#any thoughts from anyone else about this?

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Baby I need more of our weird little monster husband :3 He's rotting my brain

Have you lot never heard of stranger danger? Honestly

Contains- more horrors! Gore, violence, possessive behaviour, body horror

Yandere husband??? X fem reader

It seems as though you're the only person who has noticed anything different about your husband since his return. But when the household runs as smoothly as always it doesn't feel too much of a concern to explain to everybody that the Lord of the castle has been replaced by a creature who shifts faces and changes skin like he's dressing for dinner. The only difference in his demeanor is his new love for you but it's no one's place to question the relationship their lord has with his lady.

Small mercies you suppose. You once asked him what had happened to anyone who realised he really was. Your husband turned to you in bed with that lovesick smile he has every time you speak.

“I ate them, my dear,” he says it so casually the words take a moment to settle in. There are only little cracks in his facade, slightly more pronounced at night when he lets himself relax, those teeth of his, sharpened to a point are always there, peeking out if you looked hard enough.

You pale, “you eat people” repeating the obvious as you suddenly think of every time he ever nipped at you, the marks littering your neck, chest, and thighs. How you showed very little resistance to them,

“I can steal anyone's face, but if I want their memories too I eat them as well.”

“Does that mean you ate my husband?” You turn over to face his side. He looks so proud of himself as he nods. “What made you choose to take his place?” you finally ask the question you've been holding onto ever since the night he revealed himself towards you.He pulls a grimaced face at your words, cradling your head in his hands, as he pulls you so close your noses touch.

“I'm your husband now, don't call that man by the same name as me,” he pouts, it's absurd this creature pouting in your bed. “He cared nothing for you, didn't deserve that title, he didn't deserve to have you first and then waste it.” He strokes your hair lovingly. “It was an accident at first, he found me feeding and tried to kill me on his own. When his men came looking for him I had already taken his face and his memories along with that. So I thought of taking his place too.I wasn't expecting anything much but when I came here and saw you.” He leans in, peppering new kisses across your cheeks, “how could I not stay here when I have the most precious pet by my side?” he pulls you down in one sudden movement. Hovering above you as he did that night with delight in those unending eyes of his .That's what you were in his mind, the most sweetest little pet to adore. Although he may look at you with all this love, you don't believe he truly can love . He can observe, obsess and adore, but can any of this really be called love?

It's the closest thing you've ever experienced to it though. So perhaps that's why you say nothing, don't look for any help and merely melt into his touch when he is so quick to offer it. Overlooking the way he glares at anyone else who takes up space near you, the insistence on only himself accompanying you every time you want to leave the castle grounds. You can't protest these restrictions when all the permissions you enjoyed previously were all from your first husband's neglect. So you say nothing.

Until you find your way to the stables, wanting an early morning ride, one of your few freedoms he hasn't thought to amend yet. It is quiet. Too quiet when the stable boy spends each morning singing to some ballad or other as he readies your mare for you. When you open the door the sun illuminates the horrors before you, your husband half regressed into his true form. That unending black mass of teeth and claws clashing against the form he's chosen to take. Bone and flesh corrupted in this unfinished mess, feasting on something. You think it's a horse at first, your brain trying to trick your eyes to protect you from the sight of that monster consuming from the broken ribs of that stable boy. His head littered close to your feet, face frozen in a terror you must also share, the eyes having been plucked out.

That sweet stable boy who was but your own age and stammered every time you spoke. Was that his great crime?

You don't scream, you don't think you even can, there's a slow dripping sound as the creature becomes aware of the light, swiveling his neck to see who discovered this massacre. The sight of his face, a cruel amalgamation of your husband and the stable boy as well as his own form, features contorting to a mockery of your own terror. Is this being discovered in this state? He makes no move to speak, only watching your reaction as you heave your breakfast all over the stable floor. Crooning in that tenderness he seems to hold for you. He doesn't chase after you when you flee back to your bed chamber, locking the door and throwing salt against it as though that could do anything.

You made a mistake in thinking your monster was harmless to the world just because he shows gentleness with you.

There is a knock on the door, the same mournful voice crying out over and over “If you loved me you'd let me in.” howling with the wind outside. He changes tactics every so often, now it's the guilting, trying to cajole you to the door. Begging for a warm hand like a stray dog. You stay in your room, wrapped in your blanket to keep out the cold, to keep out his words. Shaking under the bed.

“Please forgive me ,I didn't mean to do it in front of you, I didn't know you would have seen it” . You pray silently that the door holds but when have the gods ever heard a prayer of protection from him? “I was only thinking for your sake, you knew the way he'd look at you, I couldn't bear it if you fell for him. And I warned him before all this, to stay away from what's mine. But he didn't listen and I had to act before it was too late. You understand why I had to do it for you, right?” He waits for your answer growing more frustrated with silence “right?” He screams, the sound echoing. He pauses, you could think he was taking deep breaths to calm himself if he was capable of breathing.

“My love, my sweet sweet love,” the door begins to shake in its frame “I didn't mean to scare you. You must have been so scared to see me like that. But I promise you, I'd never do such a thing to you. I love you too much to ever lay a finger on you, so please let me in.” There is silence finally, but no footsteps making their way away from the door. Then a slow heavy sound, as you look from the crack of light where the quilt doesn't meet the floorboards.

A black form seeping underneath the crack in the door, like ink overturned onto a page. You curl into a ball and tremble. How could you think you would be able to barricade yourself against something that can become smoke or water just as easily as he becomes solid. He is silent as he forms himself again, clothing clean, with no memory of the blood and viscera that he was soiled in. Something both solid and smoke grabs at you with little ceremony. Dragging you from your hiding place into his arms, he embraces you as though with enough effort he can squeeze you into himself.

“You were sick,” he mutters, as though that was the only thing that happened. “You should return to bed.” no word goes between you about what was just witnessed. You only nod and let him put you to bed.

“I love you,” he says over and over as though those words could erase what was seen from your mind. “I know you don't love me yet,” he cradles you against his chest. Faintly, you can still smell rust from his skin. The bile begins to rise in the back of your throat. “but I can wait, and I'll protect you to make sure no one steals you from me until then.” When he kisses you, there is no taste on his tongue. No trace of that sweet stable boy apart from a blood stain on the stable floor.

[ahappydnp]

NO PLEASE GIVE ME THE WHOLE ANSWER ABOUT PHIL'S MIND !! i just sent this to someone else because i'm an inquisitive person and i like hearing different elaborate answers to the same question and i'm curious to what your thoughts are about the subject

i think phil (despite his anecdotes about wanting to seem cool in his younger years) truly does not give a fuck what anyone thinks about him or how he's perceived.

i think he's literally always had friends/family/people around him/fans who have accepted him so he didn't learn to mask in the way a lot of us (including dan) have. which imo is a fundamental part of phil's personhood. he was a weird kid...but he was a weird kid with friends who'd be in his horror films and play his bisexual angel/demon video game. and parents who'd meow when he asked and pretend to be lobsters and ice demons and photoshopped buffy into his prom photos.

and because of that foundation he's been able to confidently make connections as his authentic self as an adult. BUT THIS ADDS TO THE MYSTERIOUS ELEMENT because people aren't used to that (especially any time before covid). like what do you Mean this guy just says whatever with no ulterior motives or games. he's a funky little guy and it's in no way performative and i think most people (especially neurotypical people) don't know how to handle that so they 1) find it fascinating 2) find it refreshing and 3) find it mysterious

on top of the fact that he's not really trying to mask to be more palatable, he's not going to overshare to keep you interested. phil's not going to bare his soul to strangers to forge a connection or fill awkward silences with information about himself. he likes asking questions and talking about whatever he wants to talk about, but not because he wants you to think a certain way about him. which once again can feel surprising and mysterious. also just the fact that he's made a career being a content creator while keeping so much of his personal life and thoughts to himself IS really strange compared to everyone else. and there is an air of mystery there.

also the fact that the people lucky enough to be in his extremely exclusive inner circle are in awe of him and sing his praises and stick around for decades. like the fact that his friends find him so funny and smart and interesting!! it makes the mystery even more alluring from the outside.

ultimately i think the mystery behind phil boils down to knowing he's an extremely intelligent and creative person who could say something really cool and impressive, but doesn't want to. because he doesn't care if he impresses you

[stellamarielu]

Skinny dipping with Pope late at night which leads to him fucking you with his hand over your mouth because he doesn’t want anyone to catch you guys

hey long time no see! so i got carried away with this shocker but i felt compelled to write something for our sweet andrew and this was just sitting in my inbox so… nothing profound or poetic just a smutty drabble about andrew cody fucking you in the pool in his backyard!

it was late—really late— and a night of celebrating at the cody household somehow ended with you wading into the pool fully clothed with pope watching closely just a few feet away.

the two of you had stayed in the backyard long after everyone else retired inside for the evening. your rush of euphoria from the handful of drinks you’d downed earlier in the night had calmed to a steady stream of contentment as you tried to beg your boyfriend to go for a late night swim.

“c’mon andrew it’ll be fun.”

he’d denied your invitation when you first stood from your seat. you walked slowly toward the pool with his eyes following each and every stride.

“it’s late.” the poor excuse fell from his lips in a hushed rasp as he watched you dip a foot into the water— your bare feet standing on the first step.

“it feels nice.” you hum, taking another step down, the water hitting your calves.

you were fully dressed, ready to dunk into the water in your t-shirt and shorts until you saw the way pope was watching you.

his stare was intense. raking down your body as if he was sharing your train of thought— wondering if you would shed your clothing before going in any deeper.

a soft smile reached your lips as you stepped down further, water now pooling at your waist.

“you sure you don’t wanna join me?”

you glanced at andrew; his back straight, shoulders square, and legs parted wide as he sat completely still, just observing you.

as the question left your lips you reached for the waist band of your shorts tugging them down underneath the water and bringing them back up to the surface only to toss them to the side of the pool. the material flopped onto the concrete heavy and wet, and it was impossible to miss andrew’s gaze following the sound.

before he could say a word, your hands found their way under the water again, yanking your underwear from your body and throwing them with nearly perfect precision as they landed right next to your discarded shorts.

the second he saw your panties joining the pile of soaked clothing beside the pool, an involuntary smirk appeared on his face.

“your loss big guy.” you take the last step into the pool, your t-shirt almost completely soaked as you struggle to pull it up over your head.

the wet thud of another piece of clothing getting thrown onto the concrete is pope’s last straw. he finally raises from his chair— slow and steady.

it takes him a few steps to kneel down beside the dimly lit pool. his eyes try their best to search underneath the dark ripples of salt water, but he can hardly make out the silhouette of your naked body.

you swim up to the edge, meeting him with your forearms resting against the concrete, your face inches away from his. he keeps his eyes trained on yours, only averting them slightly to watch as water droplets roll down the valley of your chest, only stopping once they hit your bra. the last piece of clothing left on your body clings to your flesh in a way that makes it nearly impossible for him not to jump in right then and there just to rip it off.

“you win.” his statement is simple as he stares down at you in the water, his serious tone contradicts the smile fighting at his lips.

he stands up straight, pulling his shirt off in a quick desperate movement, followed by his hands fidgeting with the button on his jeans.

clad in only his underwear he lowers himself into the water until his body is almost flush with yours.

“i think these need to come off” your hands are at the waistband of his underwear the second he’s close enough for you to reach them.

“not a chance.” his voice is stern as his fingers clasp over yours, locking them into place and keeping you from removing his last piece of clothing.

your hands stay in their place, head cocked to the side as your mouth forms a smug grin.

“what? like you’ve never skinny dipped in this pool before?” your words come out in a teasing whisper, but then andrew turns away slightly at your questioning, avoiding eye contact for the first time all night.

“really? not even as a teenager?”

you don’t know why you’re surprised. you knew andrew well, better than most people. he’s not like his brothers. he’s private— purposeful.

he was never one for public sex. it was rare to catch him in the mood for a quick, reckless fuck; but right now, there was a thick tension of need threatening to evaporate the water between your bodies, and you could feel his hand gripping harder over yours in anticipation.

“so then i’m guessing you’ve never fucked anyone in this pool either?” your voice falls to a low whisper as he loosens his hold just enough to let you run your fingertips along the waistband of his underwear.

“i don’t want anyone to see us.” to see you— that’s what he means as he growls the words out through a heavy breath.

he was irrationally protective of you. the thought of one of his brothers coming outside to see your naked body wrapped around his cock had andrew’s jaw tensing. if someone so much as looked at you in such a vulnerable position-

“everyone’s asleep...” the soft tone of your voice brought his heart rate back down, and the soothing touch of your fingertips against his skin reminded him to breathe.

“it’s dark.” another reminder that it was just the two of you, left your lips as he finally released his hold on your hand allowing you to slip his underwear down his legs beneath the water.

in a fit of pure instinct, andrew’s hands were at your bra, removing it from your body in seconds, palms immediately coming into contact with the bare skin of your chest.

“we’ll be quiet.” you murmured against his lips as he closed the space between you, his mouth finding yours.

between a few minutes of kissing down wet skin and hungry touches underneath the warm water, andrew managed to have your back against the pool wall with your legs wrapped around his waist and his dick completely buried into you.

he held you close as the water sloshed around your bodies with each thrust. one of his hands held firm at your back, acting as a shield from the friction of the concrete wall as it scratched against his knuckles instead of your skin.

the rhythm of his hips rutting into yours, sliding so easily into you over and over again, had sighs of relief tumbling from your mouth.

the sighs turned into whimpers, which turned into whines, which then grew into moans until— silence— andrew’s hand was suddenly muffling the sounds of pleasure flowing from your lips.

his grip was firm but careful as he kept you as quiet as possible with his hand covering your mouth. meanwhile he plunged his cock deeper into you underneath the weightless draw of the water, making it increasingly difficult to keep moans from escaping your throat.

“gotta stay quiet.” his command was broken by quiet groans of his own as he stuttered through pleasure.

“no one is allowed to see you like this, just me. got it?” possessive.

the dominant whisper slips past his lips, and you nod. a pathetic whine falls against the palm of his hand.

“atta girl.”

an arrogant tone lingers in his voice as he murmurs into your neck, his lips pressing against your shoulder. his hand is still clasped over your mouth as he fucks you senseless against the wall of the pool, making sure no one catches you, but obsessed with every second of the impulsive desire coursing through his veins.

[rorys-regular-blog]

Oh hey! I’m flattered you noticed my tags omg

Sadly I haven’t seen the live action yet, but from what I’ve heard it is a 1 for 1 retelling of the original, so I don’t have too many thoughts on it that can’t be summed up by anything else anyone has said on it or other live actions remakes (ie i think remaking animated shit into live action is bad 99% of the time, and while remaking it 1 for 1 is lazy, pulling a Lilo and Stitch 2025 and butchering the messaging of the film would be far worse.)

I also haven’t seen most of the shorts in awhile, nor have I watched all of Race to the Edge, so sadly I can’t rank those (however I have seen all of Riders of Berk, which I will get to later.) Luckily, I HAVE seen Gift of the Night Fury, and I rewatched it quite recently.

To paraphrase from my Letterbox’d review of HTTYD 3 (Which you can find here, if you’re interested in some my in depth thoughts of that film- https://letterboxd.com/PolaroidFox/films/reviews/ ) I believe that the short not only handled the themes of the first movie better, but is a better representation of the relationship that Hiccup and Toothless have. I find it astounding that writers were able to capture their dynamic (and HTTYD’s worldbuilding as a whole) so much better in shorts like these made almost a decade prior with a mere sliver of the budget that HTTYD 3 received. And the fact that HTTYD 3 went out of its way to reference this short in particular with the scene of Hiccup giving Toothless a tail that he HAD REJECTED in the past makes the disparity between the movie and the short all the more embarrassing imo. Its like they watched the short and didn’t pick up any of the themes and just used the prosthetic wing as an excuse to butcher Toothless’s character and seperate him from Hiccup.

As for Riders of Berk - I think the worldbuilding and characterization is at best on par and at worst a little weaker than that of the first two films. Its also about on par to Gift of the Night Fury to me. I like the characters the show introduces. Its crazy to me that the movies never tried to dive into the idea of even a singular member of Berk being jarred / upset by the sudden acceptance of Dragons. Its such a great character concept that is well utilized with Mildew. Though I will say Alvin kind of just seems like a weaker version of Drago made before him, but eh. I do really need to rewatch the show and watch Race to the Edge though, I have memory loss issues so some of the details are kind of fuzzy for me lol.

I did also watch Httyd Homecoming and I do remember really disliking it. It made the already flimsy ‘all dragons left’ thing even weaker by allowing the shittily designed nightlights go out and about to fuck around.

With that in mind, here’s my ranking of everything ive seen:

Httyd 1 > Httyd 2 > Riders of Berk ≥ Gift Of The Nightfury > Httyd 3 > Homecoming > A literal dumpster fire > Nine Realms

Sorry for the wall of text btw, HTTYD is one of my favorite things ever and I could rant about it for days lol

I'm still salty about them changing his design after the first movie.

EDIT: Since people keep saying the changes are subtle/not really there, I'm putting this in the main post.

[sukunahs]

to distant lands - ch.6: fear | ryomen sukuna

pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (medieval fantasy au)

summary: ryomen sukuna, your father's favourite knight, has been assigned as your personal guard. You find that your dislike of him slowly develops into something else as he tangles himself in your life in ways you never could've expected.

word count: 14k

chapter content: 18+ mdni, smut, princess!reader, enemies to lovers, slow-burn(ish), forbidden relationship, medieval fantasy setting, protective sukuna, angst, anxiety, depression, attempted sexual assault, kidnapping, torture, broken bones, threatening, coercion, blood, loss of virginity, tit-sucking, fingering, praise kink, biting, piv

major warning for this chapter: there is attempted sexual assault in the first third of the chapter (not from sukuna ofc!).

authors note: been so excited to write and share this one with you all so I hope you enjoy! sorry this chapter ended up being sooo long I really wanted to end it at a certain scene!

series masterlist | AO3 | chapter one | previous chapter (five) | next chapter (seven) (coming soon)

It was completely dark when you awoke, and it took a few moments for your groggy mind to comprehend that your vision was obscured by a blindfold.

Fear and confusion coursed through you instantly, struggling to piece together where you  were - why you had woken up sitting upright on cold ground, rocks digging into your back and your hands bound uncomfortably behind you. 

You should be in your soft, cozy bed. Still unhappy and lamenting over Sukuna, yes. But at the very least you should’ve been unhappy and lamenting in a comfortable environment.

This was something else entirely.

As your brain finally started to wake up, the memories from the castle kitchen began to come back to you. Mahito, the scarred servant, had fed you poison. He’d tied you up and you’d passed out and now you were…wherever you were. 

And you had no idea if anyone would be able to find you. 

Hopefully they were aware of your disappearance back at the palace by now. Your quick decision to drop your necklace when Mahito was abducting you should’ve helped with that - but ultimately how would that help them locate you? You could be anywhere, they might’ve even taken you out of the Cerulean Kingdom. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed since you’d been drugged. If it had only been a few hours then you definitely still had hope of being rescued. If it had been days…you weren’t sure you wanted to think about it. 

Sukuna would find you, right? 

You had to have faith that he would come for you. 

What else did you have? 

You found yourself freezing up as you heard voices not far from you. One of them was definitely Mahito, but you could hear two others who were totally unfamiliar to you. A man with a soft silky voice, and a woman who spoke in an odd tone. They weren’t making any effort to be quiet, their conversation booming around you - the echoey quality of their voices making you wonder if they had you in a cave. 

Unfortunately, knowing that you were in a cave was useless information - there were hundreds of caves hidden across the Cerulean Kingdom and its neighbouring countries. It did little to narrow down your location. 

“We need to get moving tonight.” The man with the silky voice said solemnly. “If we don’t get her over the border soon one of Kashimo’s men might stumble across this place.” Your heart was racing at the thought of being transported out of your country, but at least their conversation confirmed that for now you were still within Cerulean borders. 

“We can’t leave yet.” Mahito responded. “If they are searching for her out here and we’re stumbling around in the dark we’ll be caught for sure - we’ll wait for the break of dawn and cross through the mountain pass.” 

“That’s more dangerous than scrambling around at night.” The other man hissed. “It'll just give them time to catch up to us. Pack your shit - we’re leaving tonight, I’m not going to keep the King waiting.” 

The King? You supposed that the man could be referring to any one of many Kings, but considering all of the Zenin activity lately you were almost certain that he was talking about Naobito. You wondered if Naoya’s presence at the Banquet had all been part of a bigger plan to situate spies in the castle. It had worked perfectly if that was the case. 

“Nooo.” Mahito whined. “I don’t care about keeping him waiting, I’ve been working non-stop for weeks. Give me a break Kenjaku.”

There was a moment of silence, and you strained your ears a little trying to figure out what was going on. It seemed almost as if they were having some sort of stand-off, because when Mahito next spoke it was with reluctant agreement with the man he’d referred to as Kenjaku. 

“Fine! We’ll do it your way. But give me an hour or two, I did all the work getting her here so I want to play with her a bit first.” Your blood froze at Mahito’s words, a fearful shiver running down your spine. You tried to keep your breathing as even as possible, not wanting them to realise that you were awake yet. 

“She needs to be untouched.” The woman cut in. “The prince wants her for himself, he’ll execute you if you spoil her innocence.” 

There was a part of you that was very relieved by the woman’s statement, grateful that at least for the moment Mahito would have to stay away from you. But her words were also terrifying. You were certain now that they were delivering you to the Zenins - you could think of only one prince that wanted you so desperately. 

Knowing that these brutes were planning on bringing you to Naoya Zenin against your will, and the idea that if they succeeded you’d be warming his bed in no time, had bile rising into your throat. You supposed that he’d known at the banquet that you weren’t going to be offered to him willingly, and had decided to take you by force. 

“Oh, give it a rest Hanami.” Mahito snapped. “I’m not going to fuck her, maybe I’ll just make her get me off with her mouth or something.” 

Your heart dropped, and you found yourself reflexively letting out a sharp cough to try and dispel the sticky feeling of vomit gathering in your mouth, instantly regretting the way it drew attention to you. 

“Oh perfect!” Mahito exclaimed. “The little princess is awake.”

You heard footsteps approach and a moment later the blindfold was ripped from your face. No time was needed for your eyes to adjust to the light - the cave was very dimly lit, only a couple of torches lined the walls, likely to ensure that the location wasn’t easily discovered. 

Mahito was standing over you, shooting you that sinister grin that he’d flashed back in the kitchen. The sight of him made your skin crawl. You shouldn’t have been so polite to him, should’ve just told him that you wanted to be left alone and gone on with your day. Your kindness and obsession with your image as a princess had been your undoing. It was so stupid. 

You couldn’t do what you wanted in public, couldn’t be with the person you wanted to be with, and now you had to deal with being kidnapped. What was even fun about being a princess beyond getting to live in a castle? If only you’d been born as someone else, maybe none of this would be happening to you. 

“Nice sleep?” Mahito asked as he crouched down before you. You said nothing, your eyes frantically darting about over his shoulder, trying to map out your surroundings as quickly as you could. Maybe if you were clever you could find a way out - catch your captors off guard and rescue yourself. 

Your hopes were dashed at the realisation that the cave only had one narrow passage leading in and out. You were located at the back of the cavern, arms and legs firmly tied with rope, and between you and the exit stood Mahito’s two allies. 

One was a large, pale woman, covered in criminal markings not unlike Sukuna’s. She had flowers woven into her hair and a large wooden club sat at her hip. Beside her stood a tall slender man with long black hair - he bore a striking resemblance to Gojo’s adviser Geto, so similar that you would’ve easily mistaken the two of them if not for the long scar across this man’s forehead. 

“Whatcha looking at, princess?” Mahito asked, snapping his fingers in front of your face. “They ain’t gonna help you.” 

You moved your gaze to him, hair standing on end. You hadn’t wanted to jump to conclusions when you’d first encountered him in the castle, but his appearance had frightened you even back then. Now, in the dim light of the cave with you at his mercy, he was downright terrifying. He ran his tongue over his lips grotesquely as he examined you, leering at your body.

“Let me go.” You said with as much bravery as you could muster, but you couldn’t quite conceal the tremble in your tone.

Mahito laughed in your face. “Aww you want to go back home?” You said nothing as you stared back at him, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. “That’s so cute. Guys!” He whirled around to face his friends. “What do you think? Should we just let her go?”

“Mahito.” Kenjaku warned sternly, but Mahito didn’t seem to care. 

“How about this princess - I’ll untie you and I’ll give you ten seconds to start running. That’s fair isn’t it?” 

You weren’t stupid, it was obvious that there would be a catch, that if he was willing to give you a chance to escape it wouldn’t be out of the kindness of his heart, but out of a desire to play some sort of twisted game with you. 

But you had no idea if anyone was going to find you in here, at the very least if you could make it out of this cave and scream loud enough someone might be able to hear you and come to your rescue. It was better than nothing. 

“Okay. Untie me.” You said, your gaze unwavering as you met his. You were terrified, but you couldn’t let him know that. Just for now, you needed to be brave. 

“Mahito, stop.” Kenjaku spoke again, taking a few steps forward this time. “We’re not playing any games, we’re to deliver her to the Zenins as soon as possible. If we lose her it’ll be our heads on the chopping block.” 

“Don’t worry.” Mahito said with a grin. “I’m not gonna lose her. I just think it would be nice to see the light fade from her eyes when she realises she can’t escape.” 

You were burning with rage at his arrogance. What did he know about your capabilities, how was he so certain that you wouldn’t be able to escape? As long as you could make it out of the cave before he started chasing you it was all to play for. 

The two men shared a look for a moment, before Kenjaku backed down, stepping back and allowing Mahito to do as he pleased. It wasn’t clear to you what had caused him to change his mind, but you were grateful that he did - you’d take any opportunity you could get. 

Mahito turned to you and crouched down, pulling out a knife to start cutting through your bindings. “Ten seconds sweetheart, that’s all you get in this little game. And if I catch you…well, let's not ruin the surprise!” 

Your heart was hammering as he cut through the final bit of rope. You couldn’t think about failing. This had to work. You stood as quickly as you could, staggering a little as you did so, legs unaccustomed to movement after sitting for so long. Desperately you willed your feet to move, jolting forward towards the exit. 

You could do this.

But you only managed to make it a few steps before a sharp kick to your ankle had you careening to the ground, impact jolting through your wrists as you managed to get your hands out in front of you to break your fall. 

Letting out a yelp of surprise, you scrambled against the ground to try and make it back onto your feet, but you weren’t given a chance. Standing over you leisurely, Mahito brought his foot down hard onto your left ankle, laughing gleefully at the sound of the bone snapping. You screamed out in agony, nails digging into the dirt beneath you as you tried to withstand the white hot pain flooding through you.

Tears were starting to fall from your eyes as you wailed softly, the pain increasing as you tried to flex your foot. Mahito watched over you, casually counting up to ten. Realising that your opportunity was slipping away, desperation seized you and you tried crawling across the floor, making it hardly any distance before Mahito finished counting. 

He crouched down over you, digging his knee into your back and holding you in place. “You know, the Zenins wanted you unharmed, but they said that we could use force if you tried to escape - which you did.” 

Horror gripped at your chest. It had all just been a trap, a chance for him to exercise force on you. 

You felt frustrated, you should’ve anticipated this, should’ve known that he wasn’t really going to give you an opportunity to run, that this was just a means of fulfilling his sadistic desires. 

You supposed you could hold on to the hope that if they did manage to deliver you to the Zenins that perhaps Naoya would kill this man for damaging you like this through trickery - but putting any faith in the Zenins felt like a fool's folly. What you really needed was for Sukuna to find you, for him to put an end to Mahito and the others without a second thought and bring you home. 

That’s all you wanted. 

But as Mahito put more pressure on your spine, gripping your hair in his fist and yanking it so hard that pain prickled through your scalp, the hope the Sukuna would come for you and end this torture seemed harder and harder to hold onto. This was happening now, and you were powerless to stop it. 

“I’m nice, you see.” Mahito seethed against your ear, the feeling of his warm breath against your skin making your stomach turn. “So I’ll let you choose how you want to be punished.” Your body was trembling. The pain in your ankle wasn’t as intense anymore but you knew if you made any effort to move it would come back in full force. 

Allowing you to choose how you would suffer? You were certain that was a trick considering the opportunity for escape had been one. Perhaps it was better to stay silent. 

“So.” He continued. “I can break some more bones - I don’t think you’ll be able to run on that ankle anyway so maybe I’ll just break some fingers this time? See how many you can withstand before you pass out?” You let out a little mangled cry of fear. 

You didn’t want your fingers broken - the majority of hobbies available to a princess such as painting and embroidery required agile fingers, the thought of being back in your own castle or in the Zenin castle and just being a broken ornament was a terrible fate. 

“Or…” Mahito continued, noticing your reluctance at his first suggestion. “You could do something for me. I can’t take your virginity, the Zenins would kill me, but I’ve always wanted to know what it was like to fuck a princess so your mouth or ass will do.” 

Revulsion coursed through you as more tears gathered in your eyes. You despised the idea of giving up your body to this repulsive man. You’d always known that one day you’d have to sleep with someone you didn’t want to - such was the life of a princess: an arranged marriage and a duty to provide your husband with children - sex with someone you didn’t love was inevitable. 

But this was something else. This was violent desire born out of this disgusting man’s sadistic whims. There was no duty in this, only suffering at the hands of a man who had you completely at his mercy. 

If you were being honest, the only man you ever wanted to touch you was Sukuna. 

The tears were streaming freely down your face now, trying to weigh up in your head which option was worse, knowing it was an impossible decision. Yes, your fingers would heal one day, but that relied on a clean break, you’d have to trust that this man wouldn’t mangle them beyond repair. Based on how he stamped on your ankle you doubted he’d take any care when snapping your fingers. 

If you instead chose to let him fuck you, you could grit your teeth and bear it - you’d been preparing to do that for your husband for as long as you’d known what sex was. But who knew what kind of mental ramifications that would have, how much physical trauma he’d cause you. 

Besides, the thought of letting Mahito touch you filled you with an odd sense of guilt, a feeling that it was wrong to allow anyone but Sukuna near you. 

“Come on princess, make a decision or I’ll just do both.” 

You looked desperately up at the woman, Hanami. She’d spoken in favor of Mahito leaving you alone earlier, perhaps she’d put a stop to this sadistic little game he was playing with you. But as your gaze met hers she simply averted her eyes. It didn’t seem like this was the first time she’d seen Mahito do such a thing. 

Kenjaku was watching with interest. He’d been disapproving of Mahito allowing you to try and escape, but now he seemed amused by the situation, all but egging Mahito on. 

Mahito’s hand tightened in your hair, pulling you closer to him. His other hand was still gripping the knife that he cut you free with, and he brought it to your face. You let out a cry as he skimmed the tip of the blade across your cheek, before moving in closer and licking the blood from the wound. 

It was vile, the sensation of his tongue against your skin, and you tried desperately to wriggle away but his grip on your hair was far too firm. “Last chance princess, or I’ll snap all of your fingers and then fuck you.” 

With a shaky voice, you made your decision. “Please don’t break my fingers.” You whispered, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried not to think too hard about what that decision meant for you, whether it was truly the path of less pain. 

“Well done!!” He said, clapping enthusiastically as he released your hair. “I was hoping you’d choose that, I didn’t want to deal with you crying about how much your fingers hurt the whole way back to the Zenin castle.” 

You tried to keep your breathing even as Mahito removed his knee from your spine, rolling you over so that you were laying on your back and looking up at him. You winced in pain as your ankle moved against the dirt, confident that the bone had been well and truly shattered. 

Mahito admired you, crouching down with his knees positioned on either side of your hips. His cold hand reached out and brushed your face almost tenderly, tracing your features with an unsettling smirk.  

“You really are a different class of woman.” He said. “I always heard that royalty were special, different to commoners. I always thought it was bullshit, but looking at your pretty face…maybe they’re right.” 

You looked up at him blankly, offering no reaction. You didn’t really feel special, or better than anyone else. You had more dresses, more physical things, more people admiring you - but that was just through luck of your birth. You didn’t believe that your beauty was any greater than anyone else's, and even if it was, right now it felt like more of a curse than a blessing. 

“Can’t wait to brag about what it's like to take a princess.” He snarled, tearing apart the front of your dress and exposing your undergarments to him. You bit down on your lip, not wanting to make any sound, certain that he’d enjoy this much more if you gave him a reaction. But you couldn’t quite stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks. 

Closing your eyes once more, you tried to drift away, to imagine that the hands brushing against your skin were Sukuna’s, to pretend that you were back in your own room, in your own bed, with him beside you. 

Mahito’s hands moved to your undergarments, starting to tear at the lace and you braced yourself to be fully exposed to him. 

But before he could pull the fabric apart his hands suddenly stilled. He made an odd gulping sound and you tentatively opened your eyes at the feeling of a hot liquid dripping onto your face. 

Your eyes flew wide open at the sight above you, Mahito with a knife embedded in his neck, blood flowing freely around the metal of the weapon. You scrambled away desperately, trying to ignore the pain in your ankle at each agonising movement. Your ears were ringing, and there was a distant sound of clashing blades behind you. 

As you turned around to take a look, you found yourself flooded with relief. 

Sukuna. 

Your Knight was here. He looked terrifying, the expression on his face was cruel and merciless, his red eyes cold and filled with anger. Blood covered his longsword as he shoved it straight through Hanami’s chest, withdrawing it in an instant as he turned to the other man. 

This was a less easy fight, Kenjaku was a little more prepared than his ally had been, drawing his sword and sparring with Sukuna. But you knew it wouldn’t be enough. Sukuna was a force to be reckoned with, as long as he was here you were safe. 

Mahito, despite the throwing knife lodged in his neck, was miraculously still standing. His face contorted with rage, he began to stagger over towards you while Sukuna was still preoccupied with Kenjaku. You made your best effort to crawl away, but Mahito was a man on a mission, and just as Sukuna embedded his blade into Kenjaku’s throat, Mahito grabbed you, pressing his own knife up against your neck. 

He’d yanked you forcefully up to your feet, and you let out a scream at the blinding pain that shot through your left ankle. That caught Sukuna’s attention, eyes instantly drawn to you, a flicker of anxiety crossing his face before his expression hardened, focussing on Mahito behind you. 

“Stop.” Mahito sputtered out. More blood spilt from the wound on his neck as he spoke - he couldn’t have long left to live, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t enough time for him to hurt you. Your body froze as you looked desperately at Sukuna. 

Sukuna was standing between Mahito’s two dead comrades. He was completely still, his armor and cloak covered in blood and his expression lethal. In that moment, even you felt scared of him - more grateful than anything that you weren’t the subject of his ire, that his rage was on your behalf. 

Mahito showed him no fear. Despite all of the odds being stacked against him, he stood strong behind you, pressing the blade a little harder into your neck, small beads of blood appearing against the metal.

“I’ll kill her.” Mahito rasped, forbidding Sukuna to come any closer. 

Sukuna paused, clearly considering what to do. His red gaze flickered over you, worry evident in his expression and it made your heart leap with need. He was so close, right there across the cave. He was here. 

Even through all the fear, even with the blade at your neck, with Sukuna standing so nearby you felt safe. You trusted that he’d keep you protected - no matter what. Now that he’d found you there was no way that he would let Mahito stand in his way, you’d be going home with him.

“Princess.” Sukuna spoke softly, his eyes fixed on you, as though Mahito didn’t exist. “Stay still, okay?” You did as asked, body frozen as Sukuna rushed forward, his blade braced and ready to strike. 

At his approach, Mahito pressed the blade harder into your neck, more blood spilling from the shallow cut. But before he could cause any fatal damage, Sukuna’s blade was meeting his neck, cutting a deep gash into the skin and knocking Mahito down to the ground. The scarred man’s knife skittering across the floor. 

Without Mahito holding you up, you collapsed into the dirt, bringing your hand up to the wound on your neck as you watched Sukuna pounce on Mahito. Your Knight had the man pinned to the ground, and by the sheer amount of blood that was gushing from Mahito’s neck you were confident that his wounds were already fatal. 

But that didn’t seem to be enough for Sukuna. 

Switching his grip on his longsword he brought the pommel of it down on Mahito’s face, the force behind the strike creating a sickening thud as it made impact with the man’s nose. Sukuna brought his sword back once more and struck him again, and again, hitting him ceaselessly until Mahito’s screams finally stopped and his body stilled, his face completely unrecognisable.

Sukuna stilled for a moment, breathing heavily and staring down at the man, wiping at the blood that had splattered up against his face before spitting on Mahito’s corpse.

You were frozen, captivated by the scene before you. It felt like you should’ve been disgusted by what you’d just seen, unnerved by the severe display of brutality that Sukuna had just put on for you. But you weren’t. You felt nothing but relief, perhaps even awe at the lengths that Sukuna would go to protect you. 

Mahito had deserved to suffer, and Sukuna had made that a reality. You were more grateful than anything that he’d made it hurt, that he’d let you watch. 

Sukuna turned to look at you, and slowly you dropped your hand from the wound on your neck, feeling suddenly uncertain under his gaze, at a total loss on how to react. You tried opening your mouth to speak, but found that only sobs escaped you, fresh tears springing to your eyes as the weight of what you’d just encountered caught up to you. 

Eyes softening at the sight of you, Sukuna sheathed his sword and approached, kneeling down in front of you. His expression was concerned as he took in your appearance, eyes darting from the shallow wounds on your face and neck, to your ripped dress, and down to your misshapen ankle. 

“Are you okay, princess?” He asked gently, his worry palpable, as though his fear at your disappearance had been just as heavy as your own fear that he wouldn’t find you.  

You shook your head pathetically, shuffling towards him and burying your face in his chest, clinging to him desperately as you cried, desperately seeking out the comforting warmth of his body. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you, pulling your smaller body close to him and gently petting your hair as he let you sob in his arms. 

“It's okay.” He whispered. “I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.” He was rubbing comforting circles into your skin with the hand that was secured around your waist, and the soothing motion of his other hand in your hair had your heart rate calming down a little. 

It was okay, you were secure, he was here now. Mahito was dead, he couldn’t hurt you anymore. But you couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t find any words to interact with Sukuna - the fear and adrenaline rushing through you was too great. He seemed to understand your condition, because he held you close for a while longer, letting you bask in his warmth. 

Or perhaps he just didn’t want to let you go either. 

“We need to get you out of here, angel.” He spoke finally, unaware of what that term of endearment was doing to your heart. “There might be others in their group, and we need to do something about that ankle.” His voice wavered a bit as he said that, a guilty look crossing his face for a moment. 

You nodded, still unable to find your voice, reluctantly pulling away from him.

He let you go for a moment, quickly searching the cave and the bodies for anything of interest. You imagined that he wanted evidence on who was behind this, even if you were already very familiar with who the culprits were. 

Taking a quick look at your ankle, he seemed to decide that he wasn’t happy to move you without attending to it. He grabbed some rags from your captor’s bags and tenderly wrapped the fabric around your ankle, making sure it stayed firmly in place. You weren’t sure what difference it would make - you wouldn’t be able to walk on it whether it was bandaged or not, but you trusted Sukuna enough to let him do whatever he wanted. 

Once he was satisfied, he carefully scooped you up into his arms, holding you close against his chest, making sure to move slowly and precisely to avoid knocking your ankle against the wall as he walked through the passage towards the exit. 

His eyes kept flickering down to you, as though checking that you were still real and breathing, evidently concerned by your lack of vocal response, but unwilling to push you right now. 

You needed to get away from here first. 

—

Sukuna placed you on his horse that was stationed outside the cave, propping you up in front of him as he mounted the creature, pulling you back against his chest as he grabbed the reins. He let out a sharp whistle and one of your father’s hunting dogs appeared from the trees, running along beside you as Sukuna spurred the horse on. 

“He helped me track you.” He explained, as he noticed you looking down at the dog. “Got him to smell some of your clothes and he led me right to you.” Sukuna paused for a moment. “It was smart that you dropped the necklace, it might’ve taken us a few more hours to realise what had happened without that…” 

The way that his sentence trailed off made it very clear what those extra hours would’ve meant. Mahito would’ve had his way with you, and perhaps they would’ve even gotten you over the border. 

You’d been extremely lucky. 

The two of you rode for a while, and you found yourself drifting in and out of sleep, finding great solace in the warmth of Sukuna’s body behind you, letting the tension flow out of you and allowing your subconscious take over, struggling to separate dream from reality until Sukuna finally brought his horse to a stop a couple of hours after he’d rescued you. 

You assumed that it had still been the evening when he’d come to your rescue, because the sky seemed even darker now, especially under the cover of the forest. You’d expected Sukuna to take you directly back to the castle, but you must’ve been taken further from the palace than you’d expected.

Before you stood a rustic looking hut. A nice homely looking place similar to those that hunters would use for refuge when out deep in the forest. Sukuna dismounted, leaving you on the horse for a moment while he approached the hut, unlocking the door and disappearing inside for a few seconds before coming back out to lift you down from the horse. 

He carried you carefully inside and placed you down on a soft bed in the corner of the single-room cabin. You couldn’t see anything through the darkness, and Sukuna firmly told you to stay put while he tied up the animals and went to retrieve firewood from the porch. 

It took him no time at all to get a fire going, which gave you a chance to examine your surroundings. It was a lovely, cozy room - filled with animal skin blankets and rugs, with beautifully crafted wooden furniture in every corner of the room. The bed that you were on was particularly lovely, one of the comfiest that you’d ever laid upon. 

Or perhaps, you were just really tired. 

“This is my place.” Sukuna explained, noticing the way you were looking around. “Your father gave me lots of land after the war as a reward for my service. I come out here to hunt sometimes, or if I just want to be alone.” 

You tried giving him a tired smile, but you weren’t sure that it was actually showing on your face by the way that his eyebrows knitted together with concern. He stood up, satisfied that the fire was roaring, and moved over to the bed, taking a seat on the furs. 

“Can you talk to me, princess? I’m worried about you.” There was a great deal of fear evident in his tone, and it made your heart ache. 

You were quiet for a moment, as you tried to find the strength to speak. 

“You found me.” Your voice came out small and meek, but Sukuna still managed to hear you.

“I did. I promised that I’d always look after you.” He offered you a gentle smile, the relief in his eyes making it clear just how desperate he’d been to hear you speak. 

“Thank you. I thought that he was going to– uh-” You couldn’t even find the will to say the next few words, the reality of the situation too unpleasant for you to bear. But it was clear that Sukuna understood your meaning just fine. He reached out and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, softly running his fingers over your exposed skin. 

You’d hardly acknowledged that your dress had been ripped to shreds, that you were really just in your undergarments before him, and you suddenly felt a little shy. It was a different sense of embarrassment than how you’d felt when Mahito was stripping you, this was more akin to butterflies in your stomach. It was much more pleasant. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I failed you. I should’ve been with you in the castle, this never should’ve happened.” 

“You’re here now. You kept me safe.” Sukuna winced at your words as he pulled back a little, your skin feeling suddenly cold at the absence of his touch. His eyes were fixed on your damaged ankle - it was clear that guilt was eating away at him as he moved one hand to his disheveled hair, running his fingers carefully through it and sighing. 

“I let you get hurt. You were scared, all because I couldn’t keep my feelings in check long enough to protect you properly.” 

“It's not your fault.” You didn’t like seeing Sukuna like this, didn’t want him to blame himself. 

It wasn't his fault that he couldn’t have you, that the two of you had ended up in this situation where he needed space to avoid causing problems for both of you. You got it, you really did. It hurt more than anything, especially now that you were finally talking again after weeks of avoidance, but it would never be his fault. 

These were the roles you had to play. The timing of your kidnapping just happened to be massively unfortunate. 

“Oh stop, princess.” He said coldly. “I hate it when you do this, when you treat me like I’m just some other commoner that you have to be kind to for the sake of your image. You should hate me for how I’ve been treating you lately, and you should absolutely despise me for allowing you to get kidnapped, for putting you in the position where that asshole had his hands on you.” 

Your lower lip started to tremble at his words. You were too tired and confused to fight him, to give him what he wanted. If he’d prodded at you like this back when he first became your Knight you would’ve risen to it, would’ve yelled at him, but right now you just didn’t have the energy and your yearning for him was so great that you desperately didn’t want to push him away. 

Not when this was the most attention you’d gotten from him in weeks. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. “I don’t know what else to do. I don’t hate you at all, I don’t think I’m capable of that anymore.” Sukuna’s eyes widened in surprise at your words. “All I could think about when I was in there was how much I wanted you to rescue me. How much I believed you would rescue me. And you did.”

You lowered your head for a moment, finding it hard to look him in the eyes as you found your next words, feeling a little uncomfortable at the realisation of how vulnerable you were right now, your emotions running haywire after the evening that you’d had. 

Tears were dripping down your cheeks, and you kept your eyes firmly trained on your hands clasped in your lap as you spoke. “I like you Sukuna. I like you so much that it hurts. I know that you don’t want to take the risk, I get it, I forgive you and I don’t hate you, I’m never going to hate you.” Your voice was trembling, and you desperately started to wipe at your face with your hands, trying to slow the tears which seemed to just keep falling. 

It hurt, to say it all out loud, to admit to him what you really wanted. It was sharper than a wordless kiss in the night, much more of an open wound - a vulnerability which would lead to a far more stinging rejection. You couldn’t look at him, wouldn’t be able to bear it if you raised your head and saw pity on his face. 

“But it doesn’t matter anyway.” You said quickly, desperate not to hear him turn you down. “I’m just happy that you came to rescue me because I was so fucking scared. You don’t have to like me back like that, I get it, I can be happy just going back to the way we were, I’m sorry I made it complicated.” 

You moved to continue your rambling, words practically pouring out of your mouth at this point. But before you could say anything further his hands were on your face, softly wiping tears away with his thumb before leaning in closer, gently planting kisses on your cheeks and forehead, before tilting your chin up and kissing you sweetly on the lips. 

The sensation took your breath away, and your eyes were wide in surprise at the feeling of his soft lips against yours. For a moment you kissed him back, forgetting all of your strife and sinking into him. 

Before memories of that night in the garden came flooding back and you pulled away, unwilling to experience the same hurt as the last time this happened. 

His red eyes were examining you carefully as you moved back, his gaze filled with desire, and it took all of your willpower not to lean back in and kiss him again. It was unfair how beautiful he was. 

“We can’t.” You rasped. “You said we can’t.” 

He was being unfair. 

“You’re right.” He said softly. He was quiet for a moment, and it felt like the silence in the room was pressing down on you. “But you have no idea just how badly I want you.” He confessed. 

You could feel more tears gathering in your eyes. That was exactly what you wanted to hear, but somehow all you felt was pain. He wanted you as much as you wanted him but it meant nothing. It didn’t change anything. This kidnapping attempt might gain you enough pity from your father to delay your betrothal but you would eventually be married to one of those many suitors, it was inevitable. 

Sukuna’s confession meant nothing, and that hurt.

“So you’re just going to keep avoiding me until you don’t want me anymore?” You asked defeatedly. You weren’t sure that your heart could take much more of his presence or his absence. No matter which way you looked it felt like heartbreak. 

“No.” He hesitated for a moment, seemingly deep in thought before letting out a deep sigh of defeat. “I was going to suggest that we just give in.” 

You looked up at him in surprise, his suggestion completely throwing you for a loop. In every scenario that you had considered the two of you never even tried to be together - either Sukuna disappeared entirely from your life or he went back to just being your guard, without any of this weird tension. Sukuna had always seemed to draw the line on this issue, making it clear that being together wasn’t an option in any form. 

Because really it wasn’t - not publicly at least. 

“What?” You asked. 

“I’m sick of pretending, I’m sick of seeing you mope around the castle like some kicked puppy because of me, especially when I want to be with you anyway - it’s so fucking stupid.” Your heart was racing at where he was going with this, a glimmer of hope igniting itself in your chest. 

His hand reached for yours, tenderly running his fingers over your knuckles for a moment before continuing. “If you want me, if you really want me, we can do this.”

You felt like you needed to pinch yourself, as though you were caught in some dream that you’d awaken from in a few moments in more despair than ever. 

This was real. 

There was a vulnerable look on Sukuna’s face, an uncertainty that you weren’t familiar with him showing - as though he thought you’d turn him down on this just like you’d pulled away from the kiss. It was the same uncertainty that had plagued your mind for weeks, a lack of confidence that the other person truly felt the same way, the feeling that rejection was imminent. 

Maybe Sukuna wasn’t quite as good at reading you as you’d thought, because how could he believe even for a second that you’d turn him down?

“What about my father?” You asked cautiously, glancing up at him, trying your best not to look too giddy at the thought of being with him. 

Sukuna shrugged, trying to act nonchalant but it was clear that the lack of instant rejection from you had done a lot to ease his tension. “We’d have to keep this secret - that’s the cost of all this. It’ll suck but you’re worth it for me.” The way that he was looking at you so tenderly had your heart skipping.

You wondered if there was any way that you could convince your father to allow you to marry Sukuna, but you came up short - he was no noble after all. Perhaps you’d at least be able to stall your father on getting you married, so that you and Sukuna could have more time to figure out a plan on how to be together. 

“If we get caught, he’ll kill you.” You whispered.

“I know that, princess.” Sukuna said with a sigh. “I just don’t think I care anymore. When you got taken all I could think about was how much I regretted not holding on to you. I’m not making the same mistake twice.” 

Anxiety twisted in your stomach, knowing what this would mean. You’d be defying your duty as a princess, just as he’d be going against his as a Knight. It would put you both at risk - forever. 

But that was another day’s problem. For now you were exhausted and you’d just been offered everything you’d ever wanted from Sukuna. Future problems aside, there was no way that you were going to throw away this opportunity. The troublesome side of it could wait, you could figure it out together. 

For now you just wanted to give in. 

Sukuna’s gaze was flitting over you, evidently impatient to hear what you had to say to his proposal. “Okay.” You whispered softly. “I want you. I really really really want you.” You were gazing up at him adoringly, and a satisfied smile crossed his lips. 

“Hopefully you won’t regret those words princess, because I’m never letting you go.” He said, before capturing your lips in a deep kiss, one of his hands finding its way around your waist while the other slid around the back of your neck, pulling you close against him. 

You leant into his kiss, your hands finding their way to his back, clinging to him desperately. He felt so warm, it was comforting to have him pressed up against you. Even though you’d only kissed once before tonight, it felt so familiar for you to be close to him like this, as though it was where you belonged. 

His tongue flicked lightly at your lips, and you opened your mouth for him, allowing him to deepen the kiss. You felt a little shy as he did so, worried that your inexperience kissing might put him off - but he didn’t seem to mind, taking the lead as he moved his tongue against yours, his hand moving to rake gently through your hair. 

Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of its ribcage, and as you both pulled back for air the sheer amount of butterflies in your stomach had you shaking. He was grinning at you boyishly, his red eyes filled with desire and you realised that you’d never felt this wanted before. 

Sure, you’d had suitor after suitor thrown your way throughout your life, and had experienced plenty of men like Naoya and Mahito leer at you as though you were some pretty object that they could own. 

But the way that Sukuna was looking at you right now was different to anything you’d ever experienced. 

He knew you beyond just the surface. He’d truly seen you, had unravelled you as a person beyond just you as a princess, had seen your sadness and the traits that you hated most about yourself, had seen you be everything but perfect and sophisticated and he was still looking at you like that, like you held his whole heart in your hands. 

“You’re so pretty, baby.” Your eyes widened a little at the new nickname, unprepared for such a compliment. You didn’t feel pretty right now, with your clothes dirty and torn, and a fresh wound across your cheek. But the fact that he thought it, even with you in this state of disarray, had your stomach doing somersaults. 

“Thanks.” You squeaked out, feeling suddenly shy as you glanced down. You’d been putting so much of your focus on yearning for him that now that it was actually happening you were suddenly hyper-aware of how out of depth you were when it came to men. The kiss had been impulsive, it was easy to just react to what he was doing. 

But what would come next? 

The compliment alone had your brain running haywire, and the thought that the two of you could now do something more than kissing had you ready to explode with anxiety and anticipation. 

Because even for all the reading of your smutty book, you had no real idea of how all of that stuff worked. 

Sukuna, in his ever-perceptive way, seemed to catch on to your train of thought instantly, letting out a soft chuckle and tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “Already overthinking everything, princess?” He asked. 

“I- sorry, it's just- I feel like I might end up being a disappointment to you…”

He tilted his head in question, his expression a little humorous, evidently finding your nervousness amusing. “Oh? How so?” 

“You’ve been with lots of women right?” The words tumbled out quickly. “I heard lots of rumors about it…and I don’t really have any experience with relationships in general, and also with uh- you know…” You trailed off and hoped he wouldn’t ask you to elaborate any further, the embarrassment at the thought of spelling out to him that you didn’t know anything about sex was way too great. 

The big grin that had been spreading across his face as you spoke was infuriating, he’d always loved taking pleasure in your humiliation. “I don’t know, you’re going to have to enlighten me.” He teased. 

You glared at him, cheeks burning bright red. “Please don’t make me.” You begged. 

“Aw come on baby, use your words for me.” His eyes were glinting with mischief. 

“I don’t know anything about sex.” You lowered your voice a little, practically whispering the final word to try and spare yourself the embarrassment. 

He laughed, ruffling your hair softly. “Good girl.” He praised, those words mixed together with his low tone had your stomach twisting itself in knots, a needy sensation pulsing through your body. 

“To answer your question.” He continued. “Yeah, I’ve been with a lot of women, but only ever for sex. Generally it would be a one-night only type of thing, so my experience with relationships isn’t particularly better than yours anyway.” 

“Oh.” You weren’t sure if that came as a surprise to you or not, but in a selfish sort of way it made you feel good - special even, that he’d chosen you. 

“And yeah, I’m much more experienced with sex than you, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“It's not?” You asked innocently. You couldn’t imagine that being with someone who didn’t really know what they were doing would be better than being with someone who did. 

“No.” He said with a smile. “I can teach you everything you need to know. Besides, I like the idea of being the only person who’s seen you like that, it makes me feel like you’re really mine.” You blushed, feeling warm at that idea, more grateful than ever that Sukuna had managed to rescue you from Mahito before that disgusting man could do anything to you.

The nagging thought that you could never really just be his wormed its way into your head, but you pushed it away quickly. 

A bridge to cross when you come to it. 

“I think,” Sukuna continued, “that you don’t quite understand how much I like you. I know what your experience is and I couldn’t care less, I just want you.” 

You nodded, but as desperately as you wanted him too you could feel uncertainty blooming in your chest at the thought of him taking your virginity. He was the man that you wanted to do it, there was no question in your mind about that, but if you were going to be married in the future, if you and Sukuna couldn’t find a way to avoid that, would your new husband know that you’d been tainted? 

Could it give the whole game away and lead to Sukuna’s execution?

Sukuna seemed to notice the worry in your eyes, because he was hasty to put you at ease. “We don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to, there's no rush to do anything right now.” He promised. “We can take things as slow as you like, after what Mahito tried doing to you I wouldn’t be surprised if you were scared-” 

“It's not that.” You interrupted. If anything, what had happened with Mahito made you more enthusiastic to lay with Sukuna, to let the object of your desire have his way with you and claim you as his before some horrible fate could befall you first. The thought that Mahito was almost the first man to be with you made you feel sick. 

“Then what is it, baby?” He asked. 

“It's just- a princess’s virginity is just seen as this sacred thing. My whole value is dictated around me being pure, that’s what any suitor would expect from me. If they find out that I’m not and they put two and two together they could execute you, Sukuna.” 

“That’s a risk I’m prepared to take for you, princess.” Sukuna said solemnly, the hand that he had gripped around your waist moving slowly up and down your side. “But we don’t have to do anything, I can leave your innocence intact if that’s what you want, I’m not going to push you into anything.” 

You were quiet for a moment, basking in the feeling of Sukuna’s fingers moving against your waist. It felt so good, having this conversation with him, him freely touching you like this - even with all the worries that would come with your situation, he was what you really wanted and he was right here in front of you. 

“I want you to take my virginity.” You said finally, looking up at him. His expression was surprised, as though he wasn’t expecting you to make a decision right away. 

“Okay, princess.” He said after a beat of silence. “If that’s really what you want, once we get back to the castle-” 

“I meant right now.” Your tone was firm, your gaze unwavering as your eyes fixed on his red ones. That really caught him off guard, pink eyebrows raising in surprise as he removed his hand from your waist and ran it through his hair. 

“You’re not thinking straight, princess - you’ve just been through a lot of trauma, I don’t want to take advantage of you being scared and confused.” He responded. Your heart swelled at the care that he displayed for you, how gentle he was capable of being when it was the two of you despite the gruff nature that he displayed with everyone else. 

This legendary Knight, who you’d just wanted brutally murder three people, was flustered about the idea of laying with you, about the idea of potentially hurting you.

“My head’s never been clearer, Sukuna.” You spoke softly. “Please, I’ve had the world’s worst day, and I want you so much that it hurts.” 

You peered up at him, your eyes filled with need and desire, and you could see his resistance crumbling. He wanted you just as badly as you wanted him. 

“You’re really hard to say no to sometimes, princess.” He grumbled as both his hands found their way to your waist, very gently pushing you to lay back on the mattress, careful to avoid nudging or moving your injured ankle as he clambered on top of you. With his knees on either side of your smaller body, he leaned in close, his nose brushing against yours. “Always looking up at me with that cute little pout, you drive me fucking insane.” 

His lips met yours once more in a gentle kiss, pressing his chest against yours and taking his time exploring your mouth before pulling back for a moment. “I’ll give you what you want, baby.” He promised. “But please tell me to stop if you change your mind, I don’t want to hurt something so precious to me.” 

You nodded before craning your head up to kiss him once more, your hands snaking behind his head and into his pink hair, pulling him closer. It felt nice to finally touch his hair, it always looked so soft, and you’d spent plenty of time wondering how it would feel to have your fingers tangled in it. Sukuna groaned softly against your mouth as you played with the strands, clearly enjoying the feeling of your touch. 

Slowly, his hands slid up your sides, making their way to the front of your ripped dress. Goosebumps started to rise as his fingers brushed against your bare skin for a moment before starting to undress you. He pulled back from the kiss as he slid your tattered dress down your body, leaving you only in your undergarments.

He leant down and brought his lips to your neck, kissing and nipping gently against the exposed skin. It was a feeling like nothing you’d ever experienced before, leaving you squirming against his body as he left a trail of hot kisses against your skin. 

“Fuck princess, keep pressing yourself up against me like that and I’m not going to be able to hold back.” 

“I don’t want you to hold back.” You pouted. 

Chuckling softly, his hands found the straps of your undergarments, removing the lacy material from your body in a swift, practiced motion. 

A shy, anxious feeling settled into your stomach as the fabric covering you disappeared, leaving you completely naked beneath him. No one outside of your handmaids throughout the years had ever seen your bare form. He was the first man to ever lay eyes on you like this. It was exposing, vulnerable, nerve-wracking even at the thought that he might not like what he sees. 

Sukuna sat back for a moment, eyes sweeping over your naked body. You found yourself moving to cover your breasts with your arms, uncertainty weighing heavily on you. Sukuna caught your wrists before you could conceal yourself, easily holding your arms out of the way so he could properly admire you. 

“You’re beautiful.” He said breathlessly, his hands releasing their grip on your wrists and moving to your waist, fingers running along your exposed skin all the way up to your breasts. He shot you a quick look to check for any discomfort before gripping at your breasts softly with his hands, squeezing gently and running his thumbs over the peaked buds, watching with fascination as you jolted and whimpered at the new sensation. 

It felt so good to have him touch you there, you felt so sensitive - every gentle touch sent pulsing desire straight between your legs, the wetness growing significantly with Sukuna’s unwavering attention. 

“Does that feel nice, baby?” He asked. 

“Mhmmm.” You let out a contented little sigh, blinking up at him innocently. He looked so pretty above you, and the feeling of his calloused hands against your breasts was practically driving you crazy. You couldn’t believe that this was really happening. 

Your eyes trailed down his body. He’d taken off his armor when he’d entered the hut, leaving him in his simple black tunic and trousers. You reached up and tugged at the fabric needily, imploring him to take it off. “What?” He asked teasingly, fingers still slowly massaging your breasts. 

“Take this off.” You mumbled impatiently, gripping more tightly at the cloth. 

“So bossy.” He said with a little laugh, but complied easily, pulling the tunic over his head and discarding it across the room. The sight of his bare chest had you gasping - his body was gorgeous, so perfectly chiseled with his dark tattoos running all over his skin. Fascinated by his muscles, you found yourself running your hands over his abs, enjoying the warmth of his body beneath your fingers. 

“See something you like?” He asked, an amused expression on his handsome face. 

“Obviously.” You grumbled, refusing to entertain his teasing. He watched you trace the lines of his tattoos down his chest for a moment longer before pulling back and discarding his trousers, leaving him in only his undergarments. Your eyes went straight down to the final piece of fabric covering him, a deep red blush filling your face at the sight of the large bulge between his legs. 

You were quick to look away. It was silly, to feel embarrassed to look, but you’d never seen a man like that before - it felt wrong, scandalous even. 

Sukuna said nothing, leaning back over you. His fingers pinched firmly at your nipple, causing you to arch your back in pleasure before he moved down to start kissing along your chest, trailing open mouth kisses across one of your breasts until he reached your nipple, teasing the peaked bud with his tongue for a moment before taking it into his mouth, sucking on the sensitive skin.

A soft moan of his name fell from your lips, and you found your hands grasping at his hair, pulling him closer to you, desperate for more. He was happy to oblige, flicking his tongue against one nipple while his fingers deftly tweaked the other, drawing out more and more whines from your mouth. 

You felt so good. You’d never imagined that someone could make you feel like this. You were certain that none of the suitors that your father had lined up for you would ever be able to make you writhe and squirm with desire beneath them like this.

No, only Sukuna was capable of this. 

As he continued to lavish your breasts with attention, his free hand slid down your body and came to settle between your legs. You flinched as the pads of his fingers brushed against your aching clit, almost embarrassed as his hand came to rest between your folds, allowing him to realise just how wet you were all because of him. 

“You really do want this huh, princess?” He spoke teasingly, fingers running lazily through your dripping folds. In any other situation you would’ve told him to shut up, scolded him for his words, but you knew that there was absolutely no way he’d take you seriously considering the way that you were pathetically mewling from his touch. 

One of his fingers prodded gently at your opening, and you instantly tensed up with anxiety. You’d masturbated before, but never using penetration. The most you’d ever do was touch your clit and get yourself off that way - the thought of having anything inside you had always been a little bit intimidating. 

“Can I?” Sukuna asked, red eyes focused on you, waiting for your permission before he went any further. 

“Will it hurt?” You asked quietly.

“It might.” Sukuna responded honestly, not prepared to sugarcoat it for you and give you any false hope. You appreciated that. “But I’ll be as gentle as I can be - if you endure it now, it won’t be so bad when I fill you up with my cock.” 

His crass use of words had you feeling flustered. Such talk wasn’t really common around you after all, people were generally always so proper and polite when it came to princesses. Not to mention, you hadn’t yet quite processed the fact that he would be filling you with his cock later - that this was really happening, he was going to take your virginity. 

You gave him a brave nod, and slowly he pushed one finger into you. Sukuna’s fingers were thick, and one alone already felt like a lot. It was an odd sensation, having something inside you for the first time. You’d expected it to be painful, but it felt strange more than anything else.

He kept his eyes on you as he started to very slowly pump his finger in and out of you, getting you used to the sensation of having something foreign inside you. Satisfied that you weren’t in pain or experiencing any trauma from the experience he went back to licking at your nipple, distracting you as he slowly slipped a second finger into you.

At this intrusion you seized up a little. The stretch was much more intense now, but the pain dissipated almost as soon as it appeared, Sukuna expertly moving his fingers inside you against a spongy spot that had you forgetting all about the stretch, too preoccupied with how good each flick of his fingers felt paired with the pressure of his mouth against your breast. 

“You’re doing so well.” He murmured against your skin as he scissored his fingers inside you, trying to stretch you out as much as he possibly could, clearly concerned about how you’d react to taking his cock if he didn’t put in the work here. 

The palm of his hand was rubbing against your clit, and you could feel that familiar tingly feeling of an orgasm building up as he added a third finger into you. A soft cry of pain left your lips and Sukuna added more pressure to your clit with his palm, hand rubbing up against it as he moved his fingers, overwriting the pain with pleasure as all three fingers scraped against that nice spot inside you. 

“Need to get you nice and ready for me, princess.” He purred. 

Your breathing quickened and the sensation in your gut grew with each flick of his wrist. It never felt this good when you tried getting yourself off - having his long, thick fingers buried inside your pussy was an entirely different level to just playing with your clit alone in your room. 

You needed more of this. 

Sensing that you were close to release, Sukuna sped up the movement of his fingers, taking one of your nipples between his teeth and tugging gently. The painful pleasure of the action sent you crashing over the edge, your pussy clenching and gushing around his fingers as you came for him for the first time. His name left your lips as a cry, and he pulled back from your breasts, capturing your lips in a deep and possessive kiss. 

He moved his fingers slowly inside you for a few more minutes as he kissed you, waiting until you stopped trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm before removing them from you completely. 

It felt a little embarrassing to see his fingers all covered in your slick, and you had an internal panic that he’d find it gross. But as he pulled them out of you, he didn’t skip a beat as he brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked your juices off of them. 

“You’re so sweet.” He said affectionately, and you had no idea how to react, feeling completely out of your depth with all of the new things that you were experiencing so quickly right now. 

He didn’t give you too long to linger on it, because all of a sudden he was pulling off his undergarments, setting his cock free, and the sight of that cleared your mind of any other thoughts.

His cock was huge. It hung heavily between his legs - long and thick with a prominent vein running up the side. 

You felt intimidated. You’d expected him to be big, that’s what girls always gushed about when they’d spread rumors about him after all, but you didn’t expect him to be this big, and you found that your mind was running wild with anxiety, wondering how you’d ever fit that inside you. 

He seemed very smug with your reaction, something that you were certainly going to scold him for later, after you’d managed to survive having him fill you up. 

“Sukuna.” You whispered. “I don’t think it’ll fit.” 

“We’ll make it fit, princess - I wasn’t prepping you for nothing.” His expression softened at the fear in your eyes. “Just trust me, I’ll make sure it feels good.” 

You did trust him. In all the time that he’d been your Knight he’d always done right by you, always protected you when you needed it - why would you think that this would be any different?

Positioning you carefully amongst the furs, he hovered over you, admiring your body and running his cock through your folds, gathering slick along his tip before positioning himself at your dripping entrance. 

“Are you sure about this?” He asked quietly, his red eyes fixed on your face.

You blinked up at him. Your mind was still a little hazy from the first orgasm that he’d given you, and from the realisation of just how big he was, but you were aware enough to know how much you really did want this, even if it might hurt. 

You nodded at him, worried that the nerves might seep into your voice if you spoke your agreement aloud. He looked at you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. “Tell me if it hurts.” He said sternly. 

You’d heard plenty of horror stories in your life about how bad a first time could be, and considering just how big Sukuna was you were almost certain that it was going to hurt - if he could fit himself inside you at all. But you couldn’t really bring yourself to care, your mind too overtaken with lust and desire for him, too enamoured with the thought of finally being that close to him. 

“Okay.” You managed to whisper, and that seemed enough agreement for Sukuna as he finally started to press the tip of his cock into you. 

Despite the time that he’d taken carefully stretching you out on his fingers, you weren’t at all prepared for the stretch of his cock. It was so big - even just the tip, and you found yourself aching immediately as he slowly inched himself into you. 

You squeezed your eyes closed, desperately trying to focus on anything other than the pain, tears springing to the corners of your eyes. He’d only managed to get around a third of the way in when he was halting his movements, his thumbs tenderly wiping away the tears dripping down your cheeks as you whimpered softly. 

“It's okay baby, you’re doing so good for me.” He cooed. “You feel so good, like you were made for me.” 

It was obvious that was a lie, considering how little of his was actually fitting inside of you right now, but you were in no position to argue with him. 

“You just need to relax.” He murmured soothingly. “If you tense up it’ll just hurt more.” You could understand that in theory, but it felt like an impossible ask when he was splitting you apart so thoroughly. 

At the realisation that you couldn’t easily relax on your own, Sukuna brought one of his hands to your clit, his fingers circling the bundle of nerves in a practiced manner. It didn’t take away the pain completely, but it did blend the ache together with an odd sort of pleasure, the tension in your muscles easing ever so slightly. 

“There we go princess, just relax.” A small whine escaped your throat and Sukuna took that opportunity to continue sinking into you, moving slowly and rubbing at your clit until he was fully sheathed inside you. 

You felt full, unbearably so. Your body was shivering a little, completely unaccustomed to having something inside you like this. But at the same time there was an odd sensation of pleasure, of elation from having Sukuna pressed up against you so intimately. A burning desire in your gut that wanted him even deeper inside you. 

“Doing okay?” He asked, his free hand stroking your hair as he planted kisses all over your face, staying as still as he possibly could to let you adjust to his size. It was clear that he desperately wanted to start moving - you could feel his cock twitching with need inside you. 

“Y-yeah. You’re so big.” You whimpered quietly, and a cocky smirk grew across Sukuna’s face.

“I am.” He agreed, and you tried not to roll your eyes at how proud of himself he sounded. “Want me to start moving, princess?” 

You gave him a little nod, and Sukuna began to move his hips, pulling himself almost all the way out of you before filling you up once more. He started off with a relatively slow pace, examining your expression as he moved, ready to stop at any hint of pain. 

The ache was still there, but it had been subdued a little now, and you found yourself moving your hips against his, trying to pull him closer to you. It felt so good, having his big, warm body on top of yours, feeling his even heartbeat against your skin. You’d never thought that you’d get to feel this way with anyone - sex had always been something that you’d viewed as an obligation, an act you’d have to partake in as a princess.

But as Sukuna’s cock slid in and out of you, you realised just how good it felt, how much you wanted more of this, to cling on to your Knight and never let him go. 

Content that you seemed to be coping, Sukuna sped up his pace. He gripped your hands in his, pinning them on either side of your head as he leant in closer to you, capturing your mouth in a sloppy kiss as he slammed his hips into yours. 

It felt incredible, his cock hitting spots so deep inside of you that you were seeing stars. Over and over again he abused one pleasant spot forcing the coil in your stomach to tighten and your eyes to water. You couldn’t hold back the moans that poured from you mouth, whimpers of his name as he fucked you so good. 

You squeezed tightly at his hands, enjoying the attention that he was giving you, his lips exploring your face and neck, groaning out your name each time your pussy squeezed around him involuntarily. 

He must’ve noticed the way that your body was starting to tremble, the way that your moans were becoming breathier, because he released one of your hands, bringing his fingers back down to your clit, rubbing his thumb up against it, making you arch your back in pleasure. 

“Are you close, baby?” He asked breathlessly against your ear, the tickle of his breath against your skin making your pussy clench desperately around his cock.

“Y-yeah.” You whined, the feeling in your gut growing almost unbearable, so tightly wound that it could burst at any moment. 

“Then cum for me.” He ordered. You did as you were told, allowing yourself to let go, your orgasm crashing over you, letting out a desperate cry of his name as your body convulsed with how good it felt. You were squeezing him more tightly than ever and he let out a low groan, evidently trying to hold off on his own release for a little while longer. 

He stilled for a moment, admiring the way you were twitching beneath him, brushing a few stray hairs out of your face and planting a soft kiss on your lips before maneuvering you into a new position, giving you no time to come down from your orgasm. 

Wrapping his arms around your back, he pulled the two of you up into sitting position, keeping his cock buried inside you as he did so. He placed you on his lap, the two of you sitting face to face with your breasts pressed up against his chest. Affectionately, he nuzzled his nose against yours before kissing you deeply, slowly moving his tongue against yours as his hands went to your ass, gripping tightly and shifting you up and down his shaft as if you weighed nothing. 

A moan escaped your mouth, surprised at how good this new position felt as he started to fuck you again. It was as though he was much deeper inside you like this, and with each thrust you could swear that he was in your guts. It was euphoric. 

Lazily, he bounced you up and down on his cock, taking the time to explore your mouth properly with his tongue before moving his lips down to your shoulders, sucking purple marks into your skin where he knew your dress could cover them. 

You wished that he could mark you everywhere, enamoured with the thought of him leaving purple bites all up your neck - but no matter what your lust-fueled brain wanted in the moment, that would spell an almost immediate end to your secret relationship, so for now you’d have to do without it. 

You dropped your head to his shoulder, mirroring the actions he was performing on you, gently nipping and sucking at the skin on his shoulders, leaving your own little purple marks. Your hands traced delicately along the tattoos on his upper body, enjoying the way he shuddered and his cock twitched when you dragged your nails down the lines on his back. 

“Fuck.” He groaned, huskily whispering out your name. “Not gonna last much longer like this, baby. Squeezing me so fucking hard.” 

Your heart skipped a beat at the praise. You’d been so worried about not appeasing him - that he’d be disappointed with your lack of experience even with his assurance that wasn’t the case. The confirmation that you were making him feel good did something to you. 

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed at you for a moment, as though he’d noticed something interesting. He leant forward and pressed his lips against your ear. “You’re such a good girl for me.” He purred, and you instinctively clenched around him, the praise going straight to your pussy. 

He chuckled softly against you, feeling the rumble of his laughter through his whole body. “Aw, you love being praised, huh?” He teased, starting to move you more quickly up and down his cock, the slap of skin against skin echoing around the cabin. “Can feel that pretty pussy squeeze me everytime I throw you a little compliment, how cute.” 

There was a part of your brain that was telling you to feel embarrassed by his words, but for the most part you were too caught up in how good it all felt to really be mad at his poking. What was the point in getting frustrated when he was right?

“Were you like this before? Did I make you all wet whenever I was nice to you?” His voice was coming out raspier now, it was clear that he was reaching his own release, and you could feel that familiar pressure building up in your gut once more. “Did you ever lie in bed and touch yourself to the thought of me? Read your dirty little book and imagine me as the evil prince making you feel so good?” 

Your face was bright red, and you tried to save yourself from the humiliation of his question by burying your face in his neck, clinging to him as he hit that wonderful spot inside you over and over again, focusing on nothing but your incoming orgasm. 

But Sukuna seemed hellbent on teasing you, because he slowed down his movements for a moment. “Come on pretty girl, you gonna give me an answer?” 

You tilted your head back to glare at him, meeting his mischievous grin as he waited patiently for you to speak. He’d ceased his movements completely now, holding you still in his lap, his cock buried fully inside you. 

“I’ll need an answer if you want me to let you cum.” He teased, completely aware of how much of an upper hand he had over you. You wanted him to keep going, wanted him to let you unravel in his arms once more. 

“I did.” You whispered, so quietly that it was almost inaudible. 

“What was that?” He asked with a grin. “Couldn’t quite hear you.” 

“I did.” You spoke a bit louder this time, hoping that your response would be satisfactory enough for him to get back to fucking you. 

“Hmmmm, you did what, princess? I need you to spell it out for me.” His fingers were on your clit again, circling it lightly, not giving you nearly enough pressure to get anything out of it beyond need and frustration. You squirmed desperately, but as you stared up at him you knew that he wasn’t going to give in until you gave him what he wanted.

You sighed. “I read the book and thought of you, okay? I touched myself to the thought of you after we kissed. I even had a dirty dream about you way back when you first became my guard!” That last one just slipped out, catching even you by surprise - he definitely did not need to know that. 

Sukuna’s eyes were wide with surprise, but he was only caught off guard for a second before a smug smile was making its way onto his face and he was bouncing you on his cock again. “Oh? Isn’t that amusing, who knew you were so desperate for me?” 

You tried pouting up at him, but you weren’t sure that you conveyed your frustration with his teasing all that well, with little whines slipping from your lips as he bounced you faster and faster on his cock, driving into that spot that made you feel so good. You were squeezing hard around him now, face buried into his skin and your fingers gripping desperately at his shoulders as another orgasm hit you. 

This one was even better than the previous one, Sukuna not slowing down his pace at all as you rode it out, abusing that squishy spot inside you over and over again until tears were dripping down your cheeks from how good you felt. 

As your pussy constricted hard around his length, he reached his own release, his cock twitching and releasing his cum into you, filling you up to the brim with his seed. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind you were aware that what he’d just done was dangerous, that if you become pregnant with his baby it would be over for the both of you, but in that moment with his warmth flooding into you, it was hard to bring yourself to care. 

His arms were wrapped tightly around you, holding you in a firm embrace against him, softening cock still deep inside you. It was lovely, just to be that close with him. But after a few minutes, the cum dripping from you was growing cold, the sensation unpleasant and Sukuna reluctantly pulled himself out of you. 

An attempt was made for you to pull yourself to your feet, temporarily forgetting about the drastic state of your ankle, but Sukuna was quick to stop you, pushing you back into the plush comfort of the bed, insisting that he’d clean you up himself. 

He grabbed a towel, wiping himself off first before delicately cleaning the mess he’d made between your legs. Somehow this felt like more intimate of an act than sex itself, suddenly shy about your exposed body in the firelight. Sukuna seemed completely unbothered, content to sit naked beside you as he cleaned you up. 

“How’re you feeling?” He asked, as he finished wiping your thighs.

“Good.” Your voice was a little shaky, your body still in that light, floaty feeling as you came down from your third orgasm of the night. 

“Good.” He responded, but his brows were knitted together in concern as he looked at you. “Do you...regret it?” The uncertainty in his tone caught you off guard. Had it not been obvious to him how much you’d enjoyed it? 

“No- no!” You stumbled a little on the words at the speed that they came out, evidently catching Sukuna by surprise at the energetic response. “I think that was the best I’ve ever felt.” You said honestly. “Thank you.” 

Sukuna's shoulders relaxed and he let out a sigh as he discarded the towel and turned back to face you, gesturing for you to shuffle out of the way as he peeled back the furs on the bed and motioned for you to move beneath them. 

“I thought you were going to be disappointed or something.” He confessed, in a surprising display of vulnerability from him. You tilted your head in confusion as you looked up at him, waiting for more of an elaboration. “The only thing you knew about sex was from that book of yours, right? I thought it might not live up to your expectations.” 

“Oh!” You responded, looking away from him in thought for a moment before continuing. “It was way better than the book.” 

“It was?” Sukuna asked. 

“Yeah. The prince in the book is some random guy, why would I ever prefer that to having you?” 

Sukuna’s red eyes were wide with shock for a moment, before he smirked at you, his ego very obviously stroked by your response. “Right…” 

“I guess you have no idea how much I like you.” You said with a soft giggle, an action that seemed to light up Sukuna’s whole face. He let out a little scoff before clambering beneath the furs next to you. His arms snaked around your body, positioning one of them comfortably beneath your neck, and wrapping the other firmly around your waist, pulling you close against his chest. 

You held onto him tightly with both hands, heart racing from being all snuggled up with him like this, your legs instinctively tangling together beneath the furs, allowing you to be as close as possible. He smelt so good, a pleasant sense of contentment settling over you at being wrapped up with him, the constant rise and fall of his chest keeping you grounded and calm. 

You wanted to stay here, limbs tangled with his, for the rest of your life. 

He kissed you softly on the top of your head and you closed your eyes, grateful to be spending the night here in his arms, having avoided the grizzly fate Mahito and his men had in store for you. 

“Sukuna.” You whispered quietly, after a few moments of you both laying in silence.

“Mmm?” 

“We’re going to be okay right?” You asked. “We’ll figure out how to make this work?” 

Sukuna was silent for a long time, so long that you almost wondered if he’d fallen asleep - it had been a long night after all. 

“I’m not letting you go.” He responded finally. “Come what may, you’ll always be mine. I’ll make sure of it.” 

And as you curled up closer against his body, drifting off to sleep in that comfortable bed, the flickering light of the dying fire illuminating both your bodies, you desperately hoped that was a promise he could keep.

a/n: thanks for reading, we finally got them together!! but i've still got lots more on my plan for this fic! should have the next chapter up next weekend.

Fun fact, the kiss scene was inspired by guts and casca's first kiss in berserk, those panels always send my heart RACING.

Just let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! thank you for all the support on this fic, reblogs and comments are appreciated as always <3

Taglist: @ccazimi @ryomeowie @qardasngan @poopooindamouf @pick-pookie @noooo-onee @ravenwitchh @wobblewobble822 @being-blue-is-better @sukubusss @kittsoraxx @lanaleanne @cherixheri @kunascutie @karvokr @jungkookyeager @cosmotoic @rie-star @fushiguroooozzz @rinofcike @weebgirl21 @keiameeee @sanriodork @lillyxsj @eepydeepysleepy @surgikull @pinkpookiebear @saltypuffin1040 @peachysweet-mwah @therealjustpeachesback @gamerhere @yeagersss @madison777x @rahluvskunatoru @mikari73 @weeezeerrss @osteawb @00frenchfries00 @squishedcockroach @i0lovepink00 @ragaliafox @illnweol @ilovesmolkittycats @ayameeyurei @sleezzsister

© sukunahs

[woncheolisms]

who is in control? (choi seungcheol x reader x yoon jeonghan)

summary: seungcheol doesn’t want to see you with other men. he only wants to see you with jeonghan.

word count: 3k

warnings: scoups x reader (established), jeonghan x reader, smut, nsfw unprotected sex, voyeurism, oral (fem!receiving), orgasm denial, edging, dacryphilia, degradation.

There’s something unbearably attractive about Yoon Jeonghan.

Most of your friends would agree with you. You are absolutely right. Jeonghan is one of the most physically attractive people you have ever seen. Big, beautiful doe eyes, brown like caramel, and soft, long black hair that hits his shoulders and curls around the nape of his neck in a way that looks almost whimsical. He’s skinny, but anyone who looks at him as closely as you do can see how toned his muscles are. He doesn’t have a lot of energy, but he plays a lot of sports, and he’s good at them. You have watched him from the sidelines of these casual games many times, and they always left you with a bit of a thrill running down your spine.

When Seungcheol had first introduced you to Jeonghan, you hadn’t been able to see his face properly in the dim lights of the bar where you met up with your boyfriend after getting off work. He was bathed in shadows, but you could see the way he was laid back against the booth, the light scattered on the planes of his torso, and how smoothly he leaned forward to give you a thin lipped smile, a glimmer in his eyes that you couldn’t tell was for you.

Thus began the guilt. The terrible disgust in your body incited at the thought of being attracted to another man when your hunk of a boyfriend left no stone unturned to take care of you in every way you needed. Seungcheol was your exact type, buff, strong, reliable, with a little bit of a possessive streak. You had been together so long that you settled into a wonderful rhythm, fitting into each other’s lives like fated puzzle pieces. You loved Seungcheol the way you needed to breathe, like a necessity, a fact of life. There was no one in this world for you but him.

You would never date Jeonghan. But you always wondered.

There was something in the way Jeonghan carried himself. A certain self-reassurance that made him attractive to you. He was sharp as all hell, perceptive, and any minute you spent with him, you were paranoid he would figure out these feelings brewing up inside of you. What you should’ve been worried about were the knowing eyes of your boyfriend, trained on you, half lidded and clouded, as if he knew every dirty thought in your mind.

It isn’t until a few nights later, when Seungcheol is balls deep in you, that you realize he knows.

You’re panting and moaning at the feeling, knees squeezing his sides as he pounds hard into you. Sex with Seungcheol is always intense, but tonight he is being especially rough, not that you mind. You love it like this, when his fingertips dig into the flesh of your hips hard enough to color the skin a faint purple, when his thrusts are sloppier but deeper, knocking the air out of your lungs. He hits a spot no one else has ever reached, and you're already coming apart at the seams when he leans down, pushes his weight just right into your chest, and his lips brush the shell of your left ear.

“You want Jeonghan to fuck you like this?”

Your eyes shoot open, breath catching in your throat so harshly you almost choke, but Seungcheol uses that moment to slam hard into you before going still and grinding, so the tip of his cock presses urgently into your sweet spot, and you can’t help but cry out, back lifting off the bed as stars burst in your vision. Strong fingers weave through the roots of your hair as he keeps moving, tugging just enough that you’re forced to meet his eyes, to focus on how blown his pupils are, how flushed his skin is, and how his breath trembles just a bit. You almost come when you are hit with the realization; he’s enjoying this.

“Yes.” You gasp out. “I want to feel him.”

Seungcheol’s mouth tugs up, an almost sadistic glint in his eye. He pulls out, rams back inside. You force your eyes to stay open, taking in his every reaction.

“You wanna see it, Cheolie?” You coo, nails digging into his arms. “You wanna watch while your friend takes what’s yours?”

He groans, and you can almost see the exact moment he falls apart, speeding up his thrusts as he paints your insides white, low curses leaving his lips. His whole body shakes. You wonder how intense his orgasm must have felt, but your thoughts quickly fly out the window when he pulls out and immediately shuffles down, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

……………………………………..

You don’t bring it up afterwards, and neither does he. But something has shifted between you two, you can tell. Now that you know, you notice how Seungcheol looks at you in group settings when Jeonghan is in the vicinity. It’s almost like he’s goading you, wanting you to ogle Jeonghan. To talk to him, to casually touch his arm. And when you get home from these meet ups, sex is always harder, rougher, dirtier.

You are surprised when Seungcheol finally mentions, months later, that he might actually want to act on this.

“Finally.” You tease, nudging his side. He glares at you, but there’s no heat behind it. “I’m surprised, Cheol. I never thought you were the sharing type.”

“I’m not.” You almost want to laugh at how pouty he is being. “Jeonghan is….. different.”

You hum, studying him closely. You know what he means, kind of. Jeonghan is different. He’s alluring in a way that makes everyone want him. And in Seungcheol’s case, he wants to watch him fuck you.

“You need to think about this.” You say. “It’s different when we’re just using the thought to get off, Cheol. Once this happens….”

“I know.” He smirks a bit. “I know what I want.”

His confidence turns you on a bit. But then another thought comes to you, stopping you in your tracks.

“Wait-” You stare at him. “Does…. Does Jeonghan know?”

Seungcheol’s smirk widens. You gape at him.

“What the fuck?” You shriek, hands grabbing the pillow behind you so you can clobber him with it. Seungcheol laughs.

“I wanted to run it by him first!” He protests, holding his arms up to shield himself. You halt.

”And?” Your heart pounds.

Seuncheol looks cheeky as ever. “He’s game.”

…………………………………………

You sigh as the tingles of pleasure spread through your body, blinking up at the ceiling. Your toes curl, and your hips jerk as a particularly strong zip of electricity pulses in your core. Large hands close around the insides of your thighs in response, holding you in place. Unfamiliar hands.

“You move too much.” His voice is so soft it almost pulls you out of your lust filled haze. But you feel his tongue again, licking almost languidly over your clit, and you sink back into the feeling with a sigh.

“She’s really sensitive. You’ll need to hold her down.” A rough voice chimes in from the corner of the room, and your eyes travel to the chair where your boyfriend resides, head low, eyes half lidded, trained on your naked body and the head buried between your legs. He meets your gaze, and you clench hard around nothing at how he is looking at you. You can’t help but revel under his stare.

Jeonghan’s grip tightens on your thighs, holding you open. His mouth closes around your sensitive bud as he sucks hard, just once, enough to make you cry out, before his tongue peeks out again, going back to his lazy licks.

He is nothing like Seungcheol. There’s no urgency in him. He licks and sucks on you languidly, like he has all the time in the world. Seungcheol is impatient, hurried, like he needs to be inside you immediately, but Jeonghan is precise, like he wants to miss no part of you, leave no crevice unexplored. It’s just as intense, if not more.

When his tongue finally dips inside you, you moan and buck up into him again. He pulls back, giving you a hard stare.

“Stay still, princess.” He murmurs, and you almost shrink, like you’re being scolded, but it makes you clench again, a fresh wave of arousal sweeping through you. “Be a good girl and maybe I’ll let you cum.”

He bends down again, nosing at your slit before his tongue plunges into you again, deeper this time, curling a bit, brushing against your gummy walls. The feeling of his tongue combined with his words has you keening, hands fisting into the sheets beside your head to try and control your writhing movements. Your eyes meet Seungcheol’s again, and you notice, even in the dim light, the blush high up on his cheekbones, his hair like a messy mop on his head. He looks as wrecked as you feel.

Jeonghan alternates between fucking you with his tongue and sucking on your clit for the next few minutes, and by then your legs are trembling with the effort of keeping still, your eyes are moist with tears, and you are babbling incoherently, begging for Jeonghan to let you cum. Jeonghan hums contemplatively, lifting his head to look at your boyfriend. His fingers replace his mouth, rubbing and pinching at your clit, and you try not to focus on how the lower half of his face is drenched.

“What do you think? Should she cum now?”

Your head snaps to the side, peering at Seungcheol. He always gave in to you, always. He spoiled you, made you cum multiple times in one night until you had nothing left in you to give. But now, his eyes are sharp, and your heart skips, sinking.

“Not yet.”

You nearly sob, and Jeonghan returns to his torturous ministrations. He sucks harder, licks harder, and he chooses that moment to sink two long fingers into your hole, curling them up to press hard into your walls. You nearly scream, vision swimming, clamping down hard on his digits to keep your impending orgasm at bay. Seungcheol is clearly feeding off Jeonghan’s energy. And Jeonghan is cruel, pumping his fingers in and out of you while his tongue flicks over your clit again and again. He lets you claw at his hands, unfazed, lets you buck up now as much as you want, and just when you feel like you can’t hold on anymore, he pulls away, both tongue and fingers, ripping your building high from you so suddenly you can’t help but cry, hands pressing into your eyes so he can’t see your tears.

Jeonghan coos and coddles you, pressing soft kisses over your hands and gently pulling them away from your face. He licks up the tears as they spill out from the corners of your eyes. He nips at your jaw, sighing into you, running his hands down your sides soothingly.

“Such a good girl.” He whispers. “I know you’ve never done that before, and you did so well. Did exactly what I said. So obedient.”

You bask in the praise, and there’s a heady fog settling over you, numbing you slightly. All you feel is Jeonghan, his lips pressing all over your face and neck, trying to calm you down, take the edge off your neglected orgasm. You wish desperately to feel his lips on you, but it was against Seungcheol’s rules. He wasn’t allowed to kiss you.

You don’t even notice when Jeonghan repositions himself, and it’s only when his cock sinks into you that you gasp, legs drawing up instinctively to take him deeper. Jeonghan smirks at your actions.

“Look at you. Almost out of your mind but you still spread your legs for me.” He tuts. “Slut.”

You clench involuntarily, loving the degradation just as much as you had loved the praise. His cock isn’t as thick as Seungcheol’s, but it is long and curved up, and by the time his pelvis is flush against yours, you feel like you are stuffed full, jaw going slack as you relish in how good it feels to be filled up after so much push-and-pull. Your almost-orgasm has left your body quietly buzzing, until every movement of his cock inside you has sparks shooting up your core. Your vision swims and again, you are already very close to cumming.

Jeonghan grips your hips tight, setting a faster pace compared to his lazy movements earlier. You sigh in satisfaction at the stimulation, at how different his cock feels to what you are used to. He mouths at your neck as he goes, groaning into your shoulder.

“No marks.” You hear, turning your head to see your boyfriend just as still as before. You can’t believe how much restraint he is showing. You can make out the bulge in his pants, struggling against the cloth, but he doesn’t give it any attention. He is too busy watching you, listening to your high pitched moans and the wet sounds your pussy makes as Jeonghan thrusts into you.

“I’m close.” You choke out. “C-can I?”

The question is direction at Seungcheol. Even though the man responsible for your orgasm is Jeonghan, you know it’s really your boyfriend who holds the cards. He is always in control, even when he’s not the one balls deep inside you. He pretends to think about it, before shaking his head almost imperceptibly. Your face crumples and you clench, trying to stop the knot now building rapidly in your stomach. Jeonghan swears, leaning up to stare down at you.

“Fuck, look at you.” He smirks. “This is killing you, isn’t it? Not being allowed to come?”

He snaps his hips harshly, and you clench your jaw so hard it hurts your teeth.

“Beg for it.” He says next, jerking his head towards Seungcheol. “Beg him to let you cum. Come on. Be a good girl.”

And you do. You plead to Seungcheol, strong, reliable Seungcheol, who has never said no to you. You cry to him, tears now flowing freely down your face, as the knot builds and builds, and you keep begging, even as Jeonghan groans and pulls out of you, shooting ropes of cum over your bare stomach. The orgasm is ripped from you again, and you don’t hold back this time. You sob, curling into yourself, wanting more than anything to reach down and finish the job yourself, but so exhausted that you can’t bring yourself to do so.

Gentle hands pull your arms away, tug at your knees until you're lying on your back again, opening up. Your vision swims, but there’s no mistaking the scent of citrus and sandalwood. You are enveloped by the familiar weight of your boyfriend, and your mouth opens to form an ‘O’ when he sinks into you, carving into your abused hole. Your eyes roll up, you keen, feeling so full it nearly turns your brain to mush. Lips brush over your ear, warm breath hitting your skin. His hand reaches for yours, intertwining your fingers together in the most intimate gesture of the night.

“I’ll take care of you, baby.”

He sets a brutal pace, just the way you like it, just the way that sets every cell in your body on fire, until everything around you goes silent and all you feel is Cheol, Cheol, Cheol, like a mantra in your head, a prayer on your lips, and when the knot in your core tightens again, back with a vengeance, you look up at him, at the dark hair that falls over his eyes, cherry pink lips parted as he breathes hard and heavy, fucking into you with an urgency that could only be built by waiting and watching all night. He smiles at you, soft despite how rough his movements are, almost touched that despite being nearly delirious, you still ask for his green light. He reaches his free hand down, pressing harshly into your clit, forehead pressing to yours so he doesn’t miss a single expression on your face.

“Cum.”

And so you finally do. Writhing and jerking under him like your very soul is being ripped from your body. Lights burst in your vision, going white before they go black, and no sound leaves your mouth. You are almost paralyzed by the force of your orgasm, and you can barely feel when Seungcheol groans in finally and spills warm and deep inside you, a claim he would never let any man make on you, not even Jeonghan. At the end of the day, you are his only. At the end of the day, you will cum on his cock only. No one else’s.

You don’t remember how long you are out of it, but when you come to, gentle lips are planting kisses on your shoulder. You feel warm, half from the heat of Seungcheol’s naked torso against your back, and half from the blanket now thrown over the two of you. In the distance, you can hear the shower running, and a soft voice humming.

“Are you back with me, baby?” Seungcheol turns you to him slowly, and you wince at the movement. You are sure you aren’t going to walk for a while after this.

You hum and look at him, taking in his relaxed posture and clear, bright eyes. You can’t help but smile.

[pencil-n-pen]

──────BROKEN DOWN AND HUNGRY FOR YOUR LOVE ───

⋆౨ৎ˚˖ ࣪

──────────────────────

touchstarved ! rookie! reader x training officer! tim

summary: Tim had said ‘no more rookies’ after Lucy, but well. Things don’t always go according to plan. Just like you never thought you’d be staring at your training officer’s arms, wondering how they feel wrapped around you.

cw: daddy issues (seriously this is a tim x reader like. don’t we all have daddy issues) mild depression, descriptions of child death and abuse (it’s one scene and pretty easily skippable but yk police call stuff) tbh could be read as platonic this isn’t super romantic i just want tim to hold me i don’t care how he does it

a/n: in this universe chenford never happened even tho i ship it with every cell in my body. also im only like halfway through season two so take my depiction of characters and events with a grain of salt. buckle up this one’s LOOOOOONGGG

title taken from Lover You Should've Come Over by Jeff Buckley (jeff buckley i miss u)

──────────────────────

Tim Bradford has really nice hands.

This is, undoubtedly, not at all something you should be noticing about your training officer. Probably the most strict, unpredictable, unrelenting, high-key-wants-you-to-fail training officer in the LAPD.

And yet.

Here you are, noticing.

His arms are really nice too. The chords of muscle flex in a particular way while he drives. Especially when turning or when he’s conducting a car chase and his hands go white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

You think to yourself that his hands are probably warm. Tim seems like the kind of man to run hot.

Tim also makes sure that you understand how much he doesn’t like you.

You get it. Kind of. He’d been on his way to becoming a sergeant when it’d been decided that during the coarse of his career, not enough of his officers actually made it past being a rookie.

“One last go,” The captain had said on your first day, “Should be easy. This rookie’s the most self-sufficient thing since Officer West. If she doesn’t make the cut, I want to know why.”

So yeah. You’re pretty sure Tim tuned out the conversation after hearing ‘one last go’.

Additionally, you two have… clashing personalities. You’ve always prided yourself on being self-sufficient- on not needing anyone else. But Tim makes it his mission every single day to remind you of all the million different ways you need to rely on your partner and need them— need him.

It’s annoying on a good day and humbling on a bad one.

And then there’s the matter of Lucy Chen. One of the few rookies to survive the Tim Tests and actually make it past rookie, all the while gaining his respect and friendship.

You don’t even try to hope to reach what she accomplished. Lucy Chen is an inspiration, a pipe dream, and an unreachable standard wrapped up in blue. It’s clear that Tim is proud of the cop she’s become. Proud of his work.

You’re not sure he could ever be proud of you.

But you didn’t raise yourself to be a quitter. So you get up everyday and take the Tim Tests in stride. You work and learn and learn and work and pretend the lack of relationship or bond you have with your fellow rookies doesn’t bother you.

You pretend you don’t dream of being held by warm arms and wake up in the same position, alone and cold.

You pretend the heated blanket you bought during the Academy with your meager funds feels just like human warmth. You pretend it’s enough.

And you do what you always do: you manage.

—

Like with any job, there’s good days, and there’s bad days. You try not to dwell on the bad days, but you usually end up doing so anyways, usually in your silent, empty apartment as you try to fall asleep.

Your shift today is only half over, and you’ve already lost a suspect during a chase —Tim ended up catching her, and the look he shot you as he cuffed him was nothing short of fiery— you accidentally tampered with evidence —in your defense, you weren’t aware that piggy banks were used to move drugs, but accidentally dropping it made you want to crawl into a hole and die— and the cherry on top was the suspect you apprehended today, who, in her desperation to get away from you and jail, kicked you in the leg while she was on the ground. With her very long, and very skinny heel.

‘I got stabbed in the leg with a stripper’s heel’ isn’t a sentence you ever thought you’d say, but here you are. The wound isn’t that bad, thankfully. Just all the usual pain that comes from being stabbed with a fairly blunt object.

You sit in an uncomfortable hospital chair in the waiting room, elbow digging into the hard, wooden armrest and holding your head up by your forehead, while your other arm presses on the still sluggishly bleeding wound on your lower, mid thigh, leg stretched out in front of you.

You’re tired.

Recently, the bad days have outweighed the good ones. You knew this would be the case when you signed up to be a cop. You knew your apartment would feel empty and cold, but you thought that maybe, maybe, you’d make a few friends in your coworkers and it wouldn’t feel so unbearable.

But it turns out there isn’t enough time to make friends when you’re busy trying to get the highest scores in the Academy. And by the time you graduated, you’d been written off as a stuck-up teachers pet. Tolerated by the other rookies at best, occasionally sneered at and mocked at worst.

No fellow rookies, no friendly coworker, no nice neighbors in your apartment. Your training officer doesn’t like you, and the watch commander regularly enjoys singling you out for rookie-typical ridicule.

You’re tired.

The wound on your leg hurts like a bitch, already bruised to hell and back in that way that blunt force injuries usually do. Your pants are dark and sticky with blood, and the hand that’s applying pressure is uncomfortably tacky as you bleed, clot, and dry, over and over again.

It’s shitty. You feel shitty.

The fluorescent overhead lights are making your head pound and there’s so much noise in the waiting room, overlapping and, for lack of a better term, stabbing your eardrums in a pounding beat, and the pain is starting to make you a little nauseous, or maybe that’s the smell of anti-septic, and you fucked up so badly today, and oh god what if you get sepsis or a staff infection, that heel was so dirty, who knows where it’s been, and why won’t you just stop bleeding, and—

“Boot.”

—you haven’t called your mom in ages, she deserves better than that, and god your leg really hurts, and you don’t want to go home after this because—

“Rookie.”

—you’re most definitely being sent home, you got stabbed with a fucking heel for christ’s sake, and unlike after a normal shift you won’t have the exhaustion to just send you straight to bed, chores be damned, your apartment is so, so so quiet and you hate it—

“Hey!”

Snapping fingers in front of your face and Tim’s shout jolts you from your pain-slash-panic-induced spiral, and you reflexively clench your fists, then hiss in pain as your grip tightens over the wound.

He’s crouched in front of you, dark, steady eyes scrutinizing your face.

“Sorry,” you huff, face hot with embarrassment. “It’s, um, it’s loud in here.”

He just nods once, looking rather unimpressed. You resist the urge to fidget.

“You good to stay here while I go back out?”

The thought of waiting in the ER alone, and then more than likely catching an Uber to the station and then ignoring possible doctors orders to drive yourself home from there is… less than pleasant.

But if it has to be done, then it has to be done.

“Yeah,” You say easily, the lie slipping right off your tongue. “Yeah, yeah I’ll be good.”

Your injury had already been called in, so Grey wasn’t expecting you back at the station. Tim would go back on shift and you’d take care of yourself like you always do. You’ll be fine eventually. You always are.

You expect Tim to take the easy out. You’ve handed it to him on a silver platter. Express permission to not have to deal with you anymore today.

He sighs, unexpectedly, then stands, and you look down so you don’t have to watch him walk away, and wait to hear the sound of his retreating footsteps.

They don’t come.

The chair next to you creaks as someone sits down in it.

As Tim sits down in it.

You blink, looking up at him. “Officer Bradford?”

He’s crossed his arms across his chest, sparing you a small glance. “What?”

You look down at your lap. “Nothing.”

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls out his phone, clearly texting someone —probably Officer Lopez— and pretty much ignores you as you wait to be called back.

His presence is enough, though. It chases away some of that creeping panic and chill in your chest. You relax in increments. Your posture slouches, your hand unclenches, and you feel like you can take a breath without throwing up.

Eventually, your name gets called, and maybe you just look especially pathetic as your stiffly and shakily climb to your feet and begin ambling towards the indicated trauma room, but you hear another annoyed sigh, and then Tim’s mumbling “Here,” and then your arm is around his shoulders and his arm snakes behind your back and just above your waist.

And fuck.

If you thought that having him near you was something, having the arms of the man you’ve literally dreamt about doing nearly this exact same thing is… it’s a drug.

Your skin is on fire where’s he’s quite literally holding you together as you awkwardly shuffle across the waiting room. His hands are warm even through the under shirt and your uniform shirt. The rush of chemicals in your head is dizzying at the contact, your brain startlingly aware of each and every place the two of you are connected.

To him, it’s nothing. To you, it’s everything.

If this is what hard drugs feel like, you sympathize with the addicts. All it takes is his arm around you, safe and steadying, and you’re gone. Hooked.

You try your best to file the feeling away in your head, to commit it to memory, so later, when those bad days have their cold nights, you can take it out and remember it. Remember what felt like to be even half wrapped like this. Supported and steadied.

It’s an uncharacteristic show of care on Tim’s part. He’s not exactly a touchy-feely kind of guy. He’s more like the ‘deal with it or quit’ kind of guy.

But he’s helping you here, now. More than he knows.

You don’t comment on any of this, of course, because you don’t want to draw attention to how much you’re leaning into his touch.

You hope he writes it off as needing help walking.

—

The first night after the stabbing —Tim does not let you drive yourself home, though looks vaguely impressed that you were completely willing, and instead drops you off and has Officer Lopez drive your car back to your place— is great. You sleep clear through the night without waking up once. The memory of Tim holding you up, touching you, is fresh in your mind. Sleeping is easy. You arrive to work for once not faking your enthusiasm under layers of professionalism. You actually, genuinely feel okay.

As the weeks progress though, you start flagging.

By the time a month has gone by, you’re downright miserable. You didn’t realize just how empty your chest could feel after actually feeling how warm and full it could be.

This, of course, means doubling over on professionalism, because there’s absolutely no way that anyone can know how much you’re starting to fracture, bit by bit. You’re strong, put-together, and self-sufficient. You take Tim’s training in stride and you never complain. You don’t rise to the bait when you get singled out for hazing, and laugh when you become the subject of a rookie prank.

You do not stare at Tim’s arms or hands out of the corner of your eye when he’s not looking, you do not imagine the big pillow you hold at night is him, and most importantly you do not even entertain the fantasy in which Tim holds you, really holds you, and you don’t have to keep it all together anymore.

It’s not realistic. You’re always going to hold everything together. You always have and you always will.

But sometimes, every now and then, you get something well and truly right, and Tim says “Good job, boot.” And he means it. Gets that crinkle near his eyes and that twitch in his jaw when he’s trying not to look impressed or pleased. And it chases away the empty, just for a little bit. Makes how hard he pushes you just a little more worth it, each time.

It’s starting to get to you, though. Has been for awhile. Because it’s a bit pathetic, isn’t it, to think these things about your training officer? Someone who would never, ever do the things you want him to do? As trivial and stupid and childish as they are?

And look. You’re not stupid. You know exactly why you’ve fixated on Tim Bradford specifically. You’re well versed in the art of “intellectualizing your feelings so you don’t have to feel them” and your want of your training officer’s touch is no mystery. He checks all your boxes- Brooding, emotionally unavailable, harsh, attractive, and more importantly, in a position of power over you. So you get it. Daddy issues, your emotional needs not being met growing up, blah blah blah. It’s whatever.

What’s not whatever is your inability to stop obsessing over it. Him. You need to get a grip.

You want to become a detective. And, not to mention, you’ve worked incredibly hard to be a damn good cop.

But here you are, sitting in the shop with Tim, spacing out when you should be paying attention because you saw one of your old friends post the anniversary for her and her boyfriend last night and now you can’t stop thinking about how she probably look at every couple and wonder how it feels to have someone around, constantly, to soothe the near permanent ache in your chest and itch under your skin.

She probably doesn’t have the ache or itch at all.

“Boot!” Tim barks, voice sudden and loud. “Where are we?”

You jolt in place. “Uh—“

Tim slams on the brakes, your seatbelt snapping against your chest. “I’ve been shot. I’m dead. Where were you just now?”

You scramble for an answer. “I was—“

“Your head wasn’t here,” He jams a finger onto the center console. “And in this line of work, that means you’re dead. It means people die on your watch.”

He starts the car, and without the crackling of dispatch over the radio, it’s awhile before he speaks again.

“What’s wrong?”

The words sound so foreign coming from Officer Bradford that you pause.

“Is that a trick question? Is the answer…um… I should focus more…?”

“Well, yes, and no,” He responds, face set in a slight grimace, “Yes, you need to focus more, but no, that wasn’t a trick question.”

When you don’t immediately respond —what are you supposed to say to that?— he keeps going.

“You’re spacey. You don’t get spacey. But you’ve been all over the place lately, so something’s up.”

“Nothing’s—“

He levels you with a Look.

Now it’s your turn to sigh.

One of the main reasons you didn’t get along with other students at the Academy was your unwillingness to sacrifice your career for a social life. You didn’t tell anybody your sob story— didn’t need the pity, didn’t care what they thought.

And you don’t really want to tell Tim either, but for a different reason. An opposite one, really. You do care what he thinks. A lot. And you don’t want to sound whiny or sensitive or any less of a capable cop. You need to prove to him that you can do this.

But Tim also has the best bullshit sensor of anyone you know, and will immediately see through you if you try to lie.

“I moved to California right before I started at the Academy. I was focused and career driven. And I’ve never really been social. It just, uh, kind of hit me, I guess. That my family is a thousand miles away.”

“What, you don’t have any friends from the Academy?”

His confidence in your social skills is nice, if not very misguided.

You shrug. “I gave up everything to move here. I thought that if I went out to bars and parties, I’d lose focus and fail. I couldn’t, and still can’t afford to.”

Tim’s saved from responding by a call close to your location crackling out from dispatch. And thank god for that. You’re sure as hell not itching to restart the conversation, and besides. Tim wants you to get your head in the game, so you do. Complete and utter focus on the call.

It goes well. But Tim doesn’t say anything as you climb back in the shop, not even a not-displeased hum.

“That’s stupid, you know.”

You look up from where you were checking something in the system. “What?”

“This thing you’re doing. You’re not even living. You’re just going to work and then going home. Your performance is shitty because you feel shitty.”

You gape for a second before rushing to respond. “My performance isn’t—“

“Yeah, it is. Don’t argue me on this, boot. You’re drowning, is what you’re doing. You have no work life balance. You’re going to burn out, and then you wash out.”

He turns to you, eyes bright and jaw set. “And you better not wash out, because you’re my last rookie and I need you to win.”

Right. Yes. Of course. Tim needs you to win, so he needs you to get focused, and get real.

The smile you give him is perfectly practiced and hollow. You ignore the nausea churning in your chest.

“Don’t worry. I don’t do anything other than win.”

—

Even though it’s most definitely stupid and insane, you ignore Tim’s advice. Since when have you had the energy to do things outside of work but rot in bed? And besides. Going out would mean losing precious sleeping hours, which are already hard enough to come by as it is. You don’t need to make your energy levels any worse than they already are by adding going to bed late on top of incredibly fitful sleep.

So it’s fine. You’re handling it.

—

You’re not handling it.

You’re exhausted. All the time. The more tired you are, the more you have to work to make sure your performance at work isn’t suffering. Which makes you more tired.

And you just… can’t sleep. You toss and turn all night, wake up a million times, and usually end up reliving your worst cases with added bonuses, like Tim being injured, and then berating you for it, and then the watch commander calls you into his office and fires you.

And then there’s the guilt. The sickening, nauseating guilt that follows you day after day, choking and clogging your throat because you know you’re better than this. You’re better than this. But you’re not getting better.

You should’ve taken Tim’s advice, maybe. Should’ve heard it two, three, maybe four months ago and extended yourself to other people and tried going out, making a routine of trying new things other than sleeping, watching tv, or working, but it’s too late now and you’re just so fucking tired.

And alone.

Really, really, alone.

When you finally lose it, it’s because of a call. A bad one. A really bad one.

It’s a little girl. No older than nine or ten. Her mother had reported her missing when she’d come home from work and her daughter and her husband were missing. At first, the report hadn’t been taken seriously, but the mother begged and pleaded. It was Lucy who’d pulled up the woman’s husband and found several previous charges for domestic violence and abuse that dispatch had sent multiple units after the child.

Whom you found. Locked in a car.

You were the one to break the window. You were the one to get her out.

You were the one who had to call an RA unit for a nine year old girl, not conscious, not breathing.

Tim pulled you away from the scene. From her. Kept a hand on your shoulder and steered you towards the shop, and you were shaking. Are shaking. You’re in the shop. You can’t get your hands to stop shaking.

Tim is uncharacteristically silent. He doesn’t start the car. You can see him watching you out of the corner of your eye. You need to stop shaking. You need to get it together.

It’s just. That was you. Could’ve been you. Almost was you, once or twice.

You spent a lot of time in locked cars growing up.

“Boot,” Tim says softly, too softly, he’s babying you, “You need to take a minute.”

“No, no,” The first no is shaky and the second is no better but you need to be fine, “I’m fine, I’ll be fine. I need to adapt, need to get used to this kind of thing.”

He makes a noise of annoyance in the back of his throat. “No you don’t. Becoming desensitized to this kind of thing isn’t what you want to happen. Trust me.”

You breath is starting to hitch a little, and your eyes are beginning to burn. Why can’t you stop shaking? It happened so long ago.

“I’m fine. I’m— It’s okay. We should get back on the road.”

Your voice wobbles at the end. You clench your jaw, steel yourself against the onslaught of emotions and will yourself to just get a fucking grip.

“Hey,” Tim starts, voice that lower, gentle tone he sometimes uses on victims, and that’s messed up, because you’re not a victim, just dramatic, “It’s okay to not be okay after something like that.”

“I’m fine!” You snap, “I survived. She didn’t.”

Oh.

You feel the first few tears begin falling, and immediately scrub them off your face as fast and as hard as you can.

“I’m sorry,” You half-whisper, mortified at the action of crying and snapping at him. “I’m sorry, this is, this is really unprofessional—“

You hunch, pressing the heels of your hands so hard into your eyes starbursts of color are whirling behind them.

Tim doesn’t say anything, which only adds to your mounting anxiety, until you hear the semi-familar sound of him typing on his phone, and then a steady tik. Tik. Tik.

You look up, your eyes already puffy.

Tim sets his phone down on the console between the two of you.

“That timer is set for ten minutes. For ten minutes, you are not going to be fine. Ten minutes while we drive. Got that?”

You sniffle pathetically. “Ten minutes is a long time to put up with me crying.”

He shrugs. “If I give you your ten minutes, and you get this out, then you’ll be more focused on the job. Seems like a fair trade off to me.”

You’re not expecting the firm hand to land on your shoulder.

“This was your first d-o-a. Even the best cops are shaken after something like that. It changes you. That is not something be ashamed of.”

You let yourself lean into the touch, ever so slightly. The tears start falling easier after that, and, still not entirely comfortable with crying in front of your TO, you cover your face with your hands.

The crying bit is over in only a few minutes. The rest of the time on the timer is spent staring down at your lap and trying to calm yourself down, and when that doesn’t work, you pull out your phone and soothe yourself by organizing one of your Pinterest boards. Ah, the peace that comes from setting arbitrary rules that affect no one and organizing pictures based on these rules. Bliss.

Tim only removes his hand after you stop crying, which. You try your best to memorize the touch —no matter how mortifying the circumstances— and try your best not to think about how it almost seems like starting to catch onto the messier parts about yourself you’d like to keep hidden.

—

Sometimes it’s hard not to feel well and truly and completely alone.

You know you’re not. Not really. Not if you tried harder, extended yourself more. Made an effort to get out there. But you don’t have any energy for efforts. You don’t have anything left to give.

Tim’s touch and approval and just there-ness haunt you on your off days and are, if you’re being embarrassingly and horrifyingly honest, the only thing you really look forward to anymore.

You like your job. You do. But you’re tired. And how many times can you say that? Can you think that?

I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m tired.

Please, someone, put me down, let me go, give me a minute, I’m tired.

So it’s not really surprising when you get sick.

You’ve been running yourself absolutely ragged, day in and day out, and when you wake, feeling like death warmed over, you don’t even groan. It makes your throat hurt.

Your head pounds with pressure from your sinuses and your hands shake as you put on your uniform in the locker room. Your slow-and-unsteady gait gathers a few looks as you make your way into the, surprisingly empty, roll call room.

Is it really empty if one person is in it? Tim’s in it. He’s leaned up against the front desk, where you usually sit with the other rookies. Only time you’re really ever near them. He looks mad. Why’s he mad?

“Boot,” He starts, voice low, and that’s never a good sign, “Is there a reason you decided not to show up to roll call today?”

You blink, thoughts going about as fast as a fish in frozen water, “But it’s not time for roll call yet.”

It’s not. You woke up when your alarm went off, took cold medicine (probably more than you’re supposed to, and the wrong combination of them, but who cares) and drove to the precinct. Same as you always do. Minus the cold medicine.

Tim frowns. He’s always frowning. He frowns deeper. “You’re over an hour late.”

That…doesn’t make any sense. How’d you lose an hour of time? Did you fall asleep somewhere along the way? You don’t remember falling asleep. You’re not missing any memories, no blank spots, no black outs.

“Boot!” He barks, and you flinch and the noise, pressing a hand to your forehead as if that’ll help the sharp stab of pain in your head that accompanies his raised voice.

Tim is downright glaring at you now. “Are you hungover?”

“No!” You reply indignantly, then instantly regret it due to the burn you now feel in your throat, “I’m just like. Kind of sick.”

Did that come out convincing enough? You’re sure you can still work. You worked through every cold and flu and fever back at the Academy. You can totally do this, right?

Tim pushes off the table and stalks towards you. arms crossed. He uncrosses them as he gets closer and—

Oh. That’s nice. His hand’s cool.

Your eyes flutter shut, unbidden, as the cool skin of the back of his hand presses to your forehead. If your eyes were open, you’d be able to see that his frown has taken on a concerned brow furrow to accompany it, but you’re too busy enjoying the simple contact to notice. Or keep your eyes open.

He takes his hand away with a sigh, and you stumble forward a little.

“You feel like you’re on fire. Jesus- did you drive here?”

You nod, to avoid angering your throat, and end up angering your headache instead.

“Yeah, you’re going home.”

Panic stabs you in the chest.

“No!” You rasp, “I’m fine. I’m a rookie, it’s my job to keep working no matter what—“

“It’s also,” Tim interrupts, “Your job to take care of yourself, but you’re shit at that, which is why you’re sick in the first place. So I’m going to drive you home and make sure you’re not going to die by yourself while you’re sick.”

You shake your head. “I used to work through being sick all the time at the Academy, I can do it.”

“And you were stupid for doing that too. The key difference here is that you’re not responsible for peoples lives at the Academy. I’m not going to get shot today because you’re too hopped up on cold medicine to cover me.”

“But—“

“I’m sorry,” He growls, “Were you under the impression that you have any sort of say in this decision?”

You close your mouth.

“That’s what I thought. Go wait at my desk while I clear this with the watch commander.”

You trudge solemnly to his desk, head and vision swimming. Great. Now Tim’s upset at you and you feel awful. Why is everything so terrible?

You slump into the chair at his desk, dropping your head onto your arms and allowing your eyes to close. The walk from the briefing room to Tim’s desk exhausted you. And your uniform feels extra uncomfortable.

You just want to be at home, not sick, and maybe sleeping restfully for the first time since becoming a cop. Maybe you’re not cut out to be a cop. Maybe you should quit. Maybe—

Someone gently shakes your shoulder, and your straighten, blinking blearily.

“Come on, up we go.”

A strong arm hooks under yours and carefully hauls you up, and let out a small whine at the movement. Tim’s desk is comfortable. And smells vaguely like him.

“Don’t give me that. I’m taking you home. We need to go get your stuff from the locker room.”

You whine again, as if the noise will somehow convey everything you’re feeling at the moment.

I don’t want to leave the temporary and fake saftey of Tim’s desk. I don’t want to go home cause my home is empty and I’m sick. I’m extra miserable because I’m sick. My brain isn’t working and I don’t remember what locker I put my stuff in. I don’t even know if I brought my stuff. Is it somehow possible for my technical-boss to take me to his house instead and tuck me into his bed that smells like him and has him in it so I can sleep next to another human being and feel safe for even twenty minutes?

Of course, none of this is relayed to Tim, who’s currently half holding half dragging you over to the locker rooms, grip firm but not unkind.

After assuring you that no one else is even going to be in the locker room because you’re now over an hour into your shift, he goes with you and helps you find and take your stuff. In your sick daze, you did manage to bring your bag and water bottle, but neglected to put any water in your water bottle or put your wallet in your bag.

Tim just mutters an “Alright, come on,” once your stuff has been acquired, and escorts you out to the parking lot.

Two things occur to you.

One, Tim is no longer dressed in his uniform. Instead, he now sports jeans and a dark gray henley.

Two, you’re both headed towards the personal parking lot.

If Tim isn’t in work clothes anymore, and he’s taking you towards his car, that means he’s not just dropping you off at your house.

He is, presumably, going to look after you. Because you’re sick.

He ushers you into the passenger seat, going so far as to help you up and grab the seatbelt for you. He leans over you when he does it, and there’s a second where he’s pressed against you and it’s so nice and you kind of want to live in the moment forever but you can’t because you’re sick and he’s mad at you and he shouldn’t have to deal with this and you should’ve been better.

You sniffle just as he starts the car, momentarily thankful for the engine turning over hiding the sound, but unfortunately, the second the tears start, they don’t stop.

Tim notices immediately, because of course he does.

“What’s wrong?”

You hiccup a half-sob. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called out.”

“Yeah, you should have.”

You sniff again, harder, cause now your nose is running. “I thought I could do it. I thought I could handle it.”

He eases the car out of the parking space. “Having a brain-cooking fever isn’t really something you can just handle.”

He eyes the fat tears rolling down your cheeks and you see the muscles in his jaw work.

“Why didn’t just call out sick?”

“I don’t like calling out. I wanna be a model employee. Model officer. Wanna be reliable. I wanna be—“

You swallow, voice hoarse and wobbly. “I just wanna be good.”

The car is silent for awhile. A long while. Tim doesn’t respond, and with your nerves now thoroughly fried and your immune system making a minor attempt on your life, you’re pretty sure you fall asleep.

You wake to Tim shaking you, albeit gently, and helping you out of the car. He instructs you to leave your bag and to go inside and change.

He really doesn’t have to tell you twice. You feel awful. So bad. Terrible. Horrible.

Changing clothes only serves to exhaust you further, so you trudge out to the living room and collapse onto your couch, shivering. There’s a blanket only a few feet away, but it’s just so far.

You hear your front door open and the sound of heavy-footsteps, and then there’s the creak of your shitty fridge opening and a few mumbled curses.

You ignore the noises behind you and dedicate all of your energy to grabbing the remote off the coffee table and finding something you don’t have to think about watching. Maybe Criminal Minds. Or Bluey.

“I,” Tim starts, then annoyedly snatches the blanket off the end of the coach and drags it up over you, “Am going to the store, because your fridge looks like it hasn’t been used since the eighteen-hundreds. Don’t die while I’m gone.”

“Okay,” You say, but your voice is hoarse and muffled by the blanket so it comes out more like, “Mmomhay.”

You end up watching Jurassic Park, because nothing makes you feel better like dinosaurs and people getting eaten by them. Classic.

Tim does return at some point, right about when you’re thinking of just binge watching every single Jurassic Park/World movie, and starts making noise in your kitchen. Which you also ignore.

You’re doing a lot of ignoring today.

It’s easy though, is the thing. Tim is cooking something, if the sounds of grocery bags and pots and pans and chopping are anything to go off, and he’s handled you and his’s shifts, so there’s no work to worry about, and you’re really honestly too sick to think about any other things that need to be done.

Tim’s taking care of it. So you don’t have to worry, cause he’s cooking something, and people are getting eaten by dinosaurs on the tv in front of you, so maybe everything will be okay for the time being.

The okay feeling comes to a swift and brutal end when Tim comes around the edge of the couch and tells you to sit up.

“M’ comfy,” You mumble, indignant.

He rolls his eyes, ever exasperated. “You can’t eat soup while laying down.”

“Watch me.”

“No. Come on, sit up.”

You whine as he pulls you forward, stuffing pillows behind you so you don’t actually have to put effort in to staying upright. He then places a tray you didn’t know you owned (maybe he bought it?) on your lap and places a small bowl of soup and a sleeve of saltines.

Your eyes begin to burn with unshed tears again.

Tim groans. “It’s just soup, Boot.”

You sniff harshly. “No one’s made me soup before.”

He sigh’s long-sufferingly, but his vocal exasperation is undermined by the careful way he dabs at the tears on your cheeks.

“Thought you liked your mom.” Tim says, a question hidden in his voice.

“I do. But we were really poor, so she couldn’t really afford to take time off work because I was sick. And I got sick pretty often so,” You pick up your spoon with shaky fingers. “I got good at taking care of myself.”

“Yeah?” Tim says, opening the package of saltines for you, “Then where’d all that skill go?”

He clearly means it as a joke, but you still can’t help the small stab of guilt in your chest.

You set the spoon back down. “I’m just really tired.”

He doesn’t sigh again, but he does purse his lips in that way he does when he’s upset about something and can’t quite decide how to show it.

When he moves, it surprises you. He takes the soup off your lap, moves the tray to the little coffee table by your couch. Turns the TV volume up. Loud enough to hear the audible crunch of the Spinosaurus battling the T. Rex.

Then, he reaches forward and just. Reaches his arms around your waist and back and pulls you forward, then borderline man-handles you into a comfortable position with your legs now where your head used to be, and your had pillowed on his shoulder. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you just that much closer.

You couldn’t have stopped yourself from melting into the embrace even if you weren’t hopped up on cold medicine.

After a few minutes of mindlessly watching a Spinosaurus go on a rampage, he speaks again.

“You wanna know what I think?”

You nod into his arm, face smushed.

“I think you got really good at making people not worry about you. You probably had to.”

For a brief second, you think about hunger, and sickness, and locked cars.

“And I think that in my haste to get through this training period and make it to Sergeant, I didn’t bother looking deeper to find out if you were lying or not.”

You shift in place, now a little uncomfortable as the conversation has switched over to you. “It’s not really your responsibility.”

“It is,” Tim says easily, tone-matter-of-fact. “You’re my rookie. And it shouldn’t have taken me this long to learn what kind of training and support you needed.”

You sit up at his words. Which is a huge mistake, because then you get really dizzy and nauseous and there are weird stars dancing across your vision.

“You—“ You pause, taking a deep breath, “This is police work. I shouldn’t have to be coddled every step of the way.”

“Lay back down,” He tugs you down by your waist. “You aren’t coddled every step of the way. You’re a capable cop. You’re good at your job. I’m not holding your hand. I’m giving you what you need.”

You sink lower on the couch, trying to hide your face from this mortifying experience. Unfortunately the closest thing to hide your face in is Tim’s side.

Oh well. Beggars can’t be choosers.

He rubs your back consolingly. It only feels a little patronizing.

“But,” He continues, “I don’t know what you need if you don’t tell me.”

“I don’t want to bother you with that. You’re my T.O.”

“And you’re my rookie,” Tim continues smoothly, “I can’t send my rookie out on the streets if any criminal can get to her through a hug.”

“Hey,” You grumble, “That’s mean.”

“No it’s not.”

You pull your face away from his side and go back to facing the TV.

“But what if I need this a lot? What if my brain gets… screwy when I’m alone for awhile, and this is what fixes it?”

“Then I’d say it was a fairly normal reaction and need.” Tim shrugs.

You look up at him questioningly.

“Look. I didn’t have a great dad either. It’s not…” He trails off, jaw working. “Bad things happened to you. You dealt with them the only way you knew how. But now you need a little extra help. That’s all.”

“That sounds like something Lucy would say.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “How could you tell?”

The conversation lulls into a gentle silence. Tim continues trailing his hand up and down your side. Up and down, up and down, up and down. And occasionally pause to rub, knead, or scratch. All of which you lean into with equal amounts of shame and enjoyment.

“You’re like a cat,” He mumbles, eyes trained on the still rampaging Spinosaurus, “Can’t believe I didn’t make the connection before.”

You don’t have it in you to do anything more than make a non-committal hum.

A couple beats pass.

“Thank you.”

Tim’s hand trails a little higher on the next pass, his large palm curling up over your shoulder and to the back of your neck.

“For what?”

⋆౨ৎ˚˖ ࣪

masterlist | kofi

taglist:

@wowzabowza69 @4kirstein @marvel-z0mbie @mca-attack21 @winchesterkenzie @daithideolishmer18 @entoxicant @scarlet-issilly

[thinkinonsense]

primal ✮⋆˙

joel miller x fem!reader warnings: secret relationship, smut, specifically joel from ep. 2 when he goes golfing, kinda role playing, crawling, eating it from the back (fem receiving), fingering, dog symbolism, corruption kink, doggy style (i had to), possessive!joel, age gap (25 and 60's), slight manhandling, spanking, boot riding, pussy spanks, edging, hair tugging, joel talks to your pussy, jealous!joel, lots of cum, slight angst, slight breeding kink, notes: heavily inspired from the songs 'dog years' and 'safe word' by halsey and the film 'secretary'. the ending is kinda rushed.

what joel and you have together is controversial to say the least. if anyone knew the truth about what you two do late at night together, neither of you would be able to show your faces again in town.

that thought didn't make either of you want to stop it though. if anything, it made you want each other more.

it's a quarter to eight when you unlock the side door of joel's house with the key he gave you. the sun has already set in the town of jackson, letting the long day rest heavy on you. what you needed more than anything in this moment was joel.

he knows you better than anyone else ever has. taking the time to open you up and study you. finding a way to tame you.

anxiously you sat on the floor of his bedroom; waiting for joel to come home. the room is dark except for the one lamp in the corner of the room, barely creating any light.

soon enough you hear keys jingling around in the door handle downstairs and your stomach flips with excitement at every one of his loud footsteps heading your way. as he steps inside and sits on the bed, joel lets out a low whistle.

the signal.

"ah, there's my girl." he says, watching you crawl on your hands and knees over to him.

the thin straps of your dress fall lazily off of your shoulders as you make your way over to him. when your finally settled in between his legs, joel's hand lightly touches your hair and moves down to your jaw, gripping it and lifting it up.

"long day, sweetheart?" he asks, moving his thumb to tug softly at your bottom lip.

you nod into his palm.

"ain't gotta worry now. i'll take good care of ya'."

joel's thumb pushes past your lips, allowing you to suck on it freely. you obey, letting him stretch and train your mouth as he pleases. never complaining when you nibble on the digit, letting your teeth glide over it teasingly.

you always get so lost in these moments that the only thing that breaks you out of them is when joel begins to tap his foot next to you.

"get on, babydoll."

his words create a warm tingle in between your thighs. slowly you hop onto the tip of his working boots. joel's never said it aloud but he adores the way your body wraps around his leg, holding on as if he's the only thing keeping you grounded.

a tiny whimper leaves your lips when you first move, feeling the pool of slick beneath you. joel can feel the way your body trembles with each grind.

your clit catches on the lace of his boots, adding a nice bit of friction. joel takes in the scene in front of him. your left cheek pressed against the inside of his denim covered thigh, moaning sweetly for him. as much as joel enjoys watching you contort with pleasure, he also loved denying you of it.

right on the brink of ecstasy, he slides his foot out from under and you hear him mutter, "down girl."

as he's aged, joel has become less forgiving. almost too willing to put you in your place.

"p-please, please, joel." you plead, looking up at him with big round eyes.

without warning, his hand wraps around the silver cross necklace and tugs softly at it. joel's eyes were dark with power and lust.

"not yet." he grunts, toying with the necklace.

another whimper escapes you, louder than the last. joel tsks in response.

"now, what have i told ya'?" his voice was low raspy and full of weight.

you knew the phrase and what it meant. joel always made sure to remind you of it when you become impatient or too needy. a reminder that all good girls get rewarded in the end.

"all dogs go to heaven." you reply, struggling to look into his eyes.

"good girl." he purrs, releasing your pretty necklace.

joel takes a moment to drink in your current state. face flushed with embarrassment and arousal. he thought it was cute how you pretend to be ashamed of this side of yourself.

all it takes is three quick taps on his thick thighs for you to pounce on him.

"ya' make a real pretty lap dog, sweetheart." he mutters, nipping at your ear lobe and brushing a hand down your hair.

"missed you today." you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck.

he didn't need you to tell him that because joel could feel now much you missed him. due to the lack of panties under your dress, his jeans were beginning to get soaked from your slick.

one thing about joel is he kisses like he wants to eat you alive. it's full of hunger. borderline cannibalistic.

a primal desire.

instead of responding with words, joel lets the two of you fall back onto the mattress. your hips start to grind down on his belt buckle while his hands squeeze your hips and ass.

joel's fingers part your lips, running up and down your slit, collecting your arousal. your back arches as he circles your hole. everything felt so right,

until your lower half is met with a sudden smack!

"uh, j-joel." you groan, coating his palm.

"stop tryin' get yourself off on my belt." he says sternly, laying down another sharp smack.

the hand on your ass moves up your back while his other hand slips two fingers past your tight velvety walls. without noticing, joel's hand inches towards your hair and yanks your head back.

"r-r-right there..." you moan, eyes screwed shut.

moving at an ungodly fast pace, joel manages to find that sweet spongey spot. the one that no one has ever taken the time to study before.

"saw you with daniel the other day by the barns." joel rambles, sounding slightly pissed. "ya'll looked awfully close."

it takes you a moment to fully understand what he meant. sure, you were hanging out with danny. he's been your friend for years now and there was nothing going on between you two.

either way, the thought of that guy being close to you set a fire in his mind. the way he touches your hair and pulls you in for a hug. things joel wishes he could do in public with you.

"danny's just a.... a f-friend!" you squeal, feeling close again.

joel chuckles from somewhere dark and deeply within his chest. the sound alone almost tips you over the edge. the worst part is joel knows it.

"a friend doesn't stare at your chest when they talk to ya'." he remarks, fighting back a groan when you sink your teeth into his collarbone.

"w-why do you even pretend to care?" you bite back with a glare.

joel almost paused but instead he went painfully slow. he knew you two weren't public for many reasons but none of them were because he didn't care about you.

in a split second, joel's other hand wraps tightly into your hair similar to before but this time his grip was rougher. the way you liked it.

"do you seriously think i don't care about you?" he asked, arching a brow at you.

every coherent thought of yours melted the second you felt a fire start in your tummy. something warm and new.

"joel..." you squirm, kicking your feet slightly with embarrassment of what might happen. "c-can't."

your eyes shut as a splash of slick follows your trembling orgasm. whimpers of joel's name and soft curses fall from your lips like scripture.

"that's my girl." he smirks. "betcha like leakin' all over your old man, huh?"

weakly, you nod. joel can tell that you're tired from your orgasm, legs still slightly shaking but that won't stop him from getting a taste of you.

"get on all fours." he instructs you with a sharp smack to your ass, without a doubt leaving a bruise.

you crawl over him, feeling his gaze on your cunt as he watches you clench around nothing. chest and stomach flat against the mattress, back arched and ass in the air. just waiting for him.

"could sit here and stare at her all day." he groans behind you. big hands roaming all over your thighs and ass.

without warning, joel sinks his teeth into the fat of your left cheek. your groans of pain and pleasure fill the room as your arousal drips onto his dark navy bedsheets.

"pleasepleaseplease, j-joel." you beg, wiggling your hips back a little. inching for his mouth. "i need—ah!"

suddenly, his warm tongue begins lapping up your slick. running the muscle through your folds before dipping inside of you. the taste reminded him of honey. sweet sweet honey.

"fuck, sweetheart." he moans into your pussy, barely lifting up to breathe. joel eats pussy like he's on death row. takes his time, covers every surface. he loves inhaling your addictive scent. "can't believe you're all mine."

mine. that's always what he says with his head between your thighs. claims you in his bedroom but forgets your name once he's outside.

"s–shut up." you hiss, finally sick of his shit.

joel pulls back quickly then spits directly onto your cunt. a loud gasp slips from your lips at the feeling.

"don't try and bite at me. i'll leave you untouched for the rest of the night while i get off here by myself." he threatens and he means it.

"s-sorry." you whimper, not wanting him to leave you.

joel goes back to feasting on you but your behavior doesn't go unnoticed by him. he knows it eats at you that he can't claim you publicly. both of you made that clear the first time he kissed you. your daddy's on the council and the town tolerated joel. no one would approve of this.

when he finally pulled off of you, leaving you wreaked and his sheets ruined. joel flips you over swiftly and gets on top of you, facing you again.

the first thing he noticed were the tears in your eyes as you tried not to look at him. joel hated seeing you like this.

"where'd those tears come from, sweet girl?" he coos, tilting your chin to get you to make eye contact with him.

you sniffle, feeling embarrassed for crying.

"it's nothin'." you reply, wrapping your legs around him. hoping that he will let this go and move on.

"tell me what's wrong."

you think about not answering or lying, but for some reason you just can't. joel listens to you take a deep breath and sigh.

"feels like one of these days, you're gonna shot me in the yard. ya' know, put me out of my misery sorta thing."

joel takes a moment to gather his thoughts. his face was unreadable to you. no real sign of emotion until you felt his left hand reach for your leg, lifting it over his shoulder slowly.

"joel, maybe we shouldn't– fuck!"

your words are cut short when his hips snap against yours. it was always a struggle to take him fully; and right now, you could feel him in your guts. the pace was rough, like joel had something to prove to you.

"no. i'm not putting ya' outta your misery or leaving ya' or any bullshit like that." he hisses, feeling your tight walls restrict his brutal pace.

you're at a lose for words. only able to moan for him. his hands play with your tits, rolling your buds between his fingers while nipping at your neck. his mouth settles right by your ear, groaning in it for a moment before speaking again.

"and i'm not fuckin' sharing you with daniel or anybody, sweetheart." his voice is dangerously low as he presses all of his weight down on you in a deliciously suffocating way. "so, cut this shit out and bark for me like the good girl you are."

once his thumb settled on your clit, rubbing in small focused circles, that's all it took for you to break.

"j-joel! shit, right t-there!" you squeal, clenching down on him.

"atta fuckin' girl." he grins, lifting up your other leg and sinking into you. "feelin' full yet? gonna let me mark ya' up? put my claim in you?"

your head was dizzy from his dirty mouth and dirtier actions. all you could do was nod and whimper against his lips.

"want me to knock ya' up?" he teases, hitting that spongy spot inside of you. the one that makes you see stars. "get ya' nice and round with my child? let the whole fuckin' town know that this old man put a baby in ya'? then would you believe that i care?"

joel couldn't be prouder then when he looks down at your fucked out face, just babbling incoherent worlds at him while nodding and staring at him like he hung the damn moon.

"w-want that, joel." you nod. "please, wanna feel you inside of me for days."

now it was joel's turn to feel flustered. your lips leave a trail of kisses on his jaw, making his cock twitch at the tenderness. for an older guy, joel still had stamina.

"don't worry, you've been a real good girl so i'll keep ya' nice and full of me." he groans, feeling you get closer to your high.

a loud pornographic moan of yours comes out when joel places his hand over your lower abdomen, feeling his imprint.

"j-joel, im gonna—"

a gush of your juices hit his pubic bone, coating the grey curly hairs there. joel doesn't take long to follow behind you, spilling ropes and ropes of his warm seed inside of you. even when you think he's done, he still manages to keep coming.

slightly overstimulated, you let your legs fall back on the sheets. joel finally pulls out, watching his cum spill out of you for a moment. two of his fingers slip inside of you, making sure it sticks.

"gonna spend all night shown you how much i care, sugar."

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

John Walker X Reader: Softer, Harder

Warnings: smut, doggy style, penetration (p in v), masturbation( John overhears), cursing, dirty talk, kissing, fluff, no use of y/n, semi public sex, mutual pinning, porn with little plot.

Word count: 2,8K

John was fast asleep. Or at least, he had been—until he heard a grunt. His reflexes kicked in instantly, eyes snapping open as his body went into full alert. He sat up in bed, listening in the darkness.

Another groan.

John’s head turned sharply toward the wall beside him. The sound was coming from your room. He got up, already preparing himself to come to your rescue—because why else would you be making those noises?

He stopped at your door just as he heard it.

“John!”

A gasp of his name. No. A moan.

You weren’t hurt.

You were masturbating.

Color rushed to John’s cheeks immediately. Then, silence fell over the room.

John didn’t sleep a wink that night.

You, on the other hand, slept like a baby.

The next day, John kept actively avoiding you. He couldn’t look at your face without remembering the sounds you’d made—or without imagining what you’d sound like with his dick in you.

It was no secret that John had a thing for you. Well, no secret to him. He’d never actually told anyone or acted on his feelings. But he wasn’t dumb enough to think the others hadn’t noticed how his gaze would linger on you during meetings, or how he’d go the extra mile on missions to make sure you were unharmed.

If they had noticed, they didn’t comment on it. And you sure didn’t seem to notice either. John often thought the feelings were one-sided. Until last night, anyway.

He’d lost track of you after breakfast, which made it harder to avoid you. He didn’t know where you were, so he didn’t know where not to go. But he needed to get his mind off you, and what better way to do that than with some training? You weren’t going to be in the training room this early—it just wasn’t your style.

John had been wrong about that. Because as soon as he stepped inside, his eyes locked onto your frame.

You were already drenched in sweat, chest rising rapidly from what John assumed was your workout. Your head snapped toward the door at the sound of it closing. And when your eyes landed on John, you gave him a bright smile.

A blush threatened to creep up his cheeks at the sight. He hoped he could play it off as over-exertion.

“Perfect timing. I was just about to see if anyone wanted to spar.”

John just stared at you for a moment, eyes trailing over your figure.

“John?”

He blinked at the sound, shaking his head to try and clear it.

“You want to spar with me?”

“Yeah?” you said, standing upright and cracking your knuckles. “Unless you’re scared.”

He let out a short laugh. “Of you? Please.”

He shed his jacket, revealing his strong arms. He almost thought he caught you staring, the thought making him smirk to himself. You were already on the center of the mat when he joined you. You both moved into a fighting position and then without any warning you moved. Lightning fast. John barely had time to react but he managed to dodge your jab. But you didn’t let up, you kept moving at him in quick spurts and he kept trying to avoid your attacks. He had to admit, you were good. Better than you let on. And worse, you were smiling like this was just a game.

For you, maybe it was.

For him? It was torture.

Every movement you made drew his attention to another inch of your body. Then your brows furrowed as you struck him, and your mouth fell open to let out a breathless sound when he managed to strike you—and all John could think about were the sounds of your moans last night.

“I’ve been practicing,” you said between steps, weaving around him. “Figured I should learn how to hold my own. Can't have you worry about me.”

The words had caught him slightly off guard. So you had noticed his protection of you. His heart sped up, not just from the exercise.

He grunted in reply, ducking another swing. “You’re doing fine.”

You moved again, but John was quicker this time. He grabbed your wrist, ready to knock you down by messing up your balance. But you shifted your body forward, tugging him down with you. He stumbled, an arm shooting out just as he lost his footing. You both crashed onto the mat with a dull thud.

He was on top of you, arms caging you as you both struggled to breathe. John’s breath caught. Every part of him went still. Hyper-aware. He could feel the heat radiating off you.

“You okay?” you asked, voice low, a little breathless.

He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t move, either.

Because now, he was remembering the way you sounded last night. Remembering how you said his name. How you moaned it.

You blinked at him. “John?”

The concern was clear in your tone. You were worried maybe he’d landed wrong and hurt something. You stared up at him with wide eyes. And before he could stop it a small laugh tugged at the side of his mouth.

“You really have no idea, do you?” he said, voice barely a murmur.

Your brows pulled together, confused. “What are you talking about?”

He raised his eyebrows at you. Were you really that clueless? Hadn’t you realized just how thin the walls were? Had you not noticed how he’d been avoiding you like the plague all morning?

“I heard you,” he said quietly. “Last night.”

You froze. He felt it—the tension that ran through you like a jolt. He expected you to flush with embarrassment but you merely stared at him, eyes hardening.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

John's eyes widened in amusement. Oh? So this was how you were gonna play it? Okay, two could play that game.

“So if I stick my hand down your pants right now, I won’t find you all wet down there?”

It was filthy. It was beyond anything he’d ever thought he’d say to you. But it had the desired effect. Your mouth opened into a soft gasp as his hand moved from your wrist to your stomach.

Your breath hitched, chest rising faster as his fingers trailed lower, just grazing the waistband of your shorts.

“Yeah,” he said lowly. “That.”

Your body arched subtly beneath him, instinctive and involuntary. Heat shot through your core, pooling fast. He wasn’t even touching you yet. Just teasing and you were already desperate for him. The little shit.

“You were thinking about me,” he said, still hovering over you, his lips so close they almost brushed yours with every word. “You were touching yourself. Saying my name. You wanted me.”

You should’ve looked away. Should’ve denied it.

But you didn’t.

You stayed there under him, breathing heavy, mouth parted. And then you whispered it—

“Still do.”

Oh, what those words did to John. Every fiber of his being vibrated at the confession. His pupils blew wide as he stared down at you. He didn’t wait, he didn’t ask—he just moved, capturing you in a bruising kiss.

One of his hands buried in your hair, tilting your head just right as he kissed you deeper, tongue sliding past your lips, coaxing the softest moan from your throat. Your legs shifted, parting around his hips, letting him settle between them completely.

“You gonna keep pretending, or are you gonna let me give you what you were begging for last night?”

“Please,” you breathed.

John all but growled at the sound, hands moving against your body in desperation. Your skin burned wherever he touched, his fingers leaving invisible marks that had you squirming under him.

“You’ve been driving me fucking crazy,” he said, voice rough as his hand slid between your thighs. His fingers found you already soaked. “Jesus.”

Your hips jerked. A moan escaped before you could catch it.

“There it is,” he whispered, mouth brushing your cheek. “That’s what I heard.”

And then he pushed two fingers inside you. Your head fell back with a broken gasp.

His fingers moved inside you with practiced precision—slow at first, curling deep, his thumb circling your clit in tight, lazy motions that made your thighs tremble. You moaned into his neck, clinging to his shoulders, every nerve in your body tuned to him.

John’s breath was ragged against your skin, his other hand gripping your waist, holding you open for him. He watched you—how your mouth parted, how your hips chased his fingers—and he looked like he could devour you.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growled, pulling his fingers out with a wet sound that made your face burn. He dragged them up to your lips, hovering just there. “Open.”

You did, breathless.

He pushed his fingers into your mouth and you sucked them in instinctively, eyes locked on his. His jaw clenched.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling them free.

Then he reached down, pulling his sweatpants low enough to free his cock. He was thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip. Your mouth watered at the sight. He moved forward, ready to plunge into you.

“Wait!”

John froze, worry flooding him immediately. Had you changed your mind? Had he gone too far? He looked down at you, brows slightly furrowed.

“You okay?”

You gave him a sweet smile, your hand moving to caress his cheek for a moment before you spoke.

“Everything’s fine, John. I just wanted to change positions.”

John’s brows softened, relief flooding through him as he watched your reassuring smile. His hand trembled slightly as he adjusted, shifting his weight to move more easily. He leaned on his knees as you repositioned yourself, eyes widening as he realized what you were doing. You had your back to him, hands and knees pressed to the mat. You turned your head to look at him, smiling at the sight of his gaping mouth.

“This is the position I was thinking about yesterday. Is that okay with you?”

Was it okay with him? Fuck, of course it was.

John’s breath hitched, his gaze locked on your inviting smile and the curve of your back beneath the dim light. His hands instinctively gripped your hips, steadying himself as he shifted forward, positioning between your thighs.

“That’s more than okay,” he murmured, voice thick with desire.

Slowly, carefully, he pushed inside you, inch by inch, savoring the sensation of being so deeply connected. Your soft gasps filled the room, mingling with the steady rhythm of his breath. John’s hands roamed your waist, sliding lower to trace the swell of your hips as he began to move—slow and deliberate at first, building with a growing urgency.

Every thrust sent jolts of heat through your body, the pressure and friction driving you closer to the edge. You arched your back, pressing yourself deeper against him, fingers digging into the mat for support.

“You feel—fuck, you feel perfect.”

“John,” you whispered, voice trembling with need.

He leaned forward, chest pressing against your back.

“Tell me what you want,” he breathed against your ear, voice low and rough.

“More,” you whispered.

He was more than happy to oblige. He straightened up, hands moving to get a better grip on your hips before thrusting into you again. You cried out, head moving to lean on the mat beneath you. And that was it—he set a pace that had the room echoing with the sound of skin on skin, your breathy moans, his gritted curses.

“You’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he rasped, slamming into you harder. “You think I didn’t hear you moaning my name? You think I haven’t thought about this a hundred fucking times?”

He fucked you deep, unrelenting, like he was making up for all the nights he hadn’t touched you, all the thoughts he’d tried to bury. His hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your stomach, caressing your ass. You let him do what he wanted, panting into the mat with every rough thrust. The sounds he was making behind you were driving you insane. You’d already been so pent up. Already imagined this so many times. But none of it did justice to the real thing. Justice to how good John was at fucking you.

You whimpered, your body arching up into him, chasing every thrust. “John—god, please—I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he growled, reaching down, rubbing tight circles over your clit. “Come for me. Let me feel you.”

You shattered.

Your mouth opened in a brutal moan, teeth sinking into the mat. John threw his head back, eyes closing as he felt you gush around him. He didn’t stop moving, not even when your body sagged into the mat, arms giving out. John took it as his chance. He leaned over you, hands bracing against your stomach as he dragged your limp body upright. His strong arms held you tight against his chest as he continued to piston into you. His hands cupped your breasts, giving them a squeeze, and you groaned—still sensitive from your orgasm.

Then your walls clenched around him, and John fucking lost it. He came with a groan of your name, hips stuttering as he buried himself deep and spilled inside you.

He stayed there for a moment, panting against your shoulder, arms wrapped around you like he was afraid you’d disappear. Your body trembled in his hold, both of you sweaty and breathless, but neither of you moved. There was something sacred in the silence. Something raw.

John pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, slow and reverent, then whispered, “You okay?”

You nodded, a soft hum escaping you. “Yeah,” you said, voice hoarse. “Fucking fantastic.”

He smiled against your skin and gently helped ease you back onto the mat, careful not to collapse his full weight on top of you. For a moment, he just laid there, eyes closed, forehead resting against your shoulder blade as the aftershocks faded.

You rolled onto your side, and John pulled you into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world. He was still warm, still a little wild behind the eyes, but his touch was gentle now, grounding. You pressed your face into his chest and let yourself just be—in his arms, in this moment, without fear or pretense.

“You know,” he said softly, fingers brushing through your hair, “I was going crazy thinking you didn’t feel the same.”

You looked up at him. “John, I moaned your name.”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “I noticed.”

You smacked his chest lightly, laughing. “Idiot.”

He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles. “Your idiot.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. Months of pining after him, and here you were—snuggled into his frame, leaking his cum, and hearing him say that he’s yours. It felt like a perfect ending, really.

The next morning, you woke up tangled in John’s arms, sore in the best way, a little hazy, and very satisfied. He hadn’t let you go all night—just held you like you were something precious. You hadn’t slept that well in months.

Eventually, the smell of coffee and the threat of your rumbling stomach forced the two of you out of bed.

The team was already there, halfway through breakfast. Yelena was grumbling into her mug while Ava scrolled through her phone. Bob was making cereal. And Alexie was nowhere to be seen, which seemed accurate. Everyone looked half-asleep. You grabbed a mug of coffee and some eggs before taking your usual seat. John settled beside you. It was peaceful, which was unusual considering your team of misfits.

And then Bucky stumbled into the kitchen looking absolutely pissed.

“Okay, who was biting into the fucking mat in the training room?”

Your fork paused halfway to your mouth. You could feel John freeze next to you.

“I’m serious,” Bucky said. “That shit’s not cheap.”

Yelena raised an eyebrow. “Is someone into, like... feral combat now? What kind of sparring session leads to that?”

“Also,” Ava added, not even looking up from her phone, “pretty sure that’s not very hygienic.”

You slowly turned your head to glance at John. He looked deeply invested in his toast. Your face burned as you tried not to laugh.

You coughed into your napkin, eyes wide and innocent. “Weird. Wonder who’d do something like that.”

“Mmhmm,” Yelena said, giving you a look. “Probably someone very… enthusiastic.”

“Super committed to the training,” Ava added, finally glancing up with a smirk.

John cleared his throat, his ears bright red. “You know what? I’ll order a replacement.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Bucky said, tossing the ruined mat chunk onto the counter. “But seriously—next time, leave the mats out of your sex life.”

You choked on your coffee.

Yelena grinned. “So it was you two.”

John just sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face as the rest of the table broke into laughter.

And despite your embarrassment, you couldn’t stop smiling. Because yeah—maybe the mat was ruined, maybe your secret was out—but John was sitting beside you, close and warm and yours.

Honestly? Worth it.

[fictoweirdoesten]

Lads Guys Feed a Self-Sabatoging User ♡

(self-sabatoging as in, starving themselves on purpose)

cw/tw: gn! reader (sylus and zayne's readers are implied to be short). a lot of these are suggestive, but not really nsfw/smut. reader doesn't talk, and is implied mute. self harm (starving, but also scratching from Sylus's reader). insecurities (and a whole lot of them: body/weight, face, academic, creative/artistic). implied episode with xavier's reader. codependency. dissociating. feeding (force feeding from caleb). age regression from reader if you squint. use of pet names (baby, darling, honey, sweetie, kitten, pipsqueak, cutie).

a/n: idk why I even make stories anymore I suck at them and barely anyone cares. This is just self-indulgent since I'm going through an episode and haven't eaten the whole day and I thought I'd share this anyway. I'm sorry if I mischaracterized any of the li's. caleb is my main and I barely pay attention to xavier or sylus that much.

lazy layout because im tired and hungry, sorry.

Xavier

Xavier pouts, placing the bag of fried chicken on the nightstand beside you. He crosses his arms, eyeing you for a moment.

“So that brain of yours is the reason I haven't heard from you all day huh?” He groans, sitting down beside you. He lets out an exaggerated sigh, and his voice becomes quieter, more childish.

“And here I am, wanting to enjoy some fried chicken with my partner…”

He suddenly feels you tug at his sleeve. He glances at you, still keeping up the act as he sees the guilt in your eyes, the silent plea. He sighs, suddenly laying on top of you as he rests his head against your chest.

“I'm really low on attention, yknow. I'm gonna start sulking like you in a minute.” He nuzzles against your chest, his index finger moving to your cheek as he pokes you lightly. “Tell your brain to leave you alone.”

He sees the corners of your lips twitch, threatening to smile. The act is working, so he doesn't relent just yet. His arms wrap around your waist, and as he gets ready to whine some more, he suddenly feels the growl of your stomach.

“See? Even your stomach can't resist some good ol’ fried chicken.”

He reaches over to the bag, opening the box of chicken and grabbing a leg. He shoves the chicken leg in your face, nudging it against your lips.

“I know you want some,” he teases, a smug smirk on his face. “C'mon honey, just a bite, please?”

He watches as you reluctantly part your lips, biting down on the crispy chicken leg. Your eyes sparkle, a faint smile on your lips that tempts him into pinching your cheeks and teasing you even more. “You're so damn cute,” he whispers, before leaning in and licking the stray crumb from the corner of your lips, feeling you squirm underneath him.

“Can we hurry and eat, please? I'm starting to get an appetite for something else, too…”

Sylus

Sylus takes his time moving to the room. His aloof expression as he gets closer to the door masks his anticipation to see you. He grabs the knob, opening it gently as a smirk creeps on his face.

But then, right as he was about to call out your name, he pauses.

He sees your body curled up on the bed, and for a moment he thinks you're sleeping. He scoffs, walking to the bathroom on the left side of the room to get changed. The sound of you shifting underneath the covers however, causes him to pause once more.

“Sweetie…are you awake?” He watches as you nod, so he makes his way over to the side of the bed you're laying on. “So you're upset then. Tell me what's wrong.” He kneels down in front of you, but you don't respond to him. Your head is buried in the pillow, so he can't read your expression. He sighs, glaring at you silently. But he isn't irritated, rather he's just confused and worried.

“At least let me see your face,” but you shake your head this time, clenching onto the pillow. His eyebrow twitches, and he lets out a grunt at your stubborn defiance. He moves his hand to your hair, slowly gripping on it as a warning. But you still don't move, so he yanks, not enough to hurt you too much, but enough for him to finally get a look at your face.

“I value your choice, kitten. But when you start to concern me like…this…”

He's suddenly at a loss for words. His jaw clenches as he scans your face with his eyes, noticing the fresh scaring all over. This isn't the first time you've done this, so he knows what's bothering you. He grabs your hand, tugging you out of the bed. He doesn't say anything as he makes his way to the bathroom, but the way he tightens his grip on your hand tells you everything.

He stops once he stands in front of the bathroom mirror, pulling you against his chest. He grabs your shoulders, straightening your posture. He then kneels down once more, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at the mirror, at your reflection.

“Do you know what I see?”

You shake your head.

“Well, I see a beautiful, strong person in front of me. And, I also see someone who's incredibly lucky to be by their side.”

You give him a look, and he smirks at your stubbornness, tapping his index finger on your temple.

“Of course, the beautiful person I am referring to here is you, and the one who is lucky is me.”

He watches as you begin to tear up, and his thumb gently rubs your lower eyelid as a tear escapes. “Kitten, if I ever thought less of you, you wouldn't be here right now. Remember that.”

He watches you nod before his hands move to your hips, suddenly picking you up and carrying you over to the sink before sitting you down on top of the counter.

“You didn't eat, did you?” You glance down at your thighs with a guilty look on your face, and he sighs.

“Luke! Kieran!”

–

You lay on the bed, sitting up. He sits beside you on the edge of the bed, a bowl of fruit in his other hand.

“If Mephisto was a real bird, this would be exactly how I would feed him,” Sylus smirks, watching as you open your mouth for him to move a piece of fruit to your lips. You playfully bite down on his finger, before licking around it. He shifts, but doesn't pull away, instead moving the finger you licked to your bottom lip, tapping against it.

“Ah-Ah. I'm not in the mood to punish naughty birds right now.”

-Is what he says, but the way he's eyeing your neck…you know that mood won't last very long.

Rafayel

“Cuuutie!” Rafayel calls out, walking into the studio. He sets the bag in his grip down on a nearby table. He glances around the mess he left behind earlier while he was painting. He groans, scratching the back of his head as he lets out a sigh. “Heeey! If you clean this mess up for me, I'll give you-”

He stops when he sees you standing in front of one of his most recent paintings hanging on the wall. That one was just for practice, to get his creative juices flowing.

“Don't stare at it too long, or you'll get sucked in!” He jests, walking closer to you as he wraps his arms around your waist.

And then he feels it. Your stomach growls, and you feel…flatter. He tenses up, noticing how unresponsive you are, the unreadable expression on your face. “C-Cutie…?” He calls out, but you don't respond to him. Your eyes are fixated on his painting. He gulps, not knowing what to do or how to get you to respond to him. He suddenly notices the unfinished painting on the easel beside him, and it clicks.

“Hey…you're not comparing my art to yours, are you?” You flinch, and he sighs, relaxing a bit as he nuzzles his face into your neck. “How many times do I have to tell you, hm?” He turns you around so you face him, his arms around your waist pulling you closer to him. “Standards used to critique art are unnecessary rules. Besides, I think your art is quite lovely already.” His smile widens when he feels you start to relax.

And then your stomach rumbles again, and he lets out a sigh as he grabs your hand and leads you to the front of the studio, where a takeout bag rests on the coffee table.

“Sit. We're eating.” So you sit, watching as he unties the bag. “Sushi. Your favorite-oh, and I asked for no cucumbers this time. You can praise me now, yknow.” Rafayel takes the containers out of the bag and sets it in front of you as he sits down beside you. He opens it for you, grabbing a pair of chopsticks and swiftly rolling them together.

“Say ‘aaaaaah’!” You blink at him, but reluctantly open your mouth anyway. He scoffs, not quite expecting you to actually obey him. He takes a piece of sushi from your container and slowly moves it to your lips. You bite down on it, letting out a hum at the taste as you swallow. He watches as your face brightens up, letting out a ‘tsk’ before moving to grab another piece of sushi.

“See how satisfying it is to eat? So like, maybe we shouldn't starve ourselves again…yeah?”

Zayne

Zayne takes his coat off, hanging it on the rack as he shuts the door behind him.

He calls out your name, but you don't respond. He quickly tenses at the lack of response from you, moving to the bedroom before opening the door.

He scans the room, but he doesn't see you. He pulls out his phone, checking to see if you responded to the messages he had sent you earlier, or even left him on read…but nothing.

He panics, but before he starts turning tables, his eyes glance over at the bathroom. He knocks gently, hearing a swish sound from the tub, but you still don't respond to him. “I'm coming in,” he sighs, slowly opening the door.

His hand moves to the wall, quickly finding the light switch before flicking the lights on. He watches as you squint, groaning at the sudden light.

“Sorry, but I need to see you properly.” He walks over to you, kneeling down as he gets a good look at your face. “What's the matter?”

You press your lips together, glancing away from him. He frowns, but he doesn't push you further. Instead he grabs your hand from under the water, analyzing it.

“Your hands are pruney. You've been in here too long. Let's go.”

When you show no signs of moving, he decides to scoop you up instead. He places you onto the toilet lid, grabbing a towel as he dries you up. After he's finished, he carries you to the bedroom, sitting you down on the edge of the bed as he finds you something to wear.

“Arms up.”

—

He's in the kitchen, cooking a meal for the both of you once he notices you haven't eaten all day. As the rice cooks and the chicken is in the oven, he moves to the kitchen table, getting ready to rest for a bit when he notices what's on top of the table.

His diplomas. His PhD and his Masters Degree, to be exact. Zayne was a humble guy, so he never hung them up on a wall. He stored them away in a chest. He figured you must have dug them out and placed them there, but why is the question.

And then it suddenly dawns on him.

He enters the room with two plates in his hands. He sets his plate down while handing you the other plate. Usually he would mind eating in the room, but today is different.

He watches as you stare at your food, but you make no attempt at eating. He sets his plate down, grabbing your plate with one hand as he pulls you closer to him with the other.

“My lap.” And you reluctantly obey, sitting in his lap, facing him. He takes your fork and begins to feed you, moving the fork full of chicken to your lips, nudging the piece of meat until you finally decide to part your lips to eat.

“I saw the diplomas on the table.” He watches you freeze, almost choking on your food. He pats your back for comfort. “Darling, what did I say about comparing yourself to me?” He sets the plate down beside his own, his hands moving to cup your cheeks.

“You are a very talented, very smart person. Just because it takes longer for you to learn some things than others, doesn't make you ‘dumb’ or ‘stupid’.” He sees the blush creeping on your cheeks, the slight pout, and he stops himself from scoffing at the sight. He grabs the plate again, grabbing the spoon and scooping up some rice. You start to whine about him feeding you, so he hands you the plate. He watches you as you eat, a shine in his eyes only reserved for you.

“Are you thinking about going to school? I know how much you're interested in Computer Science.” He watches as your eyes glance down at him, seeing the small sparkle in your depths before it quickly fades. Zayne leans down, his forehead resting on your chest as he hums.

“You do realize that you're lucky enough to know one of the smartest people in the world, right?” Sarcasm is etched in his words as he speaks, not wanting to sound boastful or arrogant. He nuzzles his forehead against your chest, feeling your arms wrap around him. “If it's help you need, then I will gladly be your tutor. Even if it means staying up later then I already do most nights. I won't mind it.”

He sits back up, staring at you quietly, watching you lost in thought. He gently smiles, appreciating that you're taking his words into consideration, before nudging you, bringing you back into the present.

“Let's finish our food first.”

Caleb

You didn't know that Caleb was spying on you the whole day. I mean, who wouldn't be tempted when you don't even bother to look at their concerned text messages, or their numerous missed calls.

Caleb watched you sulk in your bed for hours whenever he got the chance to, watched you staring up at the ceiling as you clearly were dissociating. You've laid in that bed for nearly the entire day, only getting up to use the bathroom. You never walked to the kitchen, not once.

“This is exactly why I wanted you to live with me.”

He hurries back home, heavy footsteps getting closer to the door. His anxiety causes him to drop the keys just as he pulled them out of his pocket. He lets out a sigh, reaching down to collect what fell before unlocking the door.

He moves straight to the room you reside in, not bothering to take his boots off or his coat. “Pipsqueak!” He shouts, warning you that he's home in case you didn't hear him open the front door. He stops right in front of the door to the bedroom, letting out a sigh before resting his hand on the door knob. “I'm comin’ in, okay?”

When he opens the door, he immediately frowns seeing the current state you're in. You're clearly exhausted. Your eyes continue to look up at the ceiling, as if you didn't even notice that he walked in. He steps closer to you, gently putting his hand on your shoulder as he whispers your name.

Your eyes snap at him, eyes widening as you blink a few times. “Hey, what's got you so upset, hm?” You shook your head, too exhausted to use your voice. He understood immediately, instead choosing to scoot closer to you, laying down at the empty space beside you as his hands suddenly inch closer to your waist.

But you didn't notice, not until his gloved fingers met contact with your skin.

You flinch at the touch, pulling away from him. His eyes narrow down at you, studying your reaction. He notices the grimace in your expression, but he also notices the guilt in the depths of your eyes as well. The way you sucked your stomach in as soon as his fingers grazed your skin.

“Don't tell me the reason why you didn't eat today is,” he pauses, his eyes glancing down at your stomach once more. “...because of your weight?”

Your breath hitches, which answers his question.

“And who's the bastard responsible for suddenly making you feel this insecure, huh?”

He was careful not to touch you, but he wanted so badly to show you how much he loved you through his touch. He wanted to wrap his arms around your waist, squeeze your thighs with his hands, kiss all over your stomach while singing you sweet praises and affirmations.

He coughs, face suddenly blushing from his inappropriate thoughts.

His eyes notice your gaze trailing down to your phone beside you. You point at it while looking up at him, and he nods in return. He reaches over to grab your phone, putting in your password with ease.

The first thing he sees is a post, and the next thing he does is grab you by your shoulder to pull you closer to him as he tosses the phone to the side. His hands meet your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You notice the serious expression on his face, the same expression he uses as Colonel.

“Listen to me,” he growls, his lips grazing your ear as his hands on your shoulder tightens. “That person doesn't even compare to you. Not even close.” His lips move to your neck, placing gentle kisses that cause you to slightly squirm. He glances up at you, meeting your gaze at him.

“Do we understand? Or are you more of a visual learner?” He bites down on your neck as he continues to stare, not too harsh, but not light either. The bite, his sharp gaze, silent warnings that he won't go easy on you. You shudder, quickly nodding. He smirks, moving his lips to your cheek as he places a gentle kiss there.

“Right answer. I ordered food on my way here. Figured my cooking would take too long. It should be here at any moment.”

—

Caleb’s hand rests on your waist, his fingers caressing the side of your stomach. His other hand forces your jaw open, thumb brushing against your bottom lip. “Open wide baby.” Your lips part for him, and he proudly smiles at your obedience. He moves his hand from your jaw to the spoon, getting a spoonful of the stew sitting on the nightstand before slowly moving the utensil to your mouth. “Got somethin’ light. Figured you might want to gradually start eating again.” You swallow, letting out a hum which he chuckles to in response. “Hm. Can't believe I'm feeding you even now. Not that I'm complaining though.” You open your mouth again, which he quickly gets another spoonful of stew before bringing it to your lips. He lightly pats your stomach as you swallow it down.

“Starvin’ yourself ain't healthy, pipsqueak. If you ever feel insecure again, let it all out on me instead, ‘kay?”

[sarahroutldge]

running to you.

a/n: as someone who always seeks a happy ending, I just had to... if you wanted pure angst then don't read, but if you're craving a fairytale ending then here it is.

for those who haven't read part one or want to revisit, here it is!

summary: rafe made his choice, and now you have to make yours.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: nothing really... lmk if I missed anything

When the door closes behind Rafe Cameron, you should feel instant relief. Knowing that he’s not going to interfere on your wedding day should make you feel even more settled in your decision to let him walk out the door. The man you’re about to meet at the end of the altar is so kind, so generous, and the ideal husband. Any woman in Figure Eight would be happy to take him off your hands. So why aren’t you more thrilled?

Connor Huntzberger is easy, clean, and no drama. With him, you can picture living out the rest of your lives on the pristine family property, eventually surrounded by children and grandchildren that are more Huntzberger than you. You can imagine nights ending on the porch with calm conversation and flowing glasses of wine, with no harsh realities to unpack. The future dinner parties with families and friends come to your mind with ease, as do the pool parties in the summer and brunches at the country club. There are no unforeseen circumstances, no lingering consequences due to questionable decision-making in the past, and no difficult arguments. Any arguments that the two of you do have are settled quickly and quietly, and his voice never raises. Connor won’t forget a date or an anniversary, and you’ll show up everywhere on time, the both of you looking straight out of a home and garden magazine. 

But as the clock ticks on your last few hours as an unmarried woman, you begin to wonder if that’s truthfully all you can survive on. And if you’re being honest with yourself, these are the thoughts you’ve tried so hard to bury ever since Connor proposed. Surely, if you could’ve just convinced yourself to make it to this day, then walking down the aisle would seem like a piece of cake. Yet now it seems like a trek you’re not prepared for, and your legs feel glued to the floor the more you imagine it.

Do you dare to consider the man that just walked out of your life, perhaps forever? What would a life with Rafe Cameron—well, the new Rafe Cameron—even be like? His struggles will always be a part of him, and every day will be a challenge. He’s hurt you emotionally in ways you still haven’t fully recovered from, and your trust in him remains fragile. He lacks the perfect Figure Eight family and your parents have repeatedly expressed just how grateful they are that you married someone “so unlike the Cameron boy.” He’s shown up hours late for dates and forgotten important relationship milestones. He was never the perfect boyfriend, and you doubt that he’d be the perfect husband.

But maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe what matters is that when you think about the happiest moments in your life, you realize that Rafe was always there. His romantic gestures may not always have been timely, but they were heartfelt, and they were special. He knew you better than he knew yourself, and based on that brief conversation you just had, he still might. He saw the darkest parts of you and loved you in spite of them. You could tell him your deepest fears, and he wouldn’t be surprised; for a man so troubled, he carried a level of understanding that you have never seen in anyone else. Most of all, though, something in you burned for him. What you assumed perhaps faded with time was clearly only just a flicker, for it was immediately set ablaze when you laid eyes upon him once again. And you want that flame back. Because who cares about perfection when deep, all-consuming, understanding love is so much better?

And so your legs begin to move. You kick off your heels, reaching for the flats you arrived in. After sliding them on, you grab your purse and your phone—only the necessities. You can’t waste any more time when any minute now someone could be banging on your door, ready to escort you to the venue. And you certainly can’t waste any more time when the love of your life is about to hop on his motorcycle and leave you behind. You open the door a crack, hoping that no one is in the hallway. The coast is clear, and you make your way to the emergency exit. You run around the hidden path, dashing to the front where the cars are parked. “Rafe!” you shout, not even caring anymore if someone in your wedding party discovers you. Your body has made your choice for you, and your mind just has to catch up. 

You don’t see him immediately, and you frown at the thought that he took off so quickly. You start to feel like an idiot before you hear the familiar roar of his motorcycle. 

“Rafe!”

Rafe Cameron can’t be sure if he’s dreaming or not. This is not how life turns out; he’s not supposed to get the girl. Prince Charming is supposed to sweep her off her feet. Someone with his baggage is not meant to be with the love of his life, even if he’s spent his past few years atoning for every mistake, improving himself just in case the possibility of love showed up again. And thank God he did, because she’s running right towards him, her dress dragging on the parking lot. 

You’re sure you look stupid, but you can’t help but giggle. You come to a stop, breathing heavily. “Any chance you have a spare helmet?”

He smirks, and you feel like a sixteen-year-old girl again, shy with your cheeks warm at the thought that he might reciprocate your own feelings towards him. 

He pulls out a second one, and you walk right up to where he’s sat. He reaches a hand up to take your headpiece off delicately. “I always thought you hated headbands.”

“I do,” you respond. It’s quiet, until you both laugh at the words you just said given the current circumstances. You yank the headband out of his hands and throw it in the middle of the parking lot, hoping it doesn’t break through someone else’s window. You bow down a bit so he can place the helmet on you, and he buckles it into place. Once he’s sure it fits, he rubs his thumb against your lips, his actions a show of appreciation at your willingness to give him one last chance. If he’s sure of anything, he’s sure that he won’t mess up this time. 

You step behind him, pressing your hands against his stomach, and feeling the signature Rafe Cameron warmth that you’ve been deprived of for years. Lightly, as if you’ll disappear, one of his hands comes to meet your own, squeezing. 

“Where are we headed to, angel?” 

“I’m not picky, but preferably anywhere I won’t run into a Huntzberger,” you respond, and he lets out a deep chuckle at your signature bluntness. 

“Coming right up, ma’am,” he adds, before kicking up the stand, and the two of you ride off into the distance, chasing the hope of the future instead of the broken promises of the past. 

so... I hope y'all enjoyed! another thank you to @zyafics for requesting the original fic and then wishing for a happier ending, so here it is :)

[foolsocracy]

i will speak my incomprehensible truth for you my friend. bear with me here

im just saying its a huge missed opportunity to have a marine species and not take advantage of all the cool sex traits that exist there!!

With sequential gonosimulists, they start off as one sex then later transition to another. Sex that changes based on social role vacancies (clown fish, MtF) or size (asian sheepshead wrasse, FtM) or just whenever they want, however many times they want (broad barred goby, MtF or FtM) are all naturally occurring in marine life. And these are just a few examples. There are also synchronous gonosimulists, which have the ability to be both male and female at the same time (hamlet).

And applying these really cool systems to Atlanteans, you get to think about how this then creates gender within their society, and with that how society itself is shaped. The politics of Atlantis!! 

I'll do an example. Let’s go the clown fish route. Stay with me here.

If the queen always transitions to a female to fulfill that role, what does that say about that given sex and their implications in society? 

So let’s say Atlantas is run by a queen--and I’ll go off of prime earth lore here. If you’re queen, you've been a female or you’ve transitioned physiologically [maybe in this fantasy case, those in leadership/important roles (very lenient definition) become female, so its not a society of all males and then the queen]. Atlanna is queen. Cool and typical. Aquaman comics are about being an outsider and different, though. So then we have Arthur. 

Ik with his prime earth origin, he’s half atlantean and raised on land, so maybe he just stays male even when being brought into leadership roles as a royal. This can be because his parents are so physiologically different, there could have been an impact that would effect this transitional trait, or maybe his time on land and being raised within a human culture has strengthened his own perceptions about his identity and what it means to be a leader, regardless of sex and gender. What would that mean for their society then, being ruled by a king? Could also have really interesting implications for Mera too, and can give her a lot of political power. 

And if you want to stray from bloodline royalty and really lean into the clown fish model, that makes royal succession 100% identity-based. You don’t inherit the throne, you are biologically called to it by your social environment. 

As for the case of both sexes being synchronous, that means maybe gender is based on something completely different (and I’m using gender here as like. Default pronoun-determiner. APAB,, assigned pronoun at birth lmao). The gender-determiner could be a different aspect of the body, like markings/colorings, or maybe echolocation frequencies/vocalizations. These can behave as secondary sex characteristic equivalents or as a mindful presentation choice. If it is a purposeful way of presenting oneself (having the ability to change colors or pitch/frequency to any of the genders and choosing a specific one), that would make gender in this society so incredibly fluid.

Maybe gender is removed from the body completely, with it being determined by the environment which you were born into. If a civilization is close enough to the surface for vegetation, light, tides, moon phases, etc., then maybe it’s determined by light phase, season, or what have you when you were born. And if you really want to stray from human classifications, maybe it’s a ton of different factors that make up gender. Season + day/night period + moon phase + tides, and some calculus is done to assign you a gender LMAOO. Social constructs can have whatever rules you make up <3

It’s also a real kicker for their infanticide survivors, given they wouldn’t know information about their birth and thus culturally removed from gender itself if they returned to Atlantis.

Also, given the variations in environments between different atlantean cities, its free world building—every city state is gonna have some variation of gender based on their sea, elevation levels, etc. Because factors like tide, moon phases, algae blooms, etc simply do not have significance for a city state in the deepest of ocean trenches. It gives Atlanteans all the more reason to not get along and be the isolationists they love to be LMAO

And there are cases where sex is decided by the environment, aka environmental sex determination (very literal name). Some reptiles are known for this one, where the sex of offspring is determined by environmental factors like temperature during development.

This has some interesting societal implications, because the parents (or maybe the government.. we know Atlanteans are weird about babies) would choose the sex of the child. Lots can be done with that premise.

And if sex doesn’t change, but instead Atlanteans have a make up like marine mammals where everything is internal, there would also be implications on gender and the body in their society! Sex assignment at birth would be more complex (if done at all), and regardless, no one would be able to tell by eye what a young child is just by seeing them out and about, so there’s a neutral gender for children prior to puberty. 

With this, there’s an entire phase of childhood where everyone is treated the same regardless of sex, which definitely would have its impacts on gender and discrimination and perceived roles to grow into. There could be a stronger decoupling of sex and gender, and children would be raised with shared expectations and access. Or perhaps the opposite happens, where there is an increased pressure to abide by secondary traits once they present. 

I just think it’s neat when different societies with entirely different physiologies are unknowable to one another and alien-feeling!!

what if dc was real and interesting and took advantage of marine physiologies to make cool and diverse gender systems in atlantis. what then

[viperify]

congratulations on reaching 1k, my sweet girl mar! ❤️💖❤️💖

how about some smutty tutoring with the grumpy x sunshine trope (maybe with a hufflepuff! reader?)? 🔥

i think these two will go well with the trope:

“you get like this every time we study—tense and nervous. is it the topic or the company?”

“keep your voice down. or don’t. let them hear.”

and any class will do! i don't have a particular one in mind. the same goes for the kinks! go wild 👅

hehe, thank you, i love you 💋

1k celebration | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ʜᴜꜰꜰʟᴇᴘᴜꜰꜰ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⋆꒷꒦˚˖ Sweet Like Honey.

Short Summary: Tom Riddle doesn’t appreciate you not paying attention during his tutoring lessons—especially not if all you do is staring at him and his hands.

Warnings: 18+ only! DUBIOUS CONSENT. semi-public, fingering, praise, hand kink. Tom Riddle is a menace.

A/N: shoutout to my dearest wife @dearmisshoney for being the only one to request Tom’s Tutoring correctly. I love you. Have a whole 2,5k word fic as a gift.

wordcount: 2,5k

You’d always only seen the good in everyone.

That’s just who you were. Your sweet smile and open-minded personality had always only had a positive effect on others—and helped you make many friends over the years at Hogwarts.

Everyone seemed to love and appreciate you—praising you for your kindness and optimistic energy.

But still, there was one student who you couldn’t win over, no matter what you tried.

Slytherin’s prefect—Tom Riddle.

Every project you had done together was solved in silence. You’d blamed yourself for it for a very long time. Thought that your approach was wrong, that you’d given him the wrong impression.

But God, he wouldn’t even let you explain—instead, he cut off every conversation you tried to start.

At some point, you gave up. Let him be. You only worked with him if you really had to. The strange tension and awkwardness you felt whenever he spoke to you made you want to rip out your hair strand by strand rather than have another conversation with him.

You just couldn’t understand how a single individual could be this unapproachable and closed-off.

—

You’d just come back from Dumbledore’s office. 

And you felt like throwing up. Literally.

You pleaded for someone else. Anyone, really—because there surely must be another student that could explain that one Defence Against the Dark Arts topic to you. Someone that wasn’tTom Riddle.

But Dumbledore only crooked an eyebrow, telling you there was no one else, and—if you didn’t wish to fail—you’d have to accept the offer.

Well, fuck.

—

You’d never been as prepared for a tutoring lesson in your life. It felt as though you’d mastered the topic all by yourself before the first session. All the hours and headaches you’d accumulated over the past week would have to pay off today.

Normally you wouldn’t have done this. Drowned yourself in work just so you wouldn’t have to take any more tutoring lessons. Your skin crawled at the mere thought of having to spend two hours with that arrogant prat—but it was too late. You’d done this to yourself.

What frustrated you even more—the fact that now, even without his help, you’d manage to pass.

Though not wanting to disobey the headmaster’s orders, you still showed up. Books and notepad in hand, leaning against the cold stone wall as you waited for him. 

Nervously picking at your nails, you didn’t even notice Tom making his way towards you—not before you glanced up, that is.

He came to a halt right in front of you, one of his hands casually tucked in his pockets, the other holding a textbook. 

Defence Against the Dark Arts for Beginners.

You were in your last year.

“I see you are able to make it in time—if it is for your benefit, of course.” Tom muttered, strutting past you into the library.

No hello, nothing. You hadn’t spoken in weeks, and still, he managed to get on your nerves with the first thing he said to you.

“That was one single time. And I had a good reason, Riddle.” You whisper-yelled after him, but he didn’t respond. Didn’t even wait for you to follow him either.

You inhale a deep breath before you too enter the library, trying to maintain your usual positive mindset—but God, it was more than difficult with him.

It was pre-exam season, meaning it was packed with students. Not even Madam Pince was able to keep control of the situation—it was all a mess, and your motivation to study had dropped to an all-time low at that point. 

You knew his usual spot was to the left of the library, simply because the more useful books were stored on that side. Though, every seat was occupied. So, to his visible dismay, he had to settle for the only table for two that was left. Which happened to be in the first aisle, with a somewhat clear view of the center.

Obviously this spot was disliked. It was distracting. Every other minute someone walked past, or the librarian hurried down the aisle finding or returning a book. 

“You are aware I am not a beginner, right?” You finally asked as you got seated, and he opened the book he’d brought—completely disregarding the material you had taken with you.

He didn’t even grant you a glance, flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for. “Dumbledore described your situation as—let’s say—quite severe. To catch up until your exam, you will have to follow a strict study plan. Mine.”

Now, you were certain he knew you didn’t need this. It was just another act of humiliation.

You didn’t quite know what bothered him this much about you. Never had you met a person this infuriating and insufferable.

Still, you clenched your jaw and decided to follow along. If anything, you did this to satisfy Dumbledore. No other reason.

An hour had passed, an hour wasted. It was nothing new. He’d repeated the basics of the basics. And him, having shifted in his seat slowly over time, now sitting so impossibly close—so close, you felt the vibrations of his voice in the air—didn’t help the situation.

Although you hated him with all you had, you couldn’t quite deny the fact that Tom was one of the most handsome students—and with him mere inches from your face—you got an even better view of his features.

How the muscles in his jaw flexed whenever he spoke, the beauty mark on his cheekbone, the gel in his hair. Veins standing out beneath his skin when he reached to turn the page.

Although they were quick glances—he noticed them. Of course he did. The sweet little Hufflepuff next to him, acting oh-so-sweet and innocent next to her friends. But whenever he was around—your energy shifted. He recognized it all too well. Tom never cared about the chocolate and roses he received on Valentine’s. Too many to count, too many rejections to give out.

It was curious. All these cards, all these names. But never yours. Every single year he’d almost waited for your name to come up. It never did.

You were different in your own way—trying to deny him as best as you could. But he saw right through you.

He cleared his throat, and you were torn from your thoughts, from studying his features. "You get like this every time we study—tense and nervous. Is it the topic or the company?"

It felt as though a knot had formed in your throat. Impossible to swallow, suffocating you. Blood rushed to your cheeks, feeling them heating up.

You shake your head, briefly. Packing your books in a hurry. “I am— feeling unwell. Perhaps we could— continue another t-time?”

Tom huffs at that, his chocolate brown eyes meeting yours for the first time that afternoon. Suddenly you felt quite dizzy.

“Aren’t you here to learn something? It’s quite rude to leave now. Especially after you have so thoroughly examined my facial features as I was trying my best to get you back on track for your exam.”

You definitely felt like dying now.

“I— I don’t think this is a good idea, Riddle.” Your legs shook as you tried to stand up, but something—something that you soon recognized to be the warmth of Tom’s hand—anchored you to the wooden bench you were sitting on.

“Stay,” he said. An order. Voice low, barely above a whisper. He was still looking at you. Even as his eyes seemed to bore into the side of your face, you didn’t return the favour. The warmth of his palm on your bare thigh, resting just below the hem of your skirt, and him studying your face just like you had done to him mere moments ago—had you contemplate every life choice you had made that led you to this.

Tom, on the other hand, was enjoying himself. Your trembling fingers, clutching tightly around the books you had brought, your jaw, clenched tightly. Eyebrows slightly furrowed. His sweet little Hufflepuff. So sweet, you could very well challenge the honey he had at breakfast that very morning.

“A-alright, uhh— where were we? I remember you saying something about— oh—“

You had tried your best to ignore the hand on your thigh as you forced your brain to remember what he had said before you got lost in your own thoughts. A fatal mistake, looking back now.

It was about the effects of Crucio you believe and— well— that was all you managed to recall until his hand slipped higher. Not a mistake, definitely not. Because it stayed there. It felt hot against your skin now, as though it was trying to burn you. Your breath caught, and you choked on your words.

“Yes?” Tom said, more softly this time. “What was it that I was explaining?”

“Umm— Cru— Crucio and its long-term effects, and—“

His hand travelled further up your plush thighs, now slipping beneath the fabric of your skirt. Squeezing gently.

Yeah, you lost the plot again.

He lifted his hand slightly, reconnecting his palm with your flesh in a soft slap. 

“Go on.”

You inhaled sharply, almost a sob.

“A-about curses and how we defend ourselves against them. H-how to reverse their e-effects—“

Tom nodded, his second hand lifting your leg, draping it over his—spreading your legs before his fingertips wandered up the inside of your thigh with the gentlest touch.

He kept your leg firmly pressed against his, even as you tried clenching your thighs together—to escape the sensation of his touch.

Tom leaned in then, slowly, his tone gentle as his lips brushed the shell of your ear, placing a soft kiss on it. “Too much?”

Any coherent thoughts had long left your brain. Shaking your head erratically was the only answer you gave him. The only answer he needed.

Two of his fingers worked their way beneath the waistband of your panties, having you hold onto the edge of the bench you were sitting on—knuckles turning white from how tightly you were gripping it.

His eyes studied your expression carefully as he first explored along the soft lace, then slipped deeper—one of his fingers finding your swollen clit, drawing soft circles on it.

You gasped, immediately covering your mouth with your hand—afraid someone might hear you—your fingers closing around his wrist, momentarily stilling his movements.

Tom waited, and as you relaxed, your fingers slipping from his wrist—he dipped between your folds, a low, throaty groan falling over his lips as he felt your arousal coating his finger.

“‘S that all because of me, hm? All wet just from staring at my hands.” He drawled, fingertip circling your entrance, dipping inside half an inch before withdrawing again. “You like my hands?”

“Y-yes,” you whispered, gently rocking your hips to meet his touch. Tom hummed in approval, leaning in again to place a kiss just below your jaw. 

“But what— what if someone sees us?” You asked, nervously glancing around you—but even those worries faded when he finally entered your slick heat, massaging your walls with precision that had your eyes roll to the back of your head, precision you wanted to hex him for. 

“Then we will have a lot of fun in detention, sweetheart.” He teased, a second finger prodding at your entrance—too pushing inside. 

“Now, tell me the most important reversal spells—if you stop, I stop.”

If you weren’t so far gone, you’d probably smack one of your books on his head.

“There’s— Finite Incantatem—“

His long, slender fingers pushed deeper, until the second knuckle, when he curled them—and you swore that for a second you saw stars dancing in front of you—another soft moan slipping from your lips.

“It ends— minor curses and— the effect of some hexes,” you continue, trying your best to play off any suggestive gasps as breaths—but you failed terribly at it.

In the meanwhile, his thumb made its way to your clit, rubbing gentle circles on the sensitive bud—which, again, had your concentration falter.

He stopped, and you whined in frustration—you needed this, and he knew it.

“S-sometimes you can also— use Episkey—“

At this point, you just told him anything you knew. No matter if he had mentioned it that day or not, you wanted to please him enough to grant you your release. And he did—ironically enough, he sped up, angling his thrusts just right when he heard students walking down the aisle. You didn’t notice them.

“Tom— oh God, Tom—“ you whimpered softly, thighs trembling as he brought you right to the edge, the knot in your stomach wound tight.

“There’s someone coming. Keep your voice down. Or don't. Let them hear." He murmured, thumb pressing down on your clit again—enough to send you over, waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your walls pulsed rhythmically around his digits, which didn’t let up.

Not even when two Ravenclaw girls of your year walked past you. You saw them, yes. Yet, you weren’t able to hold back his name, accompanied by a small gasp.

Lucky for you, they didn’t notice.

Only when you whimpered in overstimulation did he withdraw his fingers, bringing them to your mouth. You opened without a second thought, tasting your own slick on his skin as your tongue worked to clean his fingers.

“That’s a good girl.” He purred, hand dropping to his side, pressing a kiss on your temple before he let go of your leg.

Tom let you catch your breath, briefly, before he decided it was “smart” to use the rest of your time. Knowing damn well you weren’t able to concentrate. Not now, that the realisation of what you had just done set in.

Those two hours passed faster than you had thought they would.

And when you left the library, looking at him—taking in the smug grin on his face you knew all too well from whenever he got what he wanted—he handed you a small piece of paper.

You recognized it instantly.

A detention ticket. For tomorrow afternoon. With him. For three hours. 

“Before you ask. That’s for your skirt—school rules say below the knee. This one is clearly not long enough—although I doubt you don’t already know that.”

Your eyebrows furrow. That fucking—

“I hate you, Riddle.”

He turned, winking. “See you tomorrow, honey.”

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | 1k celebration. <- event masterlist.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

[ronearoundblindly]

Just thinking about how we as Alpine could dote on sweet Steve...

(part of Companion Animal, a steve x shapeshifter!reader series)

He's just so easy to read, like an emotional open book, and when Steve's worried about anything at all, you just have to sit with him and stare. He always cracks. He'll tell you everything, and as you continue to gaze with that caring he always recognizes in your eyes, he keeps going, every bit of honesty just flowing out of him.

Sometimes, however, Steve begs for you to change back. He wants to listen to you talk about your day. He wants to hear what you think, what you would do in his place, what you've been up to. Steve likes companionship in all its forms--you in all your forms--but loves the equanimity of human-to-human interaction.

There are so many reasons you shift to a cat, but the biggest is that life is simpler this way. It was the motivation for your first change: you wanted things to be simple. If you feel small, you can be small. If you don't feel like talking, you don't have to.

Steve envies your powers honestly. He knows what it was like to be small and overlooked. Steve actually misses that from time to time. He never thought he would.

Tonight, though he has no idea why you've felt the need to be small and quiet, Steve holds you in his lap, balancing your fluffy body in a soft curl at his hip. He talks, and once he's covered all the important bits of his day, he keeps talking about nothing at all. He mentions a new houseplant or two that he wants, but he's not sure whether to find some clippings to propagate or to go buy them.

Steve never noticed how much he talks about food until he started filling the empty air with you. He would apologize for that, but he has a lot of opinions about chicken (all the proteins, really) and serving sizes (you stop him with a chirp when he mentions 'pricing' though). There are also certain meals that go very well with certain types of weather, which he thinks should be obvious but still lays out a case for having soup and stew always at the ready for rainy days and--

"Are you asleep, babygirl?" he asks in astonishment. "Why didn't you stop me? You could have asked to go to bed if you were tired."

Steve tries very hard not to turn his frown upside down as you yawn, a big gesture for such a little thing. You're so cute. You know he can't resist the fierceness of your fangs coupled with your half-closed eyes.

You roll onto your back in his lap, a dopey, quirky look on your squished face, staring at him again.

"What?" Steve pokes gently at your belly. "You'd rather watch TV? Do--what's that stupid phrase--Netflix and chill?"

You pop upright, tail swatting between his knees, and slow-blink at him.

"You're very predictable, darling," he chides, grabbing the remote but kissing your head as he leans over. "Why'd you let me go on an' on?" Steve whispers an apology while you shove your skull into his cheek. "I don't mean to bore you. You could have--" he feels you shake your head "--no? Not boring you?" He leans back. "How is listening to me jabber not boring?"

You stand to put one paw on his chest, the other tucked to your own, holding his brilliant blue gaze.

You've told him you love his voice. You've told him you love to know what he's thinking, that everything he says is important to you, but...Steve hasn't considered how you being in Alpine-form forces him to use his voice.

Because you want to know what he's thinking.

Because you want to hear all of the things that take up important space in his thoughts.

Because you know that he won't if there's anyone else there, any other person, any other human.

Steve Rogers always puts other humans above himself. If anyone else is in the room, Steve's not the priority, so...

The second his face drops in understanding, you look smug as hell and cheekily bat your fuzzy paw at his lips.

"Ha ha, very funny," he drawls. "You think you're so smart, don't you!"

Steve scoops you up in his arms and peppers you with kisses, tightening his grip a smidge.

"What if I don't turn on your show, huh? What are you gonna do about it?" There's a familiar pressure against him, and your body becomes much heavier. He lets the shift happen as usual then looks down.

You, human-you, snuggle into his lap, the rest stretched across the couch, turned away from the television to focus only on him.

"Nothing."

Steve plays with your hair quietly because of course he stops filling the air already.

"Tell me about all these soups we're going to make."

You poke his side as Steve laughs. You know his tricks. He's so easy to read, but no matter what, he's your favorite open book.

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

Tags: @hisredheadedgoddess28 @irishhappiness @fallenxjas @ilovetaquitosmmmm @venunsgirl @fries11 @lovinglimerence @navs-bhat @creat0r-cat @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @stellar-solar-flare @deandreamernp @rogersbarber @blogbog710 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thiquefunlover63 @bitchy-bi-trash @supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry

[adaginy]

Almost everyone's shadow is just a little bit, you know. Human shadows, that is. Inanimate object shadows are flat, plant shadows are flat. Animal shadows are all pretty flat, as far as anyone's found, but we don't know if that's because their shadows don't eat or if that's because they don't feed them.

But human shadows, of course, you can't watch your kid every minute, and how do you teach a kid to be a good person who helps others but also not to feed this creature begging and begging? And you can't watch them every minute. Plus teenage dares.

I don't think I've seen any human shadows more flat than, mm, a slime mold or something. It doesn't necessarily weigh anything, at that point, but it looks like a film on the sidewalk or grass behind you.

I was unsupervised a lot as a kid. Not like a latchkey kid, trusted to be independent, just... I wouldn't say neglected, but when my shadow looked like a faded portrait in fancy embroidery by 4th grade, some phone calls were made. The man who picked me up from those offices downtown said he was my mom's cousin, but I remember her pointing to my widow's peak and saying allll the men in her family had that. He didn't.

I thought my shadow was beautiful.

No-one else can hear your shadow, but it turns out when yours is as developed as mine was, they can see the lips move. Every one says theirs is all "feed me, I want fooood, I WANT WHAT YOU HAVE, I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE." I say my shadow is too. Really, mine asks politely whether I could share.

I usually do share. Not a lot. It's such a small request, you know?

I was barely into high school, newly 14, with a shadow starting to resemble one of those wax statues -- not one of the really good ones, maybe one of the ones that ends up in the news for not looking like the person at all, but still a lot more shadow than most people -- when I started wondering, you know, what really happens. They tell you that it'll become like a mirror, and they say it really sternly in the same voice they use to say "don't drink and drive" or "don't hang out with those kids," like mirrors are dangerous and we don't have them in our homes and cars and bathrooms.

And I started wondering if anyone had seen it be a problem. Asked questions. I probably thought I was being subtle but, again, a shadow already 3 or 4 inches deep, people probably knew why I was asking. Sometimes you're the last to know. But I asked around, mostly got "my friend's brother's ex-girlfriend's dad" stories with no real ending; they'd say he fed it and then not say what happened to him. They shrugged, they didn't know, they don't know the guy, he's just their friend's brother's ex-girlfriend's dad. I lurked in the library, felt like everyone was looking at my big shadow being cast on the books about shadows. Tried searching online but that was a waste of time. About equal parts "Top ten things you should NEVER feed your shadow!!" (eggs, for some reason??) and "25 tips for keeping your child from feeding their shadow," both in that same breathless clickbait tone. Some conspiracies about how fast shadows grow "these days," that no-one wanted to feed theirs back in the day, or that they didn't even eat. Some fetish stuff.

One page saying that, if you wanted to feed it, and were asking whether you should feed it, "you already know the answer." I'd never really wondered if I should, what answer was I supposed to know, here?

I didn't find an answer to my original question. But I did notice that it was always adults saying not to, adults talking to other adults about keeping kids from it. There weren't any adults talking about how they had a huge shadow they regretted. I think that was enough of an answer.

I shared a lot less in high school, though. Apologizing the whole time. I think I knew in my heart of hearts what was happening and I didn't want anyone else to see, not in high school.

Bless my guidance counselor, man, I told him that my family situation was a mess and I didn't have time or money for college, and asked how could I get out ASAP (military wouldn't have been an option even if I'd wanted it; they won't let you enlist if your shadow has color or is more than 1.5 inches deep). He asked if I had my driver's license, how I felt about people in general, if I could pass a drug test, and if my weekends were free, and gave me a CDL learner permit study guide and said he'd make a call.

I think he was glad to get an easy point into the school's statistics about graduates with good jobs. Under 21 you can't truck state to state, but this is a big-enough state, and if I had a plan I could be pretty sure I'd turn 21 eventually.

So most of my senior year weekends were spent in CDL training or riding shotgun in big rigs while the driver talked about road safety, maintenance maintenance maintenance, life on the road. My favorite was this older lady, who told me to read every contract and do my own math on pay and terms to avoid getting fucked over, and to take care of my teeth and body ("an apple a day keeps the doctor away, and a bag of 'em is cheap and won't rot in a hot cab"), and she told me that truckers wouldn't care about my shadow and that some even fed theirs on purpose to have a ride-along buddy. I asked why she didn't -- she had one of those thin shadows, a mottled grey layer a millimeter deep -- and she looked at me and my shadow a while before answering.

She had fed her shadow. All the way up.

"What happens??? I've been trying to find out and nobody will tell me!"

She paused again. I think time on the road does that, makes you okay with long pauses, really long pauses, losing track of how long they are. But she said, eventually, that she wouldn't tell me. That I probably knew, deep down, but that if you crack open an egg early that just kills the bird inside instead of helping it along, and I had to figure that out and make the decision myself. But, she said, she would answer my next question she knew was coming: This was her shadow's shadow; that's why it was so thin. A new start.

I think she's wrong. Not about killing birds, but about telling people what happens. If we're gonna use a hatching analogy, I think telling you what happens is more like Mama Bird chirping at the edge of the nest, so the babies can hear even before they're hatched.

The day I got my CDL, I ordered pizza in my little one-room sublet. We shared, right down the middle.

It took more than half a pizza to catch up, to start growing again. I still had a little school left but it wouldn't matter. I could feed my shadow now and I'd be out by the time it really started to get obvious.

It turns out that a shadow doesn't reflect what you look like. Folks know that now, now that people are being more open about having fed it, being more willing to feed it, saying it's normal to feed it if you want. It reflects who you are. Not in some stupid "mean people are ugly" way. But angry or sneaky people get that face, I guess.

Maybe that's why some of the most obnoxious people still make such hay about not feeding theirs. They say it's because they have superior discipline and willpower and whatever, but maybe they know their faces would show up as literal assholes.

And, well. Maybe deep down I had known how mine would look.

One day I looked at my shadow and felt right. Then it felt instinctive: I put a light directly behind myself so my front was in shadow. My front was my shadow. My shadow was me.

I was right about my shadow, back then. She was beautiful. Now I'm beautiful. I'm her.

(And I don't have a widow's peak anymore, either.)

Text: You aren’t supposed to feed your shadow, no matter how much it begs. Share enough meals and it will grow more and more substantial, until you may as well be looking in a mirror.

[hanginginthevoid]

pairing: joaquin torres x reader

a/n: holy. im so happy to finally be pushing this out. im not proud of the ending bc i just DIDN’T know how to end it, but it needed to be finished finally. hopefully it doesn’t disappoint bc i wasn’t planning on doing a pt.2 so it wasn’t as thought out as the first part.. also not proofread…. 

summary: You think life’s going to be better, easier, after leaving Joaquin since you couldn’t remember him. Months later when you finally do remember something about him, you find out how wrong you are. Would he still be waiting around for you?

warnings: amnesia mention, nothing else tho lmk if i missed sumn!!

wc: 4.5k

dividers by @cafekitsune !!

It's been months since you’ve seen Joaquin. Months since you left him at the house that the two of you bought together. Months since you’ve told him that you couldn’t torture him with false hope of you being able to remember your relationship anymore. 

You hadn’t talked with anyone about it. Your parents tried at first, Joaquin was the son-in-law that they never had but would always love. But then they realized that it was too touchy of a subject. 

Your new found friends didn’t need to know about him yet. What would you even say? ‘Oh yeah, I have a man who loves me but not me me, a me from before I had amnesia, and I think about how I failed to remember him on the daily.’

It’s extremely unfortunate, and just your luck, that the day you finally do get a memory of Joaquin back, it's with one of your new friends. 

You met Iris at a bonsai tree cutting class that the plant shop you work at hosted. It seemed like a fun experience that would leave you with a great conversation starter when you finally got around to getting a new apartment.

Iris and you were sitting at the same workbench, she was chattering filling the silence that you were so comfortably sat in. Still, you indulged her with soft hums and nods of agreement when it seemed fit. 

After a couple of drinks, you had opened up. You’d think Iris would have talked less since she actually had a verbal partner now. Instead she seemed to talk more, diving into facts that were almost entirely irrelevant to the story before circling back to her main point. 

After that it was like you had been adopted. Iris would bring you coffee on your morning shifts, stopping by and chatting while you waited for any customers to come in. When you’d work the afternoons she’d see if you wanted to go out for drinks or dinner after. She incorporated you into her friend group, inviting you on their outings to the beach or an escape room.

Today, for a change, you’ve invited Iris out. A new brunch spot has opened up and you’ve been itching to try it. They focused on specialty french toast, mixing different cereals or dessert profiles to create almost a whole new taste.

You had gotten the cinnamon toast crunch flavor, seemed like something that couldn’t be messed up and it definitely would still taste good with syrup all over it. Iris had opted for fruity pebbles, her sweet tooth showing itself. 

Iris’ eyes lit up, shining brighter than most stars, the second she placed her first bite in her mouth. Her lips turned upward grinning at you as she chewed. 

“It's so good! You have to try this!” Then she’s cutting off a piece and holding her fork out in front of your face. When you realize she's going to feed you, you take a quick swig of water to try and cleanse your palate to get the best taste possible. 

It’s sweet, very very sweet. Something that a child would beg for every morning because it felt like they were having candy for breakfast. You’re chewing, nodding your head to show Iris that you agree in the fact that it’s good, when your head starts to pound.

It's thick, banging against the back of your eyes, spreading to your temples with a barely visible throb to the veins that rest there. It comes with a memory. One you’re not familiar with. 

Your hands come to rest on your forehead, trying to compress your head as if that would help, elbows resting on the table. You can hear Iris saying something, but it’s distant. Her voice is drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in your ears. 

You can feel your back being pressed into the countertop at Joaquin's house in your memory. You’re standing there in a tank top and your underwear, Joaquin is positioned at the stove in just a pair of sweats. Then you hear your own voice, “It's gonna be too sweet babe, I’m tellin’ you.”

“It’s not gonna be too sweet.” He saunters over to you, hands caging you in against the counter, “If anything you’re too sweet.” He’s laughing, pressing soft kisses against your lips before heading back to the stove.

Joaquin grabs the spatula he’s been using and takes one of the pieces of his ‘rainbow toast’ off the pan. He pours a bit of syrup onto the plate, then tears off one of the edges of the toast. He swipes the piece through the syrup, getting a decent coating, and heads towards you.

One hand grabs your chin, slightly tugging it downwards. The other lifts the food to your lips, pushing it through the slight gap he’s made. Joaquin’s smirking at you as you start to chew, like he knows something you don’t.

You’re quick to realize that he does know something you don’t. He knew it wasn’t going to be too sweet. It was just the right amount of sweet, the flavor profile meshing together so well that you felt like Remy from Ratatoulie when he had cheese and strawberries together for the first time.

“‘s good.” You’re smiling back at him, slightly shaking your head in disbelief.

“Told you,” His hands are on your hips, thumbs caressing them softly. Joaquin leans in, lips brushing your cheek as he speaks, “Sometimes I can be right too.” He’s kissing your cheek, down the column of your neck towards your shoulder, then you’re suddenly snapped back to reality.

Iris is grasping your shoulders, shaking slightly. She’s got a deep crease in her brow, her worry evident. When you meet her eyes, it seems to quell some of her unease, the crease unfolding a small amount. 

“Hey there,” Iris is rubbing her hands down your shoulder to your biceps, then restarting, “Thought I lost you for a second there.”

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. You grab her hands from your shoulders, holding them tightly, “Sorry. I literally just got the worst migraine ever, can I just like, cashapp you for the food so I can head home?”

“Yeah! Yeah, of course! Just go take care of yourself.”

“I’ll text you later,” You’re grabbing your bag, getting your keys out of it before slinging it over your shoulder, “Promise.”

They say time heals all. Joaquin would disagree. 

He would say time does not, time can’t, heal all. It’s been 7 months, 18 days, and 13 hours, since you left. Since you decided that it wasn’t worth trying to remember Joaquin anymore. And he hasn’t felt an ounce of comfort since.

Not when his mother stayed long after she was supposed to go home. Making him his favorite meals, letting him rest his head on her lap as she ran her fingers comfortingly over his scalp and scratching his shoulders.

Not when Sam, and sometimes Bucky, would come and visit him. Drag him out of the house, making sure that he got fresh air, and that he moved his body. Sometimes they’d train, Sam showing Joaquin one of his special Falcon moves, trying to give him a win. 

Not when he boxed up everything that you left behind. Moved it into the guest room and locked the door. He tried to gain the ���Out of sight, out of mind mentality’, but it started to eat at him. Knowing that the last bits of you were just behind one door, one measly door. The next morning, all your trinkets had returned to their prior places, the kitchen towel you loved placed over the oven handle, and your favorite candle lit.

Joaquin may be to blame. He did spend the first few months of your absence using his military clearance to check-in on you. Nothing serious, just following your movements and seeing who you’re making relationships with. On a really bad day he checked to see if you changed your coffee order; you didn’t.

He didn’t mean to push any boundaries. In his defense, you would never know about it anyways. He just wanted you to be safe and since he couldn’t physically keep an eye on you, this was the next best thing.

But then Sam found out. 

Then there was a long lecture about personal space, and how what he was doing was illegal. Sam reminded him that you made your choice and even though Joaquin didn’t like it, he had to honor it. 

So he tried to fill the void that you left with new things. He’s gone out, made new friends, found new restaurants, tried new running routes, even rearranged the house. Some may have found it difficult to sustain, every hour of his schedule accounted for and something planned. 

And it worked! Having his brain always preoccupied left him little time to think, little time to consider the what if’s. But then in the back of his mind there would be a nagging, small voice, reminding him of you.

How you’d love the menu at the new Mediterranean place downtown. How you’d tell him his new morning route is boring, and there’s nothing interesting to look at. How he knows for a fact you wouldn’t care about the way he rearranged the house, because somehow without trying he’s got a better lighting scheme going on and now you can do your makeup in natural lighting instead of artificial.

It ate away at him. Slowly gnawing away at his soul. Rotting the edges of his mind, leaving him unable to function without considering you. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was tiring. The emptiness got old fast, and it’s passing the point of exhaustion. 

But Joaquin knew reaching out wouldn’t matter. You’d only remind him that you didn’t, couldn’t feel anything for him. And then he’d be back at square one, an aching hole in his chest from disbelief of the situation.

So he’d stay silent. Suffering. And he’d be content, knowing he was protecting your peace in a way.

You spent the last three days huddled in your room. You had texted Iris that you’d made it home safe and that you would plan something as soon as you were feeling up to it, but after that you’ve had minimal contact to the outside world.

It felt wrong to not say anything to Joaquin. To not inform him that what he waited on for months finally happened, seemed like a crime. However, telling him seemed extremely selfish.

He had told you specifically not to get green skin, to reach out whenever for anything. But you hadn’t. You chose to give him radio silence, chose to leave him in the dark about what was happening in your life. 

It would be wrong to finally reach out. Joaquin’s probably moved on with his life. He’s probably focusing on his job, training his specialized moves as the Falcon. Or maybe he’s got a new girlfriend, someone who would accept all his advances and appreciate them, appreciate him.

You always appreciated his efforts, knew that he was a good man. No, he was a great man. Always doing above and beyond, making sure that you knew how important you were to them. That’s why you’re so hesitant, so on edge, about telling him you finally remember him. 

What if you became a home wrecker? Not intentionally, but if he really did find someone else, you’d possibly come between them by reaching out. You weren’t that type of person, never one for drama anyway. 

Maybe you could reach out under the guise that you just wanted to see how he’s doing. That you were checking up because he took care of you for so long that it’d be rude not to. But he’s not stupid, Joaquin would definitely know you were up to something. 

You pick up your phone, for the nth time, and find your way back to Joaquins contact. Then your fingers start to type, just a simple ‘hey! just wanted to check in, how’s it goin?’. But then you’re holding your thumb on the backspace button, restarting the message. 

‘hey, how’ve you been holding up?’ delete.

‘hey, i finally got some of my memory back.’ delete.

‘hey, can you talk sometime soon?’ delete.

You’ve been mulling over the fact that this would definitely be a conversation better had in person. You could book a ticket and be there within a couple of days max. Would that be overstepping? 

Grabbing your laptop and powering it up, you search for plane tickets. You’re not gonna buy it yet, but it’d be nice to know how much of a dent would be in your bank account. You wouldn’t need a checked bag so that saves you at least a hundred bucks, and all the sudden it’s more real than ever that you could do this.

You grab your phone again, typing in one of your original messages about checking in and seeing how Joaquin’s doing. Before you can change your mind or allow your better judgement to kick in, you press the send button. 

Your phones on do not disturb before you power it down, just to ensure that you don’t get a random notification and get your hopes up. With your luck Joaquin wouldn’t even answer.

Should you pack a bag, just in case he feeds into your delusions and is willing to meet up? No that’s too forward, it would be giving yourself too much hope. You’ll just browse hotels instead, something cheap, just to get you through the night.

It’s about an hour later when you snap out of it. Realizing how ridiculous you are. Really believing that he would respond after months of no contact. You slam the laptop shut, probably harder than needed, and hop out of bed to get something to eat before turning in for the night.

You’ll be refreshed in the morning. The pressure of reaching out no longer making your chest cave in. Then you’ll go on about your life, making plans with Iris and picking up a few shifts to make up for the days that you missed.

The new resolve that's planted itself in your brain helps you get to sleep easily. More than ready, almost excited for the day ahead.

With ‘do not disturb’ on it's easy to forget that you sent a text. Only your favorite contacts being able to break through leaves you with nothing but the important stuff. So your whole morning routine is spent in blissful ignorance. 

There’s a lull at work, you’re bored and need a break from doomscrolling, so there you are, checking the notification bar before you know it. It’s a bunch of meaningless stuff from the games on your phone, some instagram and tiktok notifications, and then a text. 

You almost click on it, out of reflex more than anything, but then you remember that this isn’t just one of your friends asking to get ice cream. Joaquin’s response is simple, ‘hey!! everythings good here, what about you? anything exciting?’

Checking when the message was sent, you find that his response came only 13 minutes after you texted him. Now you seem like a jerk, texting him and then not responding in a timely manner. 

‘everythings good, just thinking about you since im in the area’

It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. There’s no guarantee that Joaquin would ask to meet up. But you don’t want to play a game of cat and mouse around what you really reached out for, so you send another text. 

‘was thinking we could meet up if you werent too busy?’

The rest of your day goes by swiftly, constantly checking your phone whenever you had a few free seconds. Joaquin doesn’t get back to you until later that night. He was probably busy with work, or the girlfriend you were assuming he had.

He does eventually respond, telling you he’d be free the day after tomorrow, and the two of you could go wherever you want.

Great. 

Now you really have to get a plane ticket, and a hotel. And it would have been really nice to have packed that bag already. 

The city’s been busy, a complete difference from your hometown. No matter the time there’s people moving about, driving around. You flew in early, well technically not early but a full day before you were supposed to meet with Joaquin.

It seemed wrong to meet at one of the locations Joaquin had shown you when he was originally trying to get your memory back. Those places already had deep seeded memories that he held, and assuming that this meeting would go worse than expected, you didn’t want to soil them. 

So you tried new places, explored popular locations, searched out hole-in-the-walls, anything that seemed like it could be neutral ground. 

Nothing too restaurant-like, that would instigate the want for long conversation.

A cafe would be nice, grabbing a quick coffee and maybe a pastry? You’d have to make sure to request a togo cup, or maybe find a place that only gave out togo cups. 

There was a nice breakfast bagel spot by your hotel. Would that be too much like a meal? Maybe, but most breakfasts are fast anyway.

You’re sitting in your hotel room bed when you pull out your phone to text him about your decision.

‘hey! there’s a decent bagel spot near my hotel i was thinking we could go there?’

Maybe Joaquin hates bagels though. You hadn’t considered that in your thought process. It wasn't something you’ve been graced with remembering. Fingers start flying, anxiety fueling them.

‘we dont have to ofc, just lmk if you have somewhere else in mind’

The nerves have settled, not in a good way though. They coat your whole body like a thick layer of sweat. Every movement you make, every breath that you inhale, has a new weight to it. 

You don’t have to sit with it for long though. Joaquin texts back quickly, you assume because you waited until the last moment to give him a location. However you hope it’s because he’s excited about this, maybe even as nervous as you are.

It’d be wrong to show up after him when you were the one to invite him out. So you pull on your shoes, grab your wallet, and your room key before rushing towards the bagel shop. 

You don’t actually see Joaquin walk in. Some sort of sixth sense alerts you to him. The hairs on the back of your neck and your arm rising, making the shift in the atmosphere noticeable to you.

When you turn to see what’s got your body on edge, you see him. From what you can see, he looks good, looking at his phone as he types out a message.

His military training must kick in, alerting him that someone's watching, and Joaquin looks up to meet your eyes. A smile graces his face,but  it’s not like the one you saw in your memory.

You remember him beaming, teeth shining, face stretching so wide you were worried his skin might tear. This smile is small, reserved even, his lips are pulled tight together like something about smiling is making him uncomfortable.

“Hey,” Joaquin's closer now, standing a few feet to your left, “Did you order yet?” You can see him eying your coffee cup, his hands fidgeting where they rest in his pockets.

You shake your head, “Not yet. Wanted a recommendation since you said you liked this place.”

“Gotcha. I’ll be back in a few then,” He’s off as fast as he came, heading into line. 

Joining him would be a smart choice. It’d be odd to invite him out for food, and not get anything. But your stomach’s churning, the nerves from earlier coming back tenfold. All of them settling in and around your stomach, leaving it like a boulder in your torso. You couldn’t imagine trying to stomach food with this feeling, so you decide to stay put.

You know when Joaquin comes back because he slides you a bagel wrapped in tinfoil from where he sits across from you. When you look up, you see he’s got a similar set-up to you. A coffee on his right and a seemingly identical bagel.

With a slight nod of his head in the direction of your food he speaks, “It’s a bacon, egg, and cheese with a hashbrown and ketchup.” 

After the first bite, you’re letting Joaquin know how good it is. Your eyes lighting up as you sift through all the different textures and taste all the flavors together for the first time. 

You only get a couple of more bites in before Joaquin is questioning you. It’s not rude, not aggressive, just a simple ‘So what’s going on in your life’. You can tell he’s trying to feel you out, after months of no communication it must have been odd to be asked to meet up. 

“I.. Uh - I remember you.” You take a deep breath, focusing on the way a dollop of ketchup is trying to sneak its way out of your sandwich. “Not everything, but I remember some stuff, and I thought it was important for you to know.”

“What do you remember?” Joaquin’s response is so quiet that you almost miss it in the quiet chatter that the shop has.

“The first memory was in your house, of you cooking some super, super, sweet french toast. And I had said it was going to be gross from how sweet it was, but it was actually really good.”

“Did you remember anything else?”

“Yeah, I feel like that memory was like a catalyst. Other smaller memories came back after I remembered that.” 

You finally look up after that. You’re met with Joaquin's eyes watering, his lower lip has a small quiver to it. But he looks so open, so vulnerable. 

You start to go on about how you remember how thoughtful he was, always making sure that you had flowers, and when you complained about them dying he got you a lego set that would never die and kept getting you fresh ones because ‘they smell good and add a nice pop of color’.

How he always let you pick what to watch. Anything from a  horror movie to a raunchy reality tv show. And he always got into it. He’d be barely interested at the beginning, attentive but not interested. Then somehow, some way he’d be yelling at the characters for their stupid decisions, trying to convince them to act a different way through the screen.

How he defended you. Not in an overprotective way, but when you needed it he was there. He always allowed you to have your battles, to fight your own fights, but when someone got out of line he was there. Sometimes he would just be behind you, off to the side staring the person down as a silent reminder that you may not throw a punch, but he doesn’t mind the discipline he’d get from his job so he would throw that punch.

You remember some of the nights spent star gazing, and the early mornings on the beach to catch a sunrise. Telling him how you specifically remember him letting you get as much sleep as possible in both scenarios. How he woke up earlier or stayed up later to prepare a blanket, spare hoodie, pillows, and some snacks. 

“You remember all that?” Joaquin's crying now. It must be subconscious because he hasn’t started sniffling or really acknowledged the fact that there's tears rolling down his cheeks and eventually falling off his chin.

Your hand reaches out to comfort him before you stop yourself, “I know it’s not everything, but I think it’s a lot. Compared to last time at least.” 

After a few too many beats of silence you remember that he's probably found somebody else by now.

“I don’t want to get in between anything you’ve got going on though! I just think it’d be wrong, morally, to not tell you.”

“I don’t - What do you mean ‘anything i’ve got going on’?”

“Like a relationship! It’s been a while since I left and I didn’t really… show any signs of life from when I left until now.” 

Oh. 

Maybe it was a dumb assumption. Joaquin had been nothing if not devoted the whole time he was trying to help you regain your memories. You’ve put your foot in your mouth. 

“I’m not dating anyone.” He gently tips your chin up from where you’ve started to tuck it into your chest, forcing you to look at him, “It was you or nothing. Even told my mom that after our second date. Would have been the first but it took you a bit to open up.”

“So you’d be willing to try again? Even if it takes me a while to remember? Even if I might not remember everything?” 

Joaquin's tongue comes out to briefly wet his lips, pulling the bottom one between his teeth after. Then he smiles, much more genuine than the first one he gave you. The outer ends of his lips downturned, his eyes holding so much love, so much adoration that it makes you overwhelmed. 

For someone you haven’t spoken to in months, it’s shocking that he still cares so heavily for you. Any request you could make, he would complete it and still come back and ask if there’s anything else you need. 

“I’d seek you out, waiting for the opportunity to try, until my lungs collapsed.”

You never thought you’d experience someone waiting for you, through thick and thin, through you completely forgetting them, through you leaving them high and dry. Most people would have given up long ago, even before you originally left. 

Joaquin is just so good, it fills your heart. New feelings of warmth and fondness settle deep in your chest, where it then flows through your veins heading out to the rest of your body. The way that he makes it so undeniably clear that he loves you, brings tears to your eyes. 

For most, the distance would be difficult. Not being in the same city to make same day plans could kill a lot of relationships, but you know it wouldn’t matter for you and Joaquin. He’s given you nothing but reassurance throughout your entire time of knowing him. 

When you leave, the two of you can discuss all the logistics and how to make everything work with your schedules. But for now, you can bask in the glow of coming back together. The atmosphere seeming to have a golden hue to it. It seems like the universe wanted this to happen, time slowing down for the two of you to catch up. 

An unknown feeling takes over you. No longer feeling the need to fill space, the need to keep going even when you’re exhausted. One of bliss, almost ecstasy, coating every nerve. It’s like you came home finally. 

You can’t wait to see how else Joaquin makes you feel in this new chapter of your life. It’s going to be hard to top, but there’s no doubt in your mind that he could beat it.

tags: @mischiefmanaged71 , @angerfever , @lucycarlisleswife , @dyanasaur