced at the Thirteen to find tears in Ghislaine's eyes as she took in the brand on Asterin's womb. Tears in the eyes of all of them, who had not known. And it was for those tears, which Manon had never seen, that she faced the host again.

"You will be killed in this war, or after it. And you will never see our homeland again."

"What is it that you want, Blackbeak?" Petrah asked from the archway.

"Ride with us," Manon breathed. "Fly with us.

Against Morath. Against the people who would keep you from your homeland, your future." Murmuring broke out again. Manon pushed ahead, "An Ironteeth-Crochan alliance. Perhaps one to break our curse at last."

Again, that shuddering silence. Like a storm about to break Asterin sat back in the saddle, but kept her shirt open.

"The choice of how our people's future shall be shaped is yours," Manon told each of the witches assembled, all the Blackbeaks who might fly to war and never return. "But I will tell you this." Her hands shook, and she fisted them on her thighs. "There is a better world out there. And I have seen it."

Even the Thirteen looked toward her now.

"I have seen witch and human and Fae dwell together in peace. And it is not weakness to do so, but a strength. I have met kings and queens whose love for their kingdoms, their peoples, is so great that the self is secondary. Whose love for their people is so strong that even in the face of unthinkable odds, they do the impossible."

Manon lifted her chin. "You are my people. Whether my grandmother decrees it so or not, you are my people, and always will be. But I will fly against you, if need be, to ensure that there is a future for those who cannot fight for it themselves. Too long have we preyed on the weak, relished doing so. It is time that we became better than our foremothers." The words she had given the Thirteen months ago. "There is a better world out there," she said again. "And I will fight for it." She turned Abraxos away, toward the plunge behind them. "Will you?"

Manon nodded to Petrah. Eyes bright, the Heir only nodded back. They would be permitted to leave as they had arrived: unharmed.

So Manon nudged Abraxos, and he leaped into the sky, the Thirteen following suit.

Not a child of war. But of peace.

[bayofwolves]

i've been thinking ab abeke x worthy for the last 12 hours... do y'all feel me. could i convince y'all to get on board this ship

[impossible-rat-babies]

I do think my enjoyment of a job quest series directly correlates w how much I can think about my silly little guy during it

[pensat-i-fet]

[uglypastels]

Slowly trying to get into F1 (bc i am nothing if not a sheep and a follower) and i wish it would be as easy as "oh i only like it bc the drivers are hot" but ????

Sorry who are we talking about here exactly?

[shittygothbitch]

.

[orgyofthedamned]

anytime i see artists draw fiddleford with a chin i feel like aww... bless their heart. i know theyre genuinely trying but theyre not quite there yet. i genuinely wish them the best of luck in expanding their variety of facial shapes and drawing unconventionally attractive people

[sukumna]

┌─ .✦ HIS FAVORITE TYPE OF SEX

꒰ haikyuu version ꒱

✦ — Gojo Satoru, playful but overwhelming sex. He’s the type to tease you until you’re crying, to push you to your limit just to see how much you can take. The type to fuck you slow, deep, with that smug grin on his face, cooing, “Aww, what’s wrong? Too much for you?” He loves overstimulation and making you beg for him to stop—only to pout and say, “But you were just saying you wanted more.”He’ll make you come again and again, just to prove that he can.

✦ — Geto Suguru, worshipful, ruin-you sex. He’s the type to make you feel like a goddess, like you were made for him. The type to press slow kisses down your body while whispering, “You’re perfect, you know that?” before he completely wrecks you. He loves control, but he loves devotion even more—loves hearing you beg, whimper, tell him how good he makes you feel. He fucks you like he’s honoring something sacred, like he’s offering himself to you just as much as you’re offering yourself to him.

✦ — Ryomen Sukuna, degrading, make you cry and ‘prove yourself’ sex. He’s the type to ruin you with a smirk, to mock the way you beg, call you pathetic for writhing under him. The type to grip your chin, make you look him in the eyes, chuckling, “Crying already? Tch, weak thing.” He loves making you take more than you can handle, pushing you to the brink just to prove he owns you. But when you cling to him after, breath hitching, dazed and fucked-out? His grip tightens, his smirk softens, and he lets you bury your face in his chest like you’re something worth keeping.

✦ — Toji Fushiguro, rough, ‘take it like a good girl’ sex. He’s the type to pin you down, fuck you until you’re sobbing, grunting a “Shh, you can take it.” The type to treat you like a personal plaything, tossing you onto the bed and manhandling you like you weigh nothing. He’s mean in the way that makes you crave it—grabbing your jaw, forcing you to look at him, smirking as he says, “Already crying? Thought you wanted this.” But when you’re spent, barely able to keep your eyes open, he’s the one pulling you into his chest, rubbing lazy circles into your skin like he wasn’t just breaking you apart.

✦ — Nanami Kento, ‘I need this’ sex. He’s the type to fuck you with purpose, making every thrust count, watching your every reaction. The type to grab your waist, murmuring, “Look at me,” as he drives into you, slow and deliberate. He’s so composed, so controlled—until you beg. Until you whisper, “Please, Kento,” in that sweet, breathy voice, and his grip tightens, his rhythm stutters, and suddenly, he’s fucking you with everything he’s got, desperate to hear you say it again.

[skyrigel]

Simon never heard his father say sorry, or please, or thank-you, or I love you.

In their house, when his mama would put down hot, heavy casseroles, her skin damp with sweat, eyes darting for some sweet words, his father never said one word of thanks, let alone 'some'. Only waved his thick, impatient hand.

His father never took the plates to the sink. Never noticed when she stayed up at night to sort the screws by size and purpose—organizing the chaos he left behind just to find one damn hammer.

His father never said ‘please can you—’ only grunted with that bitter mouth, glared with those unkind eyes when he needed something.

Simon never heard him say I love you. And he couldn’t believe his eyes the day his father plucked out his baby brother from his mama's arm, and didn’t spare one glance for his Ma. She didn't deserved that, did she? Her weak frail body, cracked murmuring lips — she should be celebrated with adoration, comfort, love.

Love, and an infinite of it.

His father never sat beside her just to drink tea. Never told her about his day. Never asked about hers — what she did, or liked, or wanted. Never reached out his thumb, however calloused it was, to wipe away the sprout on her chin. That he was grateful she's next to him, that he loved her.

So when life happened, and Simon was left to pick up his pieces and place them in a way he wanted to be—he thought whomever he will be, anything, but his father.

Anything but him.

And then life happened again but this time it arranged itself in beautiful ways. Because you came with it this time. You and all your silly lovely ways, you who kissed your knee before resting your chin, you who cheered up catching up with fridge' light switching off, you so beautiful, so kind, made up of sundust. His sunshine — lighting up his world.

And God, he was so, so grateful. Every moment, every day !

“I love you,” he’d say the moment he wakes up next to you. Pressing his love on your lips, on your shoulder, on your neck.

“I love you,” when you spill milk in the morning daze and stare at it like it might disappear.

“I love you,” when he wipes your chin and kisses your forehead.

“I love you,” when he takes your hand in his and rubs it between his palm, why ? Because he'll spend his whole life keeping your hands warm than anything else.

“I love you.” because he loves, loves, and loves you so much that it hurts, so much that it heals, so much that it's everything sweet ever happened to him.

“I love you.” for all the ways his father failed, and Simon too, as a son, as a brother — failed to save his mama and lil' brother. I love you, because in loving you he is allowing himself to be loved.

Masterlist

[kitteninabunker]

toji eating you while you're in the middle of a very important job meeting wasn't supposed to happen!

but he’s lying back on the bed, shirtless, smug, and already patting his chest. “c’mon, baby. sit on my face,” he groans, voice heavy with need, like he’s been starving for it all day. “be a good girl for me. i know you’ll cum fast—can’t ever handle it when i suck on this pretty clit, huh?”

you try to resist, try to focus on your notes and the gallery of coworkers blinking on your laptop screen. but toji’s strong hands grab your thighs and tug you down with no effort, manhandling you into straddling his face like you weigh nothing. you barely get yourself muted in time before his mouth meets your cunt—hot, greedy, disgusting in the best way.

“t-toji, stop,” you whisper in a panic, hands trembling as you brace yourself on the bed frame. your thighs already feel weak, his tongue flicking ruthlessly over your clit like he’s trying to draw every sound out of you.

he chuckles against you, the vibration making your legs jolt. “stop?” he murmurs mockingly, licking a fat stripe through your folds. “nah, baby. unmute it. let your boss hear how much this slutty pussy loves squirting on my face.”

your eyes widen. “toji—”

“do it.”

and because you’re soaked, needy, and too far gone to think straight, you do. your hand trembles as you unmute yourself, heart thundering as you try to keep your face composed for the camera. but he doesn’t give you time to adjust. toji dives back in like he owns you, dragging his tongue in maddening circles around your clit, locking his jaw to suck with obscene, wet noises that make your toes curl. it's clear he's doing this for his own pleasure, it's no regards as to how his wife looks on camera. it actually makes his cock throb, knowing she's up there struggling to stay professional with his tongue in her slit.

“okay, let’s go over last week’s meeting,” your boss says, her voice distant over the roar of blood in your ears. each of your coworkers sits calmly in their little squares while yours is turning into a damn porno. your cheeks are flushed, lip bitten raw, hair clinging to your sweaty forehead—and in your own box, you look wrecked.

“mrs. fushiguro?” your boss asks. you hear the concern in her voice. “is everything alright?”

“y—yes!” you choke, blinking hard, trying to remember what the hell a spreadsheet even is. “just—just a headache. sorry.”

toji groans underneath you, tongue flattening against your clit as he laps like a man possessed. your thighs shake around his head, your hands clawing at his hair, and when he suddenly slips two thick fingers inside you without warning, you nearly scream.

your body trembles violently, muscles locking up as your orgasm slams into you. your hips grind against his mouth, chasing it, unable to stop now even if you wanted to. slick gushes out of you, messy and uncontrollable, spilling over his tongue and chin—and toji just moans, holding you down, drinking every drop like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

you slap the laptop shut before anyone sees too much. your pulse still thuds in your ears.

panting, legs still twitching, you glare down at him. his eyes are dark, lips glossy with your cum, and he’s grinning like the smug bastard he is.

“if i get fired,” you growl, wiping your face with the back of your hand, “it’s your ass.”

toji just licks his lips and smirks. “worth it.”

[screampied]

“you, stop . . moving,” sukuna prowls, the base of his chin sat on top of your thighs.

you were in your usual spot, waiting for him to return from whatever battle had him occupied for half the day. moments later, you’re now slouched back against sukuna’s throne with a very grumpy, pouty demon lying his head against the center of your lap. before you could even part your lips to ask him what happened this time, sukuna grumbles. “bad. very bad day, little one.”

humming, you strum a few feathery fingers toward the pink roots of his hair before softly digging a path through his tender scalp. “oh. well, wanna talk about it?”

“no,” he replies gruffly with an abrupt quickness, his pout growing the more he remembered about his day. however, as your fingers continued to comb through his silk tresses, sukuna buried his face between your thighs. “i need… to recharge.”

“most people would drink water or eat somet-”

“shut up.”

“…..”

slowly peeking from between the warmth of your glued legs, sukuna notices the pausing halt on your fingers that played with his hair and he scowls. oh, he’s pouting, and with a cute, annoyed grumble, he avoids your gaze.

“i told you to shut up, not . . to stop doing that. go on. hmph.”

rolling your eyes, you gave him a subtle head pat before hearing a loud sigh exit between your thighs. he’s usually never this clingy, and you remained quiet - wondering just what happened in his day for him to behave so … needy.

your fingers resumed its maze through his scalp tenderly, and his long lashes fluttered close - a soft content sigh dragging away from his thinly parted lips. in a way, you had to admit — this looked silly.

a huge, burly thousand-year-old curse of a demon positioned between your thighs. it was merely comical, and yet, sukuna could really care less.

the king of curses didn’t have a weakness - except you.

“mmgh-” he’d grunt, tilting his head to the left before he felt your thumb gingerly scratching behind his ear. for a second, you think you saw his nose twitching too. sukuna’s pink brows were still forcibly furrowed together, perfectly expressing his stubborn frustration before he let off another noise.

this time though - it’s different . .

it’s a subtle, cooing ‘rrrrr’ sound that’s deeply low. the entire sound alone from sukuna makes your thighs shake a bit and you look down at him with a perplexed look.

“ ‘kuna?” you murmured, the swirling circles of your finger stopping once again. a cunning grin gradually creased against your lips before you gasped. “did you just … purr?”

“i don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“that noise you just made.”

sukuna rolls his eyes, his scratchy voice a bit muffled from how he nearly sank between the arc of your thighs. “pft. i was clearing my throat, obviously. you humans and your delusions-”

“nooo, i heard it,” you cheekily simpered, pinching his cheek. that earned a disgusted glower from him before you brought your fingers back toward behind his ear. “i scratched behind hereeee ‘n then . . you made that sound.”

the demon’s breath hitched once he felt the tip of your stubby thumb leisurely trail its way near behind his ear. instantaneously, his ear even twitched at your delicate touch and his eyes were just whining for more. for once, sukuna doesn’t have a witty remark and he’s just allowing you to toy your fingers against his balmy skin.

“stupid …. it wasn’t a purr. that’s insulting.”

“oh, my bad. what was it then?”

sukuna glares at you, and you return with a smug expression. damn.

sighing, sukuna’s shoulder slacken. “whatever. anyways,” he grumps, his chin sitting back onto your right leg. crimson eyes flicker up toward you before he pouts. “scratch behind my ear again. see what happens.”

“or what, you’ll purr again? ooh. scary.”

sukuna’s cheeks were so flushed - on the very cusps of shading into a bright hue of vermillion before he scoffs. “ha! do it. you wo- mmmmrr-”

cutting him off, you give him a good scratch behind his ear once more, and again—that sound comes out. a soothing, content purr from sukuna that cutely makes his whole body faintly rumble against your thighs.

it wasn’t just the purring, it was all of his changing body language that occurred too.

whenever your fingers would swiftly dash across the sensitive territory that was located behind his ear, sukuna turned into an entire different person. his eyelids would hang low, his nose would twitch, and his usual grumpy expression would slowly switch to a more… tame one.

it’s like your fingers had some sort of magic, and it irritated him but it also made him . . craving more of your touch. “there there,” you hummed, feeling him relax against your touch. your fingertips were always so gentle, dancing down the outer edge of his ear as the low, purring noise continued.

it only lasted for a few seconds but to sukuna, it felt like many, many hours..

the scratching had him nearly hypnotized - and he was already closing his eyes, forgetting all about his horrible day. you silently watched as the curse’s pink slit brows curled apart from its usual furrow, and you could almost see his pout turning into a tiny smile.

it’s a half-almost smile, and sukuna’s starting to feel himself eventually falling asleep.

“such a cat,” you teasingly mumbled, hearing his ragged breaths suddenly come to a mesmeric slow. sukuna deeply sighs, cool puffs of air from his nostrils falling against your thighs. you weren’t sure if he was fully asleep or not, so you gave him a soft poke.

nothing.

giggling, you laid back against his throne as he remained in his same spot—head laid on your thighs as he was kneeling before you. you don’t think you’ve ever seen sukuna so relaxed. he’s usually so angry - so full of hate and uncontrollable rage but now, he looks finally at peace.

at peace in his favorite spot - between your thighs.

in a soft lulling voice, you gave his head a small pat before leaning down to kiss his forehead. “i love you, ‘kuna. sleep well.”

“hng- i love …. you too, little one.” he’d groggily reply, pressing plush lips against the crevice of your thigh.

“never talk about this again, by the way. or els-”

you interrupt his tiny threat by scratching behind his ear one more time and sukuna purrs even louder than before. it’s more high-pitched this time, and he opens his eyes before a pink tint spreads across his face once he realized he purred again.

“d- damn it..”

[shinoko-oshi]

Simon teaches you how to cum

One month into your relationship with Simon, he was set to leave on his first mission since you’d gotten together. It wasn’t a long, just a little over two weeks but the moment he mentioned it, your face dropped, and your fingers curled into the hem of your shirt.

He noticed. Of course he did.

That night, he handed you a small black box, thumb brushing over your knuckles when you took it with hesitant fingers. A vibrator.

“Figured you’d need somethin’ to keep busy while I’m gone,” he said, half teasing, though the look in his eyes was anything but light.

You only nodded, biting your lip, avoiding his gaze.

“What’s wrong, birdie?” he asked gently, tilting your chin up with the curve of his knuckle.

You hesitated, cheeks burning. “I’ve just… never made myself cum before.”

He stared at you for a second longer before standing up, pulling you with him, murmuring, “C’mon then. Let’s fix that.”

He positioned you in front of your bedroom mirror, body bare, knees weak, thighs trembling already just from the heat of his gaze. One of his hands held your jaw in place, fingers curled under your chin, forcing you to watch.

“Eyes open, love,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear.

“Want you to see how your body works, how it should be touched.”

His other hand moved between your thighs, fingers pressing slow circles into your clit. You whimpered, eyes fluttering, only for him to tighten his grip on your face.

“Watch,” he chuckled. “See that? That’s how you like it, yeah?”

His fingers sank into you slowly, then faster, curling just right. Over and over, until your knees buckled and your breath hitched sharp in your throat. And when you finally came, gasping against the glass, he kissed your shoulder and hummed, “That’s it, lovie. Just like that.”

You got up, staggering toward the bed, legs shaking, ready to collapse into the mattress.

But Simon caught your wrist and gently tugged you back.

“Where you goin’, birdie?” he asked with a light chuckle. “I still gotta teach you how to cum on a vibrator.”

He guided you back down, spreading your legs, eyes wide as he held the toy up, his smirk lazy heavy with promise.

Maybe you really did need the lesson.

Or maybe Simon just had a thing for mirror sex.

Maybe Simon just loved his birdie too much and the thought of being away from you already ached more than he’d admit.

Either way, you weren’t getting any sleep that night.

Shit post.

[shawtuzi]

this video got me thinking….its kinda giving choso so walk with me real quick besties

˚ʚ♡ɞ

“fuckkkk,” the back of choso’s head knocked against the headboard, his chest heaving with a thin sheen of sweat covering it. the poor boy couldn’t form a single thought—the only thing swirling around in his empty mind is that he needed more.

his breath hitched when he felt your tongue wrap around his nipple once more, flicking the sensitive bud with your tongue. you didn’t bother saying much to him, it’d be pointless being the only word he could respond with was a breathy ‘fuck’.

“i’m ’bout to—hmph! nut again, it’s coming baby,” his head lolled onto his shoulder, his hips now bucking up to create a rhythm with your hand. you hummed around his nipple, squeezing his angry red tip, the clear pearls of precum leaking from his tip had you dying for a taste. “be louder…w’nna hear you cho,” you whispered in his ear, licking at the shell of it.

choso shuddered rather violently at the feeling, but nonetheless he got louder for you—a tad bit louder than you had expected. choso’s mouth dropped opened, a symphony of whiny moans following right after.

if he had any energy he’d fuck your fist himself, but alas after 3 consecutive orgasms all he could do was pathetically roll his hips. “so fuckin’ close, cmon baby make me cum,” choso nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt your soft hands begin to play his balls, squeezing them ever so softly.

choso’s entire body went limp as his orgasm hit, moan after pornographic moan spilling past his kiss bitten lips. the first shot of cum landed on his chest, some getting on his chin, which you greedily licked at a second later. his thighs shook in overstimulation, nearly closing because now it was really starting to become too much.

“baby baby baby wait—hah! you’re gonna f-fuckin’ kill me,” his larger hand wrapped weakly around your wrist, but it stopped nothing. you kissed you way up his chest to his neck, sloppily kissing, licking, and sucking any bit you could get. he just smelled so good—like vanilla and cinnamon, you just wanted to eat him up.

you brushed his hair out his face with your free hand. you looked into his tired, yet oh so lustful eyes, “you good?” you asked, halting your hand’s movements. choso sniffled and gave you a weak nod, “want you to drain me dry angel, even if i start crying.” it’s funny because just as choso finished his sentence a stray tear slipped from his eye, landing on his already messy abdomen.

choso stuck out his tongue making you giggle. you knew exactly what he wanted. you leant over, wasting no time shoving your tongue in his mouth, swallowing up his whiny moans. you resumed your hand’s movements, squealing when you felt choso’s teeth sink into your bottom lip.

he truly didn’t know if he had another orgasm in him but he didn’t care, even if he blacked out. why do you ask?? because soon he’ll be receiving the best aftercare known to man. cuddles, kisses, BACK SCRATCHES!!! he was as content as could be.

[mw00nie]

you’ve been skipping meals.

toji sees it. doesn’t say shit at first. not his style. he’s not some nosy asshole who’ll ask what you ate for lunch or remind you to drink water every five seconds.

but he’s not blind either.

your face is thinner. hoodie swallowing you up more than usual. wrist bones sharper. you pick at food like it’s poison, sip coffee like it’s a meal.

he clocks it. every time.

and he lets it slide. once. twice. five times. maybe you’re just stressed, maybe it’ll pass.

but tonight, he watches you open the fridge. stare inside like you’re trying to convince yourself. standing there like if you focus hard enough, the hunger’ll go away.

he leans against the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“you gonna eat somethin’ or just keep lyin’ to yourself?”

you freeze.

“i’m not lying,” you mumble.

he raises a brow. “yeah? fridge’s been full for three fuckin’ days.”

“i just.. haven’t been hungry.”

“bullshit.”

you flinch at that. he’s not here to coddle.

he pushes off the wall, walks over, closes the fridge for you. slow. quiet. heavy.

“you think i don’t notice?” he mutters. “you think i don’t see how your hands shake? how you ‘accidentally’ forget dinner, leave shit on your plate, say you ate earlier when i know you didn’t?”

you try to look away. he grabs your chin, not rough, just firm. makes you look at him.

“you think i’m stupid?”

your mouth opens. nothing comes out.

he clicks his tongue. lets go of your face. looks tired now, but not angry. just... done with the lies.

“i used to do the same shit,” he admits. voice low. “back when i fought for cash. had to stay a certain weight. thought starving meant control. strength.”

he laughs once, bitter.

“all it did was fuck me up. made me weak. angry. sick.”

you’re quiet. too quiet. eyes glossy. he hates that look on you.

“you got shit going on? fine. but don’t starve yourself over it. don’t treat your body like the enemy. it’s not.”

you still don’t say anything, just blink too fast. and when your shoulders start to shake, he finally pulls you in. arms wrapping around you, solid and warm.

you don’t cry. not really. just breathe against his chest like you haven’t breathed in days.

he holds you tighter.

“you don’t gotta talk,” he mutters into your hair. “not now. just don’t fucking lie to me. alright?”

you nod against him.

“good. now come sit your ass down.”

you do. legs tucked under you on the couch while he throws something together in the kitchen. nothing fancy. just enough to put something in your stomach.

he sets the plate in front of you. sits down next to you. doesn’t say a word while you eat, just stays close. hand on your thigh. grounding.

when you hesitate mid-bite, guilt creeping up your throat, he taps the side of your knee.

“don’t overthink it. it’s jus’ food. ain’t good or bad. it’s fuel.”

you nod again. quieter this time.

and when you’re done, when your plate’s empty and your shoulders finally drop, he kisses your temple.

“you’re not broken,” he says. “don’t act like you are.”

and somehow, you believe him

♡—————♡—————♡—————♡

A/N: i got the inspo from @sugussugar :>