#fox spirit x reader

[take-it-on-the-run]

I need a guy that I love more than the fictional ones. Until then I will remain pining over non-existent men on Tumblr.

[monstersandmaw]

Male fox spirit x female reader (nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

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Commission #4 in the list of 5! Thank you for trusting me with your prompt:  female reader saves a dying fox on her way home from work, who turns out to be a fox spirit. I hope you like it!

Contents:  Fox suffers a spinal injury when hit by a car (not the reader’s); there’s some magic; some domestic fluff; oral sex, fingering, him coming on her; and a sweet, fluffy ending.

Wordcount: 4400

Driving rain greeted you full in the face as you shoved open the main doors of the building and burrowed down into your coat, drawing the hood tight around your head in a vain attempt to keep the weather out. Nights like this — cold, damp, and at the tail end of winter before Spring took a proper hold on the land — were truly miserable.

Your fingers were half frozen by the time you had fumbled the keys out of your pocket and clambered into your car, and you fired the old thing up with a hopeful grimace that it would start. It coughed to life and you uttered a little prayer of thanks to whichever gods or spirits out there might be listening. “Now if only you could do something about my pathetic love life as well,” you said to yourself as you reversed out of the parking space and headed towards the main road. “Wouldn’t that be perfect?”

Half an hour outside of town, your headlights flashed over something lying on the side of the road, sprawled halfway across the white line, and you swerved instinctively to avoid it. Mercifully there was nothing coming in the other direction, or you’d have caused a serious accident. Adrenaline spiked through you and you slammed on the brakes.

The flash of golden-red you’d glimpsed had told you it was a fox, but it had had its head raised and it had been looking at you with its eyes flaring yellow in the headlights, but the expression on its face had struck you to the core. It had looked… resigned. Like it knew you were going to hit it. Like it knew it was going to die.

“No,” you said through gritted teeth.

You had some old work gloves in the back of the car from when you’d taken a load of stuff from the garden to the dump a week before, so you put your hazards on and slid out of the driver’s side door and into the worsening storm. You cursed softly, squinting amid the stinging rain as it struck your face like little iron nails in the gusty night. You cleared a space in the trunk for the fox, spreading an old picnic blanket out and grabbing those thick leather gloves. No need to get rabies if the thing bit you before you could get it to an animal clinic in the morning.

You knew it was a stupid thing to do, that cars hit wildlife all the time, and you really weren’t equipped to deal with it, but you couldn’t just leave it there when it had looked so sad; black ears drooping, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

Making your way along the edge of the deserted road with only your phone torch to light the way, you found the spot where the fox was still lying on the asphalt, and crooned softly to it. “Hey there,” you said, feeling a bit silly. “It’s ok. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s alright. Let me help you out… Let me take you home and see if I can take you to a vet in the morning…”

When your light found its back legs though, your heart sank. They lay limp and slightly twisted to one side. Its back had been broken by the impact with a vehicle.

“Oh baby,” you said, fighting sudden tears. “It’s going to be ok…” you lied.

Was it like with humans? Should it not be moved with a spinal injury? It would probably die anyway, or they’d recommend putting it down. You could at least take it in and keep it warm for its last few hours. When you knelt nearby, it just laid its cheek down on the cold tarmac, defeated, and let out a long, broken whimper.

“I’m going to pick you up, ok? Please don’t bite me. God, this is such a stupid thing to do…”

The fox licked its shiny black nose and just blinked slowly at you.

When it made no move to attack you or snap at you when you got nearer, you scooped it up and marvelled at how light it felt in your arms, its lovely, russet fur damp and matted.

“There,” you said, cradling it in your arms as you carried it back to your car. ‘Him’, not ‘it’, you saw when you set him down on the blanket and stroked his head and neck. He murmured softly, the sound almost a purr, and you swallowed thickly. He was so weak, you wondered if he’d even survive the journey home.

Five cars overtook you as you drove on after that, all beeping and honking their horns and flashing their lights to get you to go faster, but you absolutely would not be bullied into making this last car ride hell for the little, injured fox.

It didn’t take very long to set up a cosy den of blankets and towels in the kitchen by the radiator, and when you were satisfied that it was as comfortable as you could make it — and that any mess would be contained in an area with tile floors — you went back for him. He was still lying on his side, exactly as you’d left him, but his eyes seemed brighter and more focused, and his ears pricked up when you opened the trunk up and gazed down at him.

“Alright?” you asked and he gave a soft snuffle that was half-sneeze and half-chuckle. “You’re awfully perky for someone who’s just gone head-to-head with fast-moving traffic, buddy,” you smiled. “Maybe you will be alright. Ready to go inside?”

You had your gloves on but it didn’t feel like you really needed them, and when you settled him down on the veritable blanket fort inside, he heaved a great sigh and nuzzled his cheek against the fabric with a rumbling moan of contentment.

“You hungry?” you asked. “I don’t have much that’s fox-friendly, but I think there’s some ham in the fridge. Let me check.”

You offered him a saucer of water first, holding his delicate head up as he lapped steadily at it until he’d had his fill, and then you fed him little slivers of cooked ham which he took from your fingers like an absolute gentleman. “Aren't you dainty,” you chuckled as his small, sharp teeth pulled the next piece carefully free of your gloved hand.

He fixed you with such a flat, patronising look that you had to laugh.

The fox flicked an ear and looked away.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you said in a baby voice. “Don’t be grumpy with me, you precious thing… Here, have some more…”

He sneezed, then looked back at you and opened his mouth, head tipped back like a baby bird awaiting a worm.

“You’re not going to take it? You want me to feed you?”

He just stared at you without moving.

“Fine, your highness,” you said. “Anything for you.”

You let the piece drop into his tilted jaws, and then chucked him affectionately under the chin with your finger after he’d chewed and swallowed it.

He caught the leather of the glove’s fingertip in his teeth in a move that was so fast you didn’t even see it, but then tugged gently, insistently.

“I’m not taking this off,” you frowned. “You could have rabies for all I know.”

A tiny, rattling growl, like the world’s tiniest chainsaw, rumbled out of him and he folded his ears back indignantly before pulling on the glove again. Then he let go, his ears pricked about as far forward as he could get them, and he stared expectantly at you.

“No way, friend,” you said, and stood to put the empty ham packet in the rubbish bin.

With your back to the kitchen window, a golden light flooded the room, and for a wild moment, you thought someone was driving straight at the house, headlights blazing. When you whipped around though, you froze. The light was coming from… from the fox.

“The fuck…?”

Your heartbeat started to race, and you weren’t sure if the ringing sound was coming from your own blood pounding in your ears or from something else in the room. The brightness reached such an intense crescendo that you had to look away, shielding your eyes with the crook of your arm until the chiming noise stopped and you lowered it cautiously back down, blinking.

There, standing in the centre of the room, was a man.

You took a step back, fear crashing in on your senses.

You looked around for something you could use as a weapon, but a warm, gentle voice said, “Wait, I won’t hurt you. I swear it.”

Again, you went still, and after taking a steadying breath, you turned to face him again, wide eyed and shaking. “What the hell?”

“Not hell,” he smiled, and you saw that he had warm, tan skin and dark, golden eyes. His hair was a russet colour, and it fell in soft waves around his ears to the nape of his neck. He was slender, not especially tall, and he was quite possibly the most beautiful human being you’d ever laid eyes on. Except… there was still a kind of glow around him, like an aura, and his clothes looked like they belonged at a Ren Faire or something, though the dark green, belted and embroidered tunic was finely tailored and his dark brown boots looked soft and well worn. Tiny points of light, like fireflies, twisted slowly through the air surrounding him before vanishing into a miniature, glittering starburst.

“You’re not human,” you said, despite how crazy it sounded.

“No,” the man replied with a smile. “No, I’m not. But you didn’t know that when you took in an injured fox and cared for him.”

“You’re the fox,” you blurted without thinking.

“I am. Sort of,” he smiled, and you saw that he had perfect, white teeth, with slightly more pointed canines than humans usually did. “I’m a fox spirit. There are all sorts of us, and we’re known by many names all over the world, but the most famous is probably the ‘kitsune’ thanks to modern media.”

“Oh,” you said, only half aware that your vision was darkening around the edges until it was too late. The blood roared again in your ears and your knees went out from under you. The last thing you saw was a flicker of a frown on the man’s — kitsune’s — face before he lunged towards you with hands outstretched, and the world went black.

You stirred and found yourself lying on the sofa in your sitting room, with your feet raised about a foot or so off the seat cushion, and a stranger in green standing over you, holding your legs up by the ankle. The kitsune. The fox spirit.

“Got to say, that’s the first time someone’s actually fainted because of me,” he said with a smile, lowering your legs back down and stepping back. “Are you alright?”

“I fainted?” you asked stupidly, pushing yourself upright and swinging your legs slowly off the sofa and onto the ground. You swayed a little, but didn’t pass out again.

The fox spirit nodded, his lovely hair shining with strands of bronze and copper in the low light of the room, gold eyes glowing as if back-lit. “Thank you for saving me,” he said in a quiet, earnest baritone.

“Did I, though?” you asked, staring openly at him. “I mean… you’re… magic, right? I saw the way your legs were just… Your back was broken…”

“If you’d hit me with your car, or simply left me there for the next driver to do the same, then I wouldn’t have survived. We’re tough, and our magic can heal most things, but not that.”

“Oh.” And then your cheeks went hot and you looked at the carpet, “I’m sorry I baby-talked you like you were an actual animal.”

He laughed; a beautiful, bright sound like dry autumn leaves in clear sunlight. His head tipped a little way back and he looked truly delighted. “You weren’t to know,” he said, still chuckling. “And you’re not the first.”

“Oh,” you said, like a broken record.

From where he stood nearby, the fox spirit smiled at you and then inhaled deeply. “I… should go,” he said, his golden eyes turning a little sad. “Let you return to your life…”

“Wait,” you called from the sofa as he turned away. “What’s your name?”

He cast you a look over his shoulder and the smile he gave you was wry and amused. “You may call me Rowe.”

There was a nuance there that you weren’t understanding, but you told him your name in return, and he inhaled suddenly as if you’d struck him.

“You would part with your name so carelessly?” he whispered, brows pulling together into a frown of utter confusion. “You…” and then his expression cleared and his shoulders dropped. “You have never had dealings with the fae, have you?”

“The… fae?” you stuttered. “Like… fairies?”

The smile that replaced the frown was patient and amused in equal parts, and he sighed and shook his head. “Well, here’s your first lesson. Never tell your true name to a fae.”

Again, all the sound that escaped you was a dull, “Oh.”

He exhaled and approached you, and you tried not to lean back, to lean away from him. This whole night had gone from bad to utterly bizarre in the blink of an eye and you felt a little sick from the whiplash.

To make matters all the more confusing, the strange man knelt before you, sweeping his long, otherworldly tunic out of the way as he sank down onto one knee like he was going to propose or something, and he bowed his auburn head. “You saved my life without thought of debt or repayment, and in recognition of the gift, I give one of my own. I bind your True Name to my heart and hold it there in silence. I may never speak your True Name aloud unless you give me leave so to do. This I swear upon my spirit and my magic and my own True Name.”

The air in the room prickled like static and you had to fight the urge to see if your hair was standing on end. Goosebumps flickered along your arms and legs, and you drew in a shallow breath. “Anything else I should know about?” you asked faintly.

He looked up at you and shrugged. “We’re allergic to iron,” he suggested. “And we’re overly fond of cream and sweet cakes…”

“Sweet cakes,” you repeated thoughtfully, eyes drifting towards the kitchen where you’d bought a strawberry sponge cake just the day before, and an idea half-formed in your head.

Rowe smiled and your heart slipped sideways in your chest for a moment. He was so beautiful it was almost hard to believe he was really there and really standing in front of you. Well, technically he was kneeling like a knight in a fairytale. Fairytale indeed, you thought.

“You don’t have to go,” you whispered.

You were afraid of sounding childish, that if you spoke too loudly, he would think you desperate and would laugh at you, but all he did was tilt his head to the side the way he had done as a fox, and he nodded once. “Alright,” he said.

“I mean, don’t feel like you have to stay either,” you babbled, making a rather pathetic, flapping gesture in front of you with your hands. “I just meant… you’re welcome to stay if you want to. I was going to cook some dinner and watch a movie… eat cake for dessert. I thought… I thought since you’ve had kind of a rough day, you might like to just… chill out with me for a while.”

“May I help you cook?”

“If you… If you’d like to?” you said, standing carefully and holding your hand out to him to encourage him up off the floor.

He slid his warm fingers into your palm, and got to his feet with the grace of a prince, and offered you another smile. “I’d like that very much.”

Rowe stayed with you for a week. You explained that you had to go to work or you’d get fired, and when you came back on the first day, you expected him to have gone, leaving you wondering if the whole thing hadn’t been a hallucination brought on by the combination of a stressful week of work and the awful weather. But no, Rowe was there that evening, curled up as a fox on the impromptu bed you’d made by the radiator while the rain hurled itself at the window pane above him.

“Rowe, you don’t have to sleep on that!” you gasped, dropping your bag by the door and making him startle awake, ears pricked, tail fluffed up in rather adorable alarm.

In a flash of gold light, he was human again, standing beside the bed and smiling at you. “I don’t mind,” he chuckled. “It’s comfortable, and when I’m a fox, I don’t think in quite the same way as I do when I’m in this form. That’s how I got hit by the car in the first place… Please, don’t fret.”

You scowled at him, but relented, and asked him about his day. It seemed he’d spent most of it in his fox form, either out and about in the woods near your house, or sleeping by the warmth of the radiator.

“Didn’t you get bored here?” you asked.

“I could have done the housework for you,” he smirked. “But I thought that might have been an intrusion on your privacy.”

You laughed. “Thanks?”

After three days of sharing your space with him — he sleeping contentedly as a fox on the pile of blankets and you upstairs in your bedroom — you cleared your throat that evening as you sat together on the sofa like old friends, and said, “You know… uh… I… I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to come upstairs with me… I don’t want you to feel like you have to sleep down here like you’re a…” you trailed off, flushing hot with awkward embarrassment.

One russet-brown eyebrow climbed a little higher than the other. “… a what?”

“Like you’re some kind of pet… you know…”

Rowe laughed and, as it always did, your heart skipped a beat. His cheeks dimpled and Adam’s apple danced in his exposed throat and you ached. It felt like a long time since someone had touched you; since you’d been held, let alone kissed. He had a beautiful mouth, like he’d been made just to tempt you.

Some of your thoughts must have shown on your face because the laughter died in his throat and he fixed you with a look that was all concern. He murmured the name you’d given him permission to use when it was just the two of you and asked, “What’s wrong? I’m not upset about the animal comment,” he said, reaching for your forearm and trying to reassure you, but you shook your head. “Then what?”

Tears came unbidden to your eyes and you turned away. His hand felt hot through the fabric of your hoodie, but his grip was feather light. It would take nothing at all to pull yourself free, but the thought of it seemed overwhelming. “It’s nothing,” you choked, pressing your lips together and hoping he’d let the matter drop.

He didn’t. His eyes flared bright gold and he scowled at you when you risked a glance at him. “The fae can always taste a lie,” he said with the slightest growl to his voice. “And I can tell you’re hurting. We were laughing, and then… you weren’t. What changed?”

“It’s —”

A short, animal growl echoed in his throat but he bit it back, shut his mouth with a click of teeth, and glared at you.

“Ugh, fine,” you huffed, standing up and pacing across the room. “It’s been a long time since it’s been this easy around someone, ok? And it’s not every day that a handsome, cute guy with a great sense of humour shows genuine interest in me. I just wished, for like half a second, that you might be interested in me, but I get it. You’re not even human. I was nice to you. You probably feel obliged to stay here. You… You should probably go soon anyway.”

His expression turned from concerned to carefully neutral, and he stood. “If that’s the way you feel,” he said, “Then I can leave. But you should know that I’ve had a wonderful time with you, and…” he swallowed and took a breath, “I think you’re beautiful, through and through.”

“Please,” you scoffed. “Don’t bother trying to spare my feelings.”

“We can taste a lie, but we cannot tell one,” he said evenly. “I could not tell you that your clothes are yellow when they are not, nor that the sky is green, nor that you are not beautiful.”

You turned slowly around to look at him, and found him glowing gold again, those points of light spiralling lazily in the air around him. The slight shape of fox ears seemed to be picked out in two, brighter lines above his copper hair and behind him you saw a golden tail swaying back and forth. His eyes blazed bright like burnished bronze, and he was staring directly at you as he spoke.

“Oh.”

“I would very much like to stay with you, and share your bed, and, if you would let me, I would bring you pleasure too.”

Your breath hitched and you licked your lips. He even spoke like he was out of a fairytale. “You mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Ok,” you smiled.

Together, you tidied up the sitting room, and he followed you upstairs, still glowing softly, as if he were utterly contented and couldn’t help it.

Rowe undressed with you in your bedroom, baring a body like polished bronze; all lean lines and languid muscle, and you almost couldn’t look away. He asked if he could shower with you, and gently washed you and touched you, cupping your breasts and trailing his hands down your sides with reverent care. He passed his thumbs over your hardened nipples and kneaded your breasts until you gasped and tipped your head back, eyes closed. He teased between your legs with his fingertips, and then when you turned the shower off, he kissed your forehead. In a rush of magic, both your bodies were completely dry and your skin glowed softly with a thousand, dewy, golden sparkles. You beamed up at him, and he kissed you.

When he drew back, he led you by the hand into the bedroom and you lay down on the bed, heart racing. He knelt between your parted knees and you stared openly at his beautiful body. He looked like a statue come to life, and his cock had been more than half-hard ever since the shower, even as he turned his attention wholly on you and skimmed his palms up your thighs. You parted your legs a little wider for him and he bowed forward to kiss along your inner thigh until you shivered and lay back on the pillow behind you with a gasp.

He kissed you and tasted you, moaning softly before letting his tongue sweep up over you. He took your sensitive clit between his lips and kissed you there as well, and then he slid his arms under your thighs, lay down on his front, and you lost yourself to the pleasure of his mouth.

You lost count of how many times he made you come that night, with his tongue and with his fingers, but he never asked for more than you were ready to give.

“Come on me,” you murmured. You had no idea how well your current contraception would withstand a magical fae, but you were pretty sure you were safe with that, and when you asked, he nodded.

His fingers were slick from where he’d made you come, again, and he closed his hand around his cock with a low groan that dissolved into a gasp as he brought himself to the brink. He glowed gold again and you saw those ears made of light and the tail gleaming vividly behind him just as he spilled over your stomach with a muted grunt and another beautiful moan.

The golden light suffused the room, and you watched his expression as he came — open and vulnerable and achingly beautiful — and wished more than anything that he would stay.

When you woke in the morning, you expected to wake alone, but the warm pressure of Rowe’s body pressed against your back and the weight of his arm across your waist drew a little inhale of surprise from you. Apparently that was enough to wake him, because he kissed the back of your head and mumbled a sleepy good morning into your hair.

He was hard too, you realised, and you deliberately rocked your hips back against him.

Rowe let out a grunt and his hand shifted to your hips, drawing himself closer to you with a languid, answering roll of his hips.

“I don’t know if the fae have weekends,” you said, “But today is Saturday. I don’t have to go in to work…”

“Good,” he said. “I’m not sure I could let you go anywhere today after last night.” He said it with a laugh that told you he would let you do anything you liked, and you rolled over to face him. The softness in his smile brought one of your own to your lips, and he slid his hand down over your breast and then down between your legs.

Your eyes fluttered closed as he slipped his fingers easily inside you, and you rolled onto your back as he started a rhythm that would end in the kind of pleasure you had only ever dreamed of before him.

He smiled and kissed your cheek without his fingers once faltering, and whispered in your ear, “I’ll stay with you as long as you want me.”

You gasped and bucked, and almost missed his promise.

“I’ll stay with you forever.”

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Thanks for reading this story, and I hope you’ll consider reblogging it (as well as leaving a like) if you enjoyed it, since that will help others find it.

Take care, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

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[fl3shm4id3n]

ₜₕₑ Fₒₓ ₐₙd ₜₕₑ ₛₒᵣcₑᵣₑᵣ

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐌𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐇𝐮𝐥𝐢 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐧.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ꜱʜᴀɴɢ ᴛꜱᴜɴɢ x ꜰᴇᴍ! ʜᴜʟɪ ᴊɪɴɢ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Tw: piss throwing, murder, blood, hunting, decapitation, cut body parts, slight angst, harassment, fluff towards the end.

A/N: I based if on Good Hunting by Love, Death, and Robots.

Masterlist

There had been sighting of a huli jing, apparently a nobleman's son had been bewitched by one. So Shang Tsung and his father had been contacted to capture the creature and kill it. This creatures were known for sucking the energy from the men they've bewitched with their beauty. This creatures often shift to being foxes into beautiful women. No matter how beautiful they are, they had other tendencies. They'd come out at night, specially during a full moon. So that night Shang and his father were out, hiding and waiting for the huli jing to appear, it was a while, it took almost all night for the creature to come out. Until, the figure of a woman was showed up.

The woman's beauty couldn't be explained, her beauty couldn't be described. The woman approached the house, towards the open window where the man was calling out to her. Then Shang's father out with a sword, ready to strike. As he brought up his sword at a high angle, about to hit. The woman moved the side. Having him miss. She looked at him, clearly annoyed by his interference. He tried getting her again, but he missed. She was moving fast and smoothly like a fox that she was. The fight continued and his father still couldn't strike her. It went on and on until, the woman manage to get his sword stuck to the wall. His father tried to get the sword to unstuck, that was when she made her escape. As his father continued to get his sword, he turned and looked at his son who was hidding.

"The piss! Toss it on her, before she changes!" He told him. Shang Tsung quickly grabbed the small pot and came out from behind the rock, approaching the woman. He locked eyes with her, he paused. Her beauty was what made him stop. She couldn't help but smile at him. "You are a very brave boy." She said to him, Shang Tsung couldn't help but smile. "Throw it now!" His father shouted to him, but he was still stuck in the trance. Shang just watched the woman leave, her tail slowly shaping out of her dress, her ears and her snot began to come out. Having had enough, his father let go of the sword and ran to his son, taking the pot then threw the liquid onto her.

The woman let out a hiss and scream, of pain. As if she was being burned. She fell onto the floor, growling and hissing. She then turned and looked at the father and son, she was trapped in a half human, half fox form. She growled and hissed at them. "She's trapped in this half form." His father claimed, the woman jumped onto the roof of the entrance, giving them one final hiss before jumping away. "Father, I'm sorry." Shang apologized to his father, as he grabbed his sword from off the wall. "The hunt isn't over." That's all his father said, then they both took off running out of the home and after the huli jing.

The run was fast, she was hard to catch up to. But his father manages to get closer to her. All he could hear was a loud cry of pain and stumbling on a roof. He spotted his father, his sword had blood on it. When Shang got close, he saw the decapeptide paw of the huli jing, near a small, abandoned tunnel. "She's made her den here. Go around back." His father told him. Shang then went to the other side of the tunnel to see if he could spot the huli jing. Then he heard some noises near some rocks. He got closer to see what it was, then a smaller fox came out hissing at him. It attempted to run, but Shang jumped on it, stopping it from moving any further. Then something began to grow fast. He saw a half human and half fox face looking back at him, hissing and growling.

Shang Tsung got up and stumbled back, watching the figure morphing into girl. The girl had ears, snot, tails of a fox. Her hair was white as well and she wore a white robe similar to the woman from earlier. "Why are you hunting us? We did nothing to you." You said, while getting up on your feet and approaching him. "Your mother bewitched the nobleman's son, we were hired to save him." Shang said to you. "Be witched?" you asked, now close to him. You then had morphed into a human, your hair had become a more natural color, you were around his age. Not only that, but you had some kind of enchanting beauty that got him to stare. "He's the one who wouldn't leave her alone." You explained. "That's not true." Shang clamed. "When a man falls in love with a huli jing, she can hear him no matter how far apart they are, so all that moaning and crying, she goes just to keep him quiet." You explained. "No, she was using him for her evil magic." He argued. You rolled your eyes by his wrong information. "A man can fall for a huli jing, just like he can fall for a human woman." You added. "That's not the same." He yelled. "Not the same?" You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. "Uh huh, I saw how you looked at me." You said.

Shang then blushed and turned away, then a woman's voice was heard. "Y/n! Do not speak to that human! You know how dangerous they are!" She claimed, while in pain. You turned to look at Shang for a moment, then out of nowhere his father came out and cut right through your mother's neck, decapitating her completely. You were in shocked seen this. The blood had gone onto Shang, as the head rolled down the steps. Shang gulped and looked up at his father. "Shang, seen any signs of pups?" he asked him, quickly you shifted back into a fox and hid back in the rocks as Shang looked over at you. "Are you listening to me?" his father asked. "Yes father, I..." He answered as his father got closer. "They were no signs of any pups." He said. "Fine, now let's collect the bounty of this huli jing head." He said, grabbing the head from the floor, by the hair. You watches as they took the head and body of your mother, to prove that they had got the job done.

Since then on, you were on your own. Your mother had tried to protect you as much as she could. She knew about the dangers of being in contact with the humans. For days you mourned your mother, you wanted to at least bury her body in the forest, but it was taken away from the boy's father. You really wanted to avenge your mother, but that won't bring her back. You were alone completely, as much as you wanted to sulk, you had to move on. Learn to survive on your own. As much as you wanted to avoid all contact with the humans, you didn't. The spirit hunter's son, had been talking to you. It started a few nights ago, he came and apologized to you. He knew that an apology won't bring your mother back, but he still did. He knew what his father did was wrong and he wanted to make it up to you in a way. So he decided to look after you in a way, not fully take care of you, but make sure that you weren't in harms way.

He did. He made sure that every night you were okay. At times when you weren't able to hunt, he'd look after you. In secret, somehow, he father never found out about this, is did. Then you'd be dead by now. Shang Tsung had become your friend. You never would have thought being friends with a human, since your mother had told you that humans were dangerous who only hunt and kill your kind. It might be true, but Shang Tsung wasn't any like the humans your mother had described.

All that happened years ago. You haven't seen Shang Tsung since. He told you that he had planned on wanting to travel and known sorcery, but he had to leave. As much as you wanted to go too, you didn't. You stayed, in the forest. Which was your biggest regret. For the past few years, you were with Shang Tsung, you had fallen for him. It was no secret that huli jing would also fall for men just like they would for them. You also knew that he had fallen for you. You were able to hear his moans and cries of your name. That's what made things even more painful. You were both in love with one another, but you were both far away. When you were meant to be together. So you had enough, you decided you were going to find Shang Tsung.

For weeks you've been searching for him, but it was almost impossible, as if he nearly vanished. But you didn't give up that easily. You could still hear his voice. You were much closer than before. The voice was getting near. That was a good sign. You were getting closer. Except one day, the voice had go further. You assumed he must have changed locations, but that wasn't going to stop you from looking for him. Even if it took more days, weeks, months or even a year, you were determined to find him. You had to find him.

Months after searching, you ended up in a place known as Edenia. The place was huge and filled with people. It might take a while to find Shang Tsung, but you hoped that you'd find him sooner than later. All day, you've been looking for Shang Tsung, despite being tired and hungry, you didn't stop, you knew he was around here somewhere, you just had to look harder. It already gone dark, and you were still looking. It almost felt impossible, but you kept on going.

You were walking past a tavern; you were slightly startled when a man had basically been thrown out through the swinging doors. You looked down at him, then back at the doors. The man groaned, but manage to get up, almost falling again. He was very intoxicated; you could tell by the strong smell of alcohol coated on him. He then turned and looked at you. "Well, hello there beautiful." He said, as he hiccupped. All you did was give him a polite smile, then attempted to walk around him, but he caught your hand. "Come on, don't leave so soon, I want to get to know you." He slurred, almost falling over. You removed your hand from his grip. "No thank you, I'm looking for someone." You said, trying to leave, but he followed you. "Would that somebody be me?" he asked, as a way to joke and flirt. "Please, leave me alone." you said politely, but he just wasn't going to give up. "Awe, don't be that way, I'll make it worth your wild." He continued, making you really uncomfortable.

Before he could grab your hand again, you felt someone, get right behind you. "Lady said that she wasn't interested." That voice, you recognized it anywhere. You turned around and saw who it was. It was him. Shang Tsung. Standing right behind you, confronting the man who was harassing you. "Who the hell are you?!" The guy asked, now getting aggressive. "That's none of your concern, so, please if you're ever so kind and leave, before I make you." Shang Tsung warned. Before the man could say anything, he noticed the weapon on Shang Tsung's arm, the three needles made the man's eye widen. "R-Right... I apologize." He said, now frightened. Then Shang Tsung, turned to face you, pulling you onto his side, in a slight hug. Escorting you away from the man.

Now further away, you both walked, in silence. You felt your face heat up and your heartbeat was also going crazy. Finally, you both came to a stop, somewhere that must have been much safer. You then moved to face him. Studying his features, he had grown a lot. You took notice of his small, faded freckles across his cheeks, how his hair was slightly longer and how it was combed back, being held by a small hairpin like comb. You had almost forgot how he looked like. You remember the last time you saw him; his hair was much shorter and held tightly in a bun, that was pinned up. That was long ago, he must have got a change.

"Shang Tsung. I've been looking for you" That's all you could say. "I see, it's been years since I last saw you." He simply said, even his voice got slightly deeper and more masculine. "Where have you been?" you asked him. "I've been in places, traveling and trying to make a living for myself." He explained, while looking at you in the eyes. Those eyes of his were looking back at you with some sort of love and admiration. "I've heard you call out to me, since the day you left, I still hear you." You told him, this made him chuckle a bit, a small blush creeped up on his cheeks. "I almost forgot about that." He said, you couldn't help but let out a small giggle.

It went silent for moment; you both couldn't help but stare at one another. It was ages since you both saw each other. It was almost like a new experience for the both of you. "I'm sorry, I just... don't know what you say." You said, shyly, feeling your face warm up. Shang Tsung thought it was adorable. He then got close and pulled you into a hug, carefully so that the needles don't hurt you in anyway. It surprised you, but soon after you hugged him back. Around his waist, you've never hugged him before, this was the first time you've ever hugged him. It felt nice. Specially being a hug from someone you love.

[bamfahsoka]

Oh Fox, you lovable self-sabotaging bastard

Too Sweet

Pairing: Fox x fem!Reader / Fox x Doctor!Reader

Words: 6,140/20,589

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, strangers to lovers, grumpy/sunshine, description of blood/wound care, Fox is a little anxious/paranoid, and he needs a hug, you can pry goofy Thorn out of my cold dead hands, smut in part 3? 4?

Summary: Fox has no time for romance. He doesn't even have time for sleep, let alone dates. But when a horrible day at work leads him to you, he suddenly finds himself in danger of reevaluating his priorities.

A/N: Trying something a little different with more, shorter parts for these longer fics. Also forgot to say thanks for 650 followers! hello!

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“For the last time, I don’t need a medic.”

Fox is trying to be polite about it, but the tone of his voice is bordering on a growl. Every push on his shoulder is a jab to his pride, making him hiss like an angry tooka-cat. He knows he's being ridiculous, but that's never stopped him before.

His patience is already thin, but it had been stretched to the breaking point by a series of unfortunate events over the course of the day. The first, and arguably the most annoying, had occurred at the beginning of his shift.

Fox had woken up late, and his alarm clock had gone off with a loud, obnoxious tone that had caused him to shoot straight up in his bed, slamming a fist onto the off button. He scrambled out of bed and dressed faster than he thought possible, then hurried into the mess hall for the early shift breakfast. He was late enough that the food line was empty, and his choice was between a bowl of sludgy porridge or an unidentifiable ration bar.

The ration bar had tasted like stale durasteel, and the porridge was more of a thick slop, so Fox had opted for the latter. He scarfed it down with a mug of caf after an overdrawn fight with the machine, which tried to refuse him more than one portion of caf. He had left the mess hall with his stomach growling and his mouth bitter with the aftertaste of the caf, and his mood had soured even further when he found the lift under maintenance, forcing him to take the stairs.

When he arrived at the office, there was an enormous stack of datapads on his desk. A new security system had just been installed throughout the city, and the details were apparently too sensitive to be kept on the holonet. The only copies of the schematics were the ones on the physical datapads, and Fox had the wonderful task of checking every single one.

By the time lunch came around, Fox had managed to read through half the stack despite the constant interruptions. Someone would come in and ask about some obscure policy, or a trooper would report that someone had thrown a bottle at him, and the Chancellor would call for updates, and all the while, Fox had to be careful not to crush the datapads with his gauntlets.

The Chancellor was especially persistent today, calling him in person to demand a detailed analysis of the new security measures. Fox was forced to leave the datapads behind in order to give him an impromptu briefing, which ended with the Chancellor dismissing him with a wave of his hand and a curt, "I'm sure you have more important things to attend to."

Fox was seething when he returned to his office, and in a last minute attempt to escape his prison and an effort to calm himself, he decided to walk the patrol route himself instead of sending a trooper.

Of course, this had to be the day that every citizen on Coruscant decided to commit a crime, from a jaywalking elderly woman to a pair of pickpockets that had made off with a trooper's blaster. There was an argument outside a bar, an illegal speeder chase, and a man had decided to start a fire in the middle of the street, and all this had happened in the span of less than two hours.

Thorn had thought it was funny, but Fox hadn't found it nearly as entertaining. And now, he's been injured during the scuffle with the firestarter, and Thorn is making a big fuss about it.

Fox's shoulder throbs with pain as he moves, and he tries to ignore the way the skin is tightening around the wound. It's only a scratch, but it's deep, and Fox can feel blood oozing out of the cut and dripping down his armor. His head is pounding, and his chest aches from having been slammed against the duracrete by the man's boot.

A hand presses down on his shoulder, and Fox flinches away with another hiss. He turns on Thorn with a scowl

"I'm fine," he growls, shrugging Thorn's hand off his shoulder. "Leave it alone."

"Fox," Thorn says. He's trying to sound reasonable, but Fox can hear the exasperation in his voice. "It's a karking gash on your arm. I can't leave it alone."

Fox rolls his eyes. "I'm not letting you drag me back to the medbay for something as minor as this," he says. He turns and starts walking, heading towards the Senate building. "We've got more important things to do."

"I'm not dragging you to the medbay," Thorn says, running to catch up. He grabs Fox's arm and yanks him to a stop. "You're going to GMF. It's on the way to the Senate anyway."

"What? No!" Fox sputters, but Thorn is already pulling him down the street. He digs his heels into the ground, but Thorn is stronger than he is, and the other commander pulls him forward without breaking his stride.

"You're coming with me whether you like it or not," Thorn says, his voice firm. He doesn't loosen his grip, and Fox can only follow along helplessly. "The office will survive without you for a couple of hours."

"Thorn, you're not—"

"Yes, I am."

Fox scowls. Thorn isn't budging, and neither is he, and they've reached a stalemate. He's considering the merits of just sitting down and refusing to move, but before he can even make a decision, they're already at GMF.

"Let's go," Thorn says, pulling him up the steps. "Just stop trying to act tough and get over yourself."

Fox wants to protest, but Thorn has an iron grip on his arm, and he doesn't want to risk a public spectacle, so he allows himself to be pulled inside.

"Fine," he huffs. He can already feel a headache coming on, and his stomach is still grumbling in protest at its meager breakfast. Maybe he'll be able to sneak away before anyone notices, and no one will ever know that the Commander of the Guard was seen at GMF for such a minor injury.

"That's the spirit," Thorn says, grinning. He pulls on Fox's arm again, and this time, Fox lets himself be dragged away.

They've been sitting in the waiting room for a few minutes, and Fox is already starting to regret his decision. It's a busy day at GMF, and a steady stream of injured people are filing into the building, filling the waiting room with a cacophony of moans and groans.

Fox's shoulder is starting to throb again, and the wound is leaking blood into the fabric of his blacks. Thorn is tapping his fingers on the armrest of his chair, his expression thoughtful.

"I wonder how many people are in here because of you," he says, looking around the room. There's a group of young men sitting on the opposite side of the room, nursing a variety of wounds. "They must be getting sick of seeing the Guard around here."

Fox glares at him, and Thorn chuckles.

"You'd think they'd learn their lesson and stop committing crimes," Fox mutters.

"We'd all like that," he laughs. "But we both know that won't happen."

Fox sighs, leaning back against the wall. He shifts slightly, trying to find a comfortable position. He's still annoyed about his arm, and now the smell of bacta is starting to get to him. It had always had a pungent, chemical smell to him, and the scent of the various medical supplies is making him queasy. 

He can feel his stomach starting to churn, and he closes his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. The bright fluorescent lights are only making things worse, and the sound of the door sliding open and closed as various people walked in and out of the medical wing is grating on his nerves.

It doesn't help that Thorn is sitting right next to him, staring him down like he's a suspect in an interrogation. He'd caught on to Fox's plan to slip away almost as soon as they'd stepped into the room, and Fox had been forced to endure his company as they waited for their turn.

"How long is this going to take?"

"They said they were pretty busy today," Thorn says. "I'm not sure, but you're probably going to be waiting for a while."

"Great."

"Don't be such a baby. It'll be over before you know it."

Fox groans and leans back in his chair. He can't help but think of all the work that he should be doing right now. The stack of datapads has probably gotten taller since they left the office, and he'll have even more work to do once he returns.

He hates the feeling of wasting time, especially when there's so much to be done, and at this rate, he'll be lucky if he manages to finish the rest of his work by nightfall. And that was if the Chancellor didn't call him again.

"You should go back," Fox says, looking up at Thorn. "I can handle this."

Thorn raises an eyebrow, giving him an incredulous look.

"And let you weasel your way out of getting that arm checked out?" he scoffs. "I don't think so."

Fox shoots him a glare, but Thorn only grins.

"Nice try, but no," he says. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Thorn—"

"I'm not going anywhere."

Fox sighs and slumps in his seat. He can see that Thorn isn't going to budge, and he doesn't have the energy to argue with him. His shoulder is really starting to hurt now, and the bleeding hasn't slowed down yet. He's getting dizzy, and the queasiness is growing stronger

He closes his eyes, resting his head against the wall. He feels terrible, and the longer he sits here, the worse he feels. The smell of the bacta is making his stomach turn, and the noise and chaos in the room is starting to get to him.

The medical center always brings back memories of the Kaminoans, and he was usually only ever here when one of his brothers was seriously injured. He doesn't have fond feelings towards the place.

"This is a waste of time," Fox mutters. "I could be working, or doing literally anything else right now."

"You know it's not a waste of time," Thorn says. He's looking around the room, keeping a close eye on the other people. "You're injured, and you need to get that taken care of. Stop being such a stubborn di'kut."

Fox is about to say something in response, his eyes land on a medical droid heading their way. He lets out a sigh of relief and gets to his feet. Finally, his suffering is about to end.

"Commander Fox?" the medical droid asks, stopping in front of him with a metallic whir.

"Yes, that's me."

"Please follow me. We're ready for you now."

"Finally," Fox mutters, ignoring Thorn's chuckle. 

He follows the droid down a long, white corridor, his footsteps echoing against the tile floor. He keeps his eyes forward, refusing to look back at Thorn. He doesn't want to see the smug look on his brother's face.

After a few minutes, the droid leads them into an examination room and motions for him to sit down on the cot. Fox complies, perching on the edge of the thin mattress and crossing his arms, trying not to fidget, and Thorn takes a seat in the chair in the corner of the room.

The droid is quick and efficient, running the scanner over his shoulder and chest and checking the readouts. It tells him that he'll need some stitches and bacta treatment, and Fox sigh, nodding his agreement.

"Thank you, Commander," the droid says. It stands still for a moment, processing its data, and then turns and exits the room.

"You're not getting out of this one," Thorn says as soon as the doors shut behind the droid.

"I know," Fox grumbles, slumping in his seat. He rests his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. "I just want to get this over with."

Thorn shakes his head, a smile playing across his lips. He doesn't say anything, but Fox knows he's just happy to have won. They're both competitive, and any victory, no matter how small, is something to celebrate.

"Stop that," Fox snaps. He doesn't want to deal with Thorn's smugness. He's already irritated, and the last thing he needs is for his brother to rub his victory in his face.

"Stop what?" Thorn asks, feigning innocence.

“That thing that you’re doing with your face.”

“It’s called smiling, Fox, you should try it sometime. I think you could use the practice,” Thorn teases, and Fox rolls his eyes.

Before he can come up with a retort, the door opens, and Fox reflexively straightens, preparing himself for the worst. The medical droids aren't exactly known for their gentle touches and bedside manner.

To his surprise, the person who enters the room isn't a medical droid. 

Fox feels his eyes widen as he takes in the decidedly human figure standing in the doorway, a datapad in hand. Wearing a crisp, clean set of medical whites, you stand tall, and his first thought is that you're beautiful.

His second thought is that you look far too cheerful for someone working in a medical facility. Your eyes are bright, and you're smiling, and the expression is so warm and genuine that it makes him wonder how you're managing to maintain it in a place like this.

It's a nice smile.

It isn't until Thorn clears his throat that Fox realizes he's been staring at you for the last few seconds, and he hastily looks away just as you glance up from the datapad.

"Hello," you say, your voice soft. "Commander Fox, is it?"

"Y-yes," he manages to reply, feeling his cheeks flush.

"And I'm Commander Thorn," Thorn chimes in, and he shoots him a smug look when Fox turns to glare at him.

"Well, hello," you say. Your voice is warm and melodic, and your eyes are sparkling. "It's a pleasure to meet you both."

"The pleasure's all mine," Thorn replies, flashing you a grin.

"Yeah," Fox mumbles. "Pleasure."

He's never felt so awkward in his life, and he's suddenly acutely aware of the blood on his armor, the way his hair is sticking up in all directions, and the fact that he hasn't slept in a couple days. You, on the other hand, look fresh and put together, and you're practically glowing.

You introduce yourself, and you give them a brief summary of your qualifications and experience. Fox doesn't pay much attention to what you're saying. He's too busy trying not to stare at you, and it isn't until he hears the word 'bacta' that he snaps back to reality.

"Wait, what?" he asks.

"Bacta," you repeat, tilting your head slightly. "It's a healing substance that stimulates the body's natural ability to regenerate tissue."

"I know what bacta is," he says, his tone coming out harsher than he intended.

You blink at him, clearly startled by his response, and Fox feels his face heating up.

"Right," you say, clearing your throat. You offer him a small, polite smile, and he looks away, embarrassed. "As I was saying, we'll need to administer a small dose of bacta to the area where the injury occurred. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes."

"Fine." Fox crosses his arms and tries not to scowl, and you turn away, tapping on your datapad again. Thorn kicks him in the shin, and Fox gives him a look. The other commander gestures with his eyes to you, and Fox frowns, shaking his head.

"Do you have any allergies or medical conditions?" you ask, looking up from the screen.

"No," Fox says, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. The mattress is far too thin, and the metal frame is digging into the back of his knees. "I already told the droid."

"Right," you say. "Just making sure."

Fox glances over at Thorn, who gives him an exasperated look, and Fox sighs. He knows that he's being difficult, but he can't seem to stop himself. His shoulder hurts, his head is throbbing, and his stomach is rumbling, and he just wants to get this over with so he can return to the office and finally finish the rest of his work.

He looks back at you and sees that you're staring at him. You're looking at him with concern, and your lips are pressed into a thin line. You're not smiling anymore, and Fox feels a twinge of guilt.

"You don't have to be nervous," you say. "This is going to be a quick procedure, and it won't hurt at all. We'll use a local anesthetic and numbing spray, and you won't feel a thing."

"I'm not nervous," Fox protests, his face flushing. "I just don't have time for this."

"I understand," you say, and your expression softens. "But this is important, and we need to make sure that you're taken care of."

Fox wants to argue, but there's a hint of steel in your tone, and the look in your eyes is firm. You're clearly not going to let him get out of this, and he sighs, resigning himself to his fate.

"Alright," he says, reluctantly.

"Great," you say, giving him a small, reassuring smile.

He feels a little better when you smile at him, and he tries not to smile back. You turn away, busying yourself with setting up the equipment, and Fox takes the opportunity to look at you again. You're standing with your back to him, and he can see the outline of your figure through your medical whites. You're not very tall, but you're not short either, and he wonders how old you are. You can't be older than twenty-five, he guesses, but it's hard to tell with natborns.

"How did you get that injury, anyway?" you ask, glancing over your shoulder.

"Work-related incident," Fox says. He doesn't want to tell you the truth. He doesn't want you to think he's a clumsy idiot, or that he can't do his job properly.

"Oh," you say, sounding a little surprised. You turn back to the equipment, and he can see the muscles in your back tense. "That sounds... dangerous."

"It's nothing," Fox says, his voice low. "I can handle it."

"Of course," you say softly. You turn around and walk over to the cot, your gaze focused on the equipment. "Okay, armor off, Commander. Let's see it."

Fox stiffens, his heart skipping a beat. "I—what?"

"The injury," you say, your brow furrowing slightly. You reach over and brush your fingers against his arm. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Fox says, a little too quickly. 

Thorn lets out a snort, and Fox glares at him. He just raises an eyebrow, a knowing smirk on his face, and Fox rolls his eyes.

"Sorry, it's been a long day," he says as he turns back to you. "Just a bit tired, is all."

"That's understandable," you say, your lips curving into a small, sympathetic smile. "If it makes you feel any better, I've been on my feet since 0600."

"I think you win," Fox says, his voice dry.

You let out a small, breathy laugh, and his heart skips a beat again. It's a nice sound, and he feels a strange surge of pride at having caused it.

He was truly terrible at making small talk, and most people found his dry sense of humor off-putting. The fact that you had laughed at his words, even if it had been a polite, professional laugh, was surprising. It was hard not to see it as a small victory in an otherwise terrible day.

You smile at him again, and he feels a sudden urge to smile back. You look like you're about to say something, but then your datapad beeps, and the moment is lost.

"I'll be right back," you say. "Just got to check something."

You step out of the room, and Fox lets out a breath, relieved that you're gone. He hadn't expected you to be so friendly, or to be so concerned about him. Most natborns just saw the troopers as an extension of their equipment, and they only spoke to him if there was a problem. You're different, though, and it's unnerving.

"You're blushing."

"What?" Fox sputters, turning to Thorn. "What are you talking about?"

"Your face is red," Thorn says with a wide grin.

"It's the lights," he says, pointing to the ceiling. "They're too bright."

"I didn't know we could blush," Thorn teases. "That's kinda cute."

"Shut up."

"Oh, come on. You can't tell me you're not at least a little bit interested."

Fox sighs and shakes his head. "Not now, Thorn. We're in a medical center, not a bar."

"Good thing, too." Thorn stands up and starts to help him unlatch his armor, a smirk on his face. "Cause if we were, you wouldn't have a chance. She's way out of your league."

"You're the worst," Fox says, and he swats Thorn's hands away and reaches up to unfasten his shoulder plates himself.

"She's pretty," Thorn continues, ignoring him. He pulls off Fox's pauldrons and sets them on the ground. "And she's not scared of you, either. That's a first."

"Yeah, well, she works in a medical facility," Fox mutters, slipping out of his cuirass. "They must have taught her how to deal with difficult patients."

"Maybe," Thorn says. He removes the rest of Fox's armor, placing it carefully on the ground, and then steps back. "But I don't think that's it. She's nice."

"She's paid to be nice."

"That's not fair, and you know it."

"I don't need you playing matchmaker," Fox grumbles.

"Fine," Thorn says, crossing his arms. "But if you don't ask for her frequency, I will."

Fox's eyes widen. "Don't you dare—"

The doors slide open again, and you step inside, your expression bright. "Sorry about that."

Your gaze is focused on the gloves you're pulling over your hands as you walk in, but as soon as you look up, your smile vanishes, and you freeze. Your eyes are fixed on his arm, and Fox quickly glances down, noticing the large dark patch of blood seeping through his undershirt.

"Oh, Commander!" you exclaim, hurrying towards him.

"It's not that bad," he says. He hadn't realized how bad it was until now, and his heart is pounding in his chest. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Your tone is stern, and he finds himself shrinking back a little under your intense gaze. "Now sit still."

Fox does as he's told, watching as you pull a stool over and set up a tray. Your movements are swift and practiced, and you don't seem at all bothered by the amount of blood. You're frowning, but your eyes are calm, and Fox finds himself relaxing a little.

"Let's get this over with," you mutter.

You're not smiling anymore, and it unsettles him. He'd thought that he had imagined the steel in your voice earlier, but now he can hear it clearly, and it sends a shiver down his spine.

"Yes, sir," he says, trying to lighten the mood.

"It's doctor, actually."

Fox winces.

"My mistake," he mutters, his voice apologetic. "Force of habit."

You look at him, and he thinks he sees the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, but before he can be sure, your face is composed and neutral again.

"Would you prefer I cut the sleeve off, or would you rather take it off yourself?"

"I'll do it."

You nod, and he lifts his arms, peeling the soaked fabric away from his skin. His stomach clenches at the sight of the deep, bloody gash, and the stench of copper is heavy in the air. He can feel the blood beginning to trickle down his arm, and the sight of his pale, slick flesh is almost enough to make him vomit.

"Are you okay?" you ask, placing a hand on his uninjured shoulder.

"Yeah," Fox manages. He's feeling a little woozy, but he tries to push it down. "I'll be fine."

You give him a sympathetic look, and he looks away, his gaze fixed on the wall.

"Okay," you say. You grab a vial and a syringe and inject it into his arm. "This should help numb the pain. Try not to move."

Fox nods, and you lean closer, gently cleaning the wound. The smell of the disinfectant is strong, and he forces himself to focus on your face instead. Your expression is calm, and you're humming softly as you work, and he finds himself relaxing a little more.

"How did this happen, anyway?"

"Like I said, it's work-related."

"So it was a knife, then?"

Fox glances at the gash, and he nods. He can't tell if the cut is deep enough to require stitches or not, and he's a little worried that the knife might have hit an artery.

"You're going to have a nice scar."

"Good. It'll match the others," he mutters, his tone flat.

You pause for a moment, looking at him. Your expression is unreadable, but there's a sadness in your eyes that he doesn't understand. You resume cleaning the wound, and he tries not to think about it.

"Do you always go out in the field?" you ask.

"Sometimes."

"And do you usually get injured like this?"

"It's not uncommon."

"Hmm." You're quiet for a few moments, and then you glance up at him, your eyes filled with concern. "You're very brave."

Fox is stunned. No one has ever said anything like that to him before, and it catches him off guard. He doesn't know how to respond, and he just sits there, staring at you. You don't seem to mind, and you return your attention to his wound.

"This is a lot deeper than I thought," you murmur. "It'll need a few stitches."

"Okay," he says, his voice soft.

"Try to relax," you say, gently touching his arm.

He nods, and you begin to sew up the wound. He tries not to think about the fact that the needle is digging into his flesh, and instead focuses on the feeling of your gloved hands on his skin. They're gentle and warm, and the scent of the disinfectant is beginning to fade, replaced by the faintest trace of flowers.

He can't remember the last time someone touched him so tenderly. His brothers are rarely so careful, and most people who touch him are doing so with the intention of causing him harm. It's a pleasant change, and he finds himself enjoying it more than he expected.

"Sorry," you say, glancing up at him. "Almost done."

"Take your time," Fox replies. "I'm in no rush."

That's patently untrue, but the lie slips from his lips easily, and he's rewarded by a smile. He can see Thorn giving him a pointed look, and he knows that his brother will never let him live it down. But right now, he doesn't care.

The smell of flowers grows stronger, and he realizes that it's coming from you. The scent is subtle, but pleasant, and he's surprised by how much he likes it. He wonders what the source is. Is it your hair? Your skin? Or maybe it's something you wear, like perfume. He can't quite tell, and the mystery is starting to bother him.

You finish suturing his wound, and you dab some bacta gel over the stitches, sealing them. The sensation is cool and soothing, and Fox lets out a soft sigh of relief.

"How does that feel?" you ask.

"Better."

"Good," you say, your expression softening. You reach out and squeeze his uninjured shoulder, and Fox's eyes widen slightly at the unexpected gesture. "You should be all set, Commander."

"Thanks," he says, and the word sounds awkward in his ears. He's never thanked anyone for treating his wounds before. Usually, it was a medic droid, or another trooper, and his thanks were never required. But somehow, the words seem necessary now.

"Of course," you say, a hint of surprise in your voice. You remove your gloves, tossing them in the bin, and turn to clean up your equipment. "Do you have any other injuries, Commander? Any other...work-related incidents?"

"No, nothing else."

"Good." You stand up and stretch, and Fox takes the opportunity to admire the shape of your body. He can't help himself, and he quickly looks away, a flush rising on his cheeks.

"Thank you," Thorn chimes in, and Fox nearly jumps out of his skin. He had almost forgotten that the other commander was there, and his brother is looking at him with a knowing smile.

"You're welcome," you say, smiling at Thorn. You turn to Fox and offer him a smile, too, and he tries to smile back. It probably looks more like a grimace, and he quickly drops it.

"Now, remember, if that gets infected, or the stitches come loose before they dissolve, I want you to come right back, okay? No excuses."

"Got it," Fox replies.

"I mean it, Commander," you say, and you give him a stern look. "Don't make me hunt you down."

Fox blinks, his heart skipping a beat. You're serious, and he finds himself nodding, agreeing without thinking.

"Yes, sir," he says, and then mentally curses himself. "Doctor."

You chuckle, and the sound makes his chest tighten. It's the nicest sound he's heard all day, and he can't help but smile. You give him a playful salute, and he returns it, and you laugh again.

"Well, I hope we don't see each other anytime soon," you say, grinning.

"Me, too," Fox mutters, before he stiffens. "I mea—"

"I know what you mean," you say, your eyes sparkling. You hold out a hand, and he hesitates for a moment before taking it. Your skin is warm, and his breath catches in his throat when you gently squeeze his hand. "Take care, Commander."

"You, too," he says, and your smile widens. 

You pick up your datapad and step around the cot, moving towards the door. As you pass him, Fox catches another hint of the flowery scent, and his eyes widen. Lavender. It's lavender.

"Have a good day, gentlemen," you say. You flash him one last smile, and then you're gone.

He lets out a long, slow breath, trying to process what just happened. He feels... strange. There's an odd warmth in his chest, and he's still not quite sure what it is. He doesn't think it's anything bad, but it's new, and he doesn't know what to do with it. Maybe it's the blood loss. Or the painkillers. Or maybe it's the bacta. Yeah, it's probably the bacta.

Thorn slaps him on the back, and he lets out a startled noise, nearly falling off the cot.

"I don't know what the hell that was," Thorn says, chuckling. "But it was the most pathetic thing I've ever seen."

"Shut up."

"Seriously," he continues. "She's definitely way out of your league. I might even say she's way out of mine."

"I'm leaving," Fox grumbles. He grabs his armor and starts putting it on, trying not to wince as the plates rub against the bandages. "Get out of my way."

"Sure, sure," Thorn says, stepping aside. He gives Fox a sidelong glance, a mischievous look in his eyes. "Just make sure you give her your frequency."

Fox stops, his helmet half-on. He stares at Thorn, his mouth agape, and then turns away, pulling his bucket on over his head. He's not about to give Thorn the satisfaction of an answer. Not when his brother is clearly enjoying his discomfort so much.

He stalks out of the room, his boots echoing against the tile floor. Thorn follows, laughing, and Fox can feel his cheeks burning. He keeps his head down, his shoulders hunched, and he's determined not to speak another word. 

As they walk through the lobby, he notices you standing at the desk, speaking to the receptionist. You're not smiling anymore, but Fox can still see the ghost of it on your lips, and he feels the strange warmth growing inside him.

Thorn elbows him, and Fox lets out a hiss, glaring at him through his visor. He's already starting to regret allowing Thorn to drag him here. This whole experience had been far more traumatic than the injury itself, and he would have been better off ignoring it. But as he looks back at you, his gaze lingering on your form, he finds that he doesn't really regret it. At least not entirely.

The receptionist hands you a datapad, and you nod, thanking her. You turn and look at him, and he quickly ducks his head, pretending to adjust his pauldron.

"Commander!" you call out. "Wait a moment."

Fox stops, and Thorn snorts. He turns and sees you approaching, a small smile on your lips.

"Forget something?" he asks, and he winces internally at how gruff his voice sounds.

"Yes, actually," you say, stopping in front of him.

"Okay," he says slowly. He doesn't really understand why you're talking to him again, but he's not complaining. "What is it?"

"Your frequency."

Fox freezes, his eyes widening. He can't believe what he's hearing, and for a moment, he's convinced that he's misheard. It doesn't seem possible. Not with how the day has gone so far.

He glances over at Thorn, who's practically vibrating with excitement, and he quickly turns back to you, his heart racing.

"Uh..."

"I'll have the receptionist check in on you every few days, just to make sure everything is healing up okay," you continue. You hold out your datapad, and he takes it automatically. "But if there's any complications, or you notice anything unusual, don't hesitate to contact me, okay?"

The breath leaves his lungs, and he's grateful for the bucket over his head. Right. Of course. You're his doctor. This is completely professional. The disappointment that floods his veins is surprising, and he mentally scolds himself. What had he been expecting, anyway?

“That won’t be necessary," he says, handing the datapad back. "But thank you."

You frown. "Commander..."

"It's fine." He turns and gestures for Thorn to follow. "Come on, we've got work to do."

He can hear Thorn muttering behind him, and he knows that his brother is probably annoyed, but he doesn't care. The warmth inside him has vanished, replaced by an uncomfortable numbness. He doesn't know what he was hoping for, and he's glad that the conversation is over. It's better this way.

You call out after him, but he ignores you, and within moments, he's out of the building and back on the street. Thorn is right behind him, and they start the long trek back to the office.

"I can't believe you just did that," Thorn mutters.

"Did what?" Fox asks. He doesn't look at him, keeping his eyes fixed forward. He can feel his face heating up, and he's suddenly feeling very tired.

"You're an idiot," Thorn says, shaking his head.

"Shut up."

They walk in silence for a few minutes, and Fox tries not to think about the conversation. It doesn't matter, and it's better to just forget it.

He's been doing this job long enough to know that it’s dangerous to get attached to people, especially when they were civilians. Things never worked out, and the risk of getting hurt was too great. He'd seen too many of his brothers get their hearts broken by the citizens they were trying to protect, and he wasn't about to let that happen to him. It wasn't worth it. And you weren't special, anyway. You were just another natborn.

He repeats these thoughts to himself over and over, and eventually, he starts to believe them. The warmth inside him disappears, and the numbness returns. He's relieved. He's finally starting to get his head on straight, and the sooner he forgets about you, the better.

And yet, when they reach the Senate building, Fox hesitates. His eyes wander towards the medical center towering over the cityscape, and he feels a twinge in his chest. He tries to ignore it, and he continues walking, heading towards the office. But the ache doesn't go away, and the image of your smile lingers in his mind, taunting him.

He doesn't know why it bothers him so much. He'd only just met you, and it was nothing but a brief conversation. There was no reason to be upset. But somehow, it feels like something was taken from him. And he can't figure out what it was.

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[angelfishe]

>> 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄

>> scaramouche x kitsune reader ( reverse au )

Instead of abandoning kunikuzushi in the original time line, ei decided to keep him and make him inazuma prince as well the shogunate and leader of inazuma in her place while she's meditating. Him and the head shrine maiden seem to have chemistry together

Inspired a fan art of this au, credits to the artist

After his creation, kunikuzushi was soon crowned to be the prince of inazuma as well as the shogunate of the ruler of inazuma in his mother's place while she was meditating in the plane of euthymia.

He was known as a cold, calculative, cruel but also can be caring for his people, he takes his position with seriousness as well as pride being the son of the electro archon.

In front of the citizens of inazuma he is a strict as well as strong leader. He upholds the rules of the inazuma in high regards following his mothers ideal of eternity.

Amongst the electro nations there are powerful clans as well as powerful warriors and individuals lurking in the nation but not one will be on top of the head of the shrine maidens.

The most powerful yōkai of the current era, the leader of the Narukami shrine as well the heir of kitsune lineage your position was second to the electro archon himself. You were also recognized to be the prince muse.

During your childhood you would visit the electro archon and meet him during his early creation, you and him one time intertwined your hands together and a spark emerged from this action. Even tho he was a puppet he could feel the connection and warmth from this action.

No one is allowed to insult you, it's the same equivalent of insulting the prince himself and anyone would ever do this blasphemous act it's an insult to the electro archon and will be immediately stripped from their position or will be struck by lightning.

You were allowed to visit tenshukaku without permission due to your position, as well when you walk by the guards in order to give a small bow towards you.

Sometimes when duties get too hard, he would lay his head on your lap or chest to hear your heart beat, when he finally knew your present or heard your heartbeat he could rest peacefully knowing you will be there.

One of your duties is to exorcist bad spirits and protect inazuma from them. If there was a spirit that is going rogue in the land you personally would go to the area and banish it, he would tag along with you to make sure you're safe no matter what if he has duties, he will put it on hold because your safety is his priorities amongst all.

You and him sometimes would take a walk together and eat together, many locals recognize you but the prince himself going out with you is something new. Even tho he doesn't have the necessary to eat, he usually enjoyed it because it feels nice sharing a meal together with you.

He would brush your tail due to it bringing comfort towards you, your tail is soft and very puffy as well as big ( similar to Tingyun tail from hsr ) the reason it's big is because it is a combination of your other tails into one.

Sometimes when he's doing paperwork, you would shift into your fox form and lay on his lap and he will continue to pet you.

You bring him comfort as well a lap to lay on when he talks about how he dearly misses his mother even tho he is not allowed to enter the plane of euthymia because it would disturb her meditation. You would comforted and ease his worries.

You would be adorned with expensive kimonos and jewelry from him, exquisite hair pins, kimono made from the finest silk and jewelry made from the rarest of diamonds would be given to you by him.

His favorite activity with you would be admiring the stars or sun on top of tenshukaku as well admiring the fireworks of the festival with his head laying on your shoulder.

He easily gets jealous when a noble man or other yōkai approaches you especially a certain oni who wouldn't stop approaching you and seeking your attention.

He has absolute confidence in your abilities, you're the most powerful yōkai in the current era of inazuma he would always be there to protect you if there's ever a situation of you getting hurt he would personally hunt the thing that dared to hurt you.

If there was ever a battle you and him would stand side by side together, fighting together. Protecting each other.

[1800titz]

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ — ʟᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ/ᴍᴀꜱᴋ ᴋɪɴᴋ

KISS ME | Stalker!Harry x Reader, purge au

You left him with a taste of you lingering between his teeth, after the first time. With his appetite, it’s only fair he comes back for seconds.

★18+

I don't know what possesses me to write a psycho sicko every time the pumpkins start rolling out onto the doorsteps (see Hitchhikerry) but there is simply something in the air, I fear. This is ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴍᴇ for the KINKTOBER projects.

PLEASE read the warnings, and please put yourself and your comfort first and foremost. Consume only what you’re comfortable consuming. This one is not intended to be read as a love story, and has sensitive topics, dark themes, and *dubious consent.

If you enjoy this, consider checking out my patreon masterlist, constantly being updated, with loads of exclusive content. If you would like to see the other KINKTOBER projects and join the taglist for upcoming projects, do so here.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: dubcon. stalking. sexual assault. coping with sexual assault. under negotiated kink. unsafe sex (no use of condom, no negotiation prior). manipulation. mask kink. leather kink. daddy kink. breeding kink. p-in-v. oral (m to f). general manhandling.

WC: 12.3K

As always, Harry is just a faceclaim.

Spring is bleeding out onto the tarmac. 

Gold and liserian and bluebonnet. Midnight and cherry-red massacre, seeping into the gutter grate with the sky glowing like a peachring. 

Spring is bleeding out onto the tarmac. It’s unstilted, and smells like rust, and kerosene, and Summer feels a hundred miles away. A thousand, like sunrise on the twenty-second, milliseconds seeping like sand through a clogged hourglass. Like someone wedged their sticky fingers in through the top and stuck a piece of gum to the narrowed opening.

The miasma, even days later, when waste management hordes the lily-white cadavers into semi’s and street sweepers come out to pressure wash the asphalt, burns your nose like you’re huffing acid. 

And it feels like God cupping his hands around the continent and squeezing every ugly, brutish thing out. You wonder if the blood seeping between the asphalt slates sticks to the grooves of his palms. His fingerprints, casting massacre into the pitch sky, smudging asterisms together. You’re supposed to feel the holy spirit. 

(Feel it— don’t you feel it?) 

At the back of your tongue, in every empty room, like a nebulous haze of goodwill and unconditional love. When you were a kid, you wondered why feeling God didn’t make your skin itchy. It would, right? If the body of Christ stalled at your nape, looming over your shoulder. You were raised catholic, so it still lingers and sticks to the nook of your periphery like an oilslick, no matter how hard you knuckle at your eyes. 

You wonder if it’s that same holy spirit they’re tasting in the heme when they cough, supine on the sidewalk. If it’s God’s liquid love, righteous across every capillary, with the swing of a sword. A forefinger on a trigger. 

That’s what they say, anyways. Last Tuesday the blonde lady on Fox news said it was always God in our veins on the night of the holy purge— feel God (transubstantiation like a distant, muffled folklore ringing in your ears) cleanse your soul. Fox news always starts to lean on epistemic justification in Spring, and you wonder if people believe God is scrubbing them from the inside with a bathbrush. You wonder if they really even believe in God, anyways, when it’s all just a mangled apparatus for population control. 

(But God wants them to kill the poor people, right?)

Last spring, a man broke into your apartment. 

Charcoal bulk. Tapered obsidian. Wide shoulders, wide arms, wide, herculean thighs, in all black. Slate denim. Battered leather jacket. Those massive hands, coated in pure-nightfall leather. You remember them well, because you thought they resembled the thick, sheepskin gloves your grandfather would wear out in the snow—

Nothing besides black on him, besides the cruel arsenic white of a plastic doll mask stretched over his balaclava. Like those ugly, inexpressive porcelain things you’d find stacked up in antique stores. Your gaze lingered on the delirious scripture across the forehead. Kiss me.

He slunk in while you were in the bathroom. Cracked in your front door. You discovered a crater in the shape of his kneecap, days later, when you replaced the broken locks.

You found him on your couch like a stygian king, thighs split, like he belonged in your tiny living room in all his ominous, leathery heft, and for a second, you just stalled at the threshold with your heart at the base of your throat. Eyes wide. In stagnant impasse with this absurdly nonchalant intruder. Between a beleaguered rock and a hard place. He’d cocked his head at you. Dead silent, and your hindbrain prickled with parity of a slasher film clip— the kind you’d peep over your blanket, folded up to your nose with shaking hands, after bedtime. You weren’t allowed to watch the movie, at the time. But you always remembered that scene where the indifference rolled off the killer in lapping, tidal waves before he’d strike and carve a character open. 

Something scratched at your hindbrain. Some hysterical thread, clinging to the falsehood that this was a rancid illusion. A nightmare, limned in butter-yellow off the lamp on the side table. His dirty boots kicked up on your coffee table. Inkblots in the plastic cut-outs of the eye sockets, glimmering like hungry nightfall. Because it was the purge, sure, but it wasn’t you. 

Never you. It couldn’t happen to you.

Hindsight humbles the untouchable, crooked complex you wore on your shoulders. Your head, with your chin held high, behind the glowing string-lights tucked across your blinds and the bleeding street under your balcony.

(You remember you thought God prickled at your nape that night. May God be with you— that’s what they say.)

(God was cold, and it made your skin itch. Maybe he would have been warm, and kind, and you would’ve felt the goodwill and unconditional love if you didn’t ask so many stupid questions in kidhood during bible camp. If you didn’t bury your bible into the bottom of your nightstand when you realized they were justifying their gnarled agenda with the pages.)

You felt sick—

And he told you he didn’t have any interest in killing you. A purr, muffled by layers of stitched cotton and plastic. No interest in all that. Wouldn’t wanna hurt a pretty thing like you. 

Like a sarky paradox to all the formidable space he was taking up, in all his horrifying gear. 

Kiss me.

An irony to the ichor thumb-smudge across his forehead. An irony, you thought, to God with a bathbrush, and the date, and the time, and the uncomfortable, imperfect squeeze of you into the bracket of wrong-place-wrong-time. In your own apartment.

Aren’t you gonna thank me, he hummed, on his feet now, from across the room. Stalemate. Rotten stasis. Deadlock, at his discretion, with you, shaking like a leaf under the archway. 

For protecting you? That’s what he said. 

(If you weren’t frozen in place with the leftovers you had for dinner curdling in your belly— eye to eye with a facsimile of the reaper— you would have snorted. It was just so absurdly ironic that it nearly made your ribs ache.) 

He was so big, you thought, when his shoulders climbed and his chest swelled, under the animal skin. So rigid. You wondered if he was all bulk like that, under the layers, or if the loose coat, and the gloves, and the daunting mien of a predator just made him seem that much larger. You’re not a small thing, but he made you feel as much. Like a dolly. A maquette— a perfect marionette to toss around between his hands on the perfect night, the perfect date on the calendar. 

Lotta bad men around, tonight.

The floorboard creaked under his weight. One step forward. The carpet bristled under your heel. 

Aren’t you gonna thank me for protecting you? 

(Kiss me.)

You remember how you went along. Easy. Didn’t say no.

And you could chalk it up to survival— pure, self-preservational instinct— and the gunfire looming outside your window. No. You remember the swell of panic, the riptide of adrenaline tearing you into a deluge of auto-pilot. Something seeped into the hairline fracture across the line between saving yourself— and your dignity, your pride. 

(Something ugly, and wrong, and so out of place. So warm in a room so bone-chilling.)

You thought you were broken. The two choices, unequivocally, were always fight or flight. 

(So which synapse misfired, that night, that kicked your gears into neither?)

You remember ugly things from that night. It felt like your ribs were being pried open, and he was picking you apart, pinching some raw and deep to pluck it out between leather fingers, until you were squirming in a pool of your own spilled volition. Like milk knocked over on the counter. Left to rot. Curdle.  

Because it didn’t hurt. He didn’t hurt you. 

And maybe that was worse. Because you were supposed to kick, and fight, and scream, and you— 

Didn’t. 

And maybe at first, it was a form of endurance. Survival sense— shutdown, like a generator on its last limb, preserving its own continuance. Just go along, just survive, just—

It’s easier, you think, in retrospect, to justify that. 

What’s harder is that you remember you thought you were broken because part of you, eventually, didn’t want to kick, or fight, or scream. 

(Go for the eyes— that’s what they say— and where would you go, in those inky craters, under the shadows? Like polynyas brimful of tar. You’d drown.) 

You remember the way he called himself daddy— come sit on Daddy’s cock, tell Daddy how good he feels— and you remember the visceral burgeon of disgust swelling in your belly. 

The way it made you revolted, and shuddery, and white-hot. 

Wanting. Slick. 

Because he’s not your daddy. Wasn’t. Isn’t.

You knew it for what it was. A gross game. Meant to debase your conation. This scary man in his scary mask on this, scary night, in your home, here to take something for himself. A flinder of your rib— a cracked piece of bone, here to tuck it into the inside of his coat. To watch your face crease with the juxtaposing blend of repulsion and want, rolling down your spine like rainwater off a downspout, as your cunt fluttered. 

He fucked you stupid on his cock again, and again, and again, until the sun was scraping at the land with its hot fingers, and the corners of your room were white and blue. Took what he wanted, because he decided he could. 

And that’s the game. The brutal nature of humanity crumbling under the weight of anarchy, and unrestricted autonomy, even if only for a night. Bereft morals. Selfish whims.

(And you took it. Just took it. Didn’t put up a fight, not when terror started lagging behind pleasure.)

He ate your cunt, too, just the way you liked. For hours, with the plastic mask tucked up like the balaclava, to the tip of his nose. The hard edge, and the cotton, pressing into your mons when he rolled your clit with his tongue, pressed the flats of his white teeth against it. You remember that. 

His nice, clean white teeth, and his pink lips. 

He must’ve been a pretty man under all the unnerving guise.

By the time the siren screeched at seven, you were strewn on your sheets like puddy across the sidewalk. All worn, and tired, and malleable, which he seemed to like. Panting, sweaty, tacky. Covered in him. The sticky, pearlescent mimesis, like memorabilia. Your pink underwear dangling out of his pocket like a perverted token to pin up onto his wall like a poster, after. His hard, leather fingerprints, blooming across your soft love handles, where he held your bones in place (but you didn’t need him to— not when you were so willing to placate and assuage and give). The chiaroscuro made your ribs rattle when you breathed deep. 

You stared at the popcorn ceiling when his belt buckle clinked. Slotted himself back together, into unobtainable nightfall against the backdrop of daytime. 

There’s a lot of things that stuck with you from that night. He didn’t hurt you, and your skin stayed sealed, but according to everyone, a part of you maybe-died, or that’s how you should feel, anyway. So, you wondered if that gangrenous part of you was severed off, bleeding out onto the carpet. Between the floorboards, staining the ceiling of the apartment on the floor under yours. A nebula of rust red across plaster.

(You thought it was severed, because at first you didn’t feel it. Anything. Nothing. Numb. Pinpricks across your psyche like your hand when you slept on it the wrong way. Maybe he cut it loose when you weren’t looking— when your lashes fluttered, smogged in the haze of yellow string lights, when your cheek kissed the mattress, and sex.)

You remember a lot of things that make your chest feel tight, like cotton unspooling in the crevices of your lungs, and your head feel waterlogged, and your knees brittle. But you remember he told you, before he left, that he’ll see you next year. 

I’ll see you next year, sweetheart.

Like a portent. It should’ve been. In a way, it felt like a reassurance, and you hate that pulpy part of yourself. 

And what can you do? 

You’re a statistic. 

The label feels wrong. Permanent. Like a bumper sticker stamped onto your forehead with gorilla glue. You’re lucky, they tell you, after. What a close call, when you swallow preventive abortion pills and shiver at your own reflection passing in the mirror. You think, maybe, your guardian angel blinked, somnolence searing at the backs of its eyes. Because, maybe, angels sleep, too. You don’t know. They didn’t teach that in church. 

You go to therapy. The woman in the big, sable chair gives you this look. Crinkled countenance pinched in pity. How pitiful, you’re reminded, and how lucky you are to only be scratched by a freight train. You’re not smattered pulp on the railroad tracks, but in the cruel cosm, you feel like jam dripping down God’s hands. 

You ask her if it’s fucked up that it felt good. 

She tells you it’s not. 

But then, you ask if it’s fucked up that a crackled fragment of you, maybe-sort-of-in-a-way, wouldn’t mind if it happened again.  

That’s a different question. 

Because you’ve been mulling that thought over between your teeth, in the hollow gaps between mortified, pale-faced solaces, I’m sorry’s, I’m-sorry-that-happened-to-you’s. It’s been festering, and feels like a chunk of you rotting under the sun. But maybe, if someone tells you that it’s okay—

If you had to do it over— you put it that way, like emphasizing a crease in a sheet of paper, and she gives you another, long, reticent look this time, instead of a response. 

(Because, maybe, putting it that way makes the insatiable itch in your arteries more relatable. Easier to swallow. Easier to tolerate. Maybe you sound like less of a freak, with the tumult.) 

Guilt for feeling pleasure is, apparently, very common, as indicated by the PDF she emails you that night to look over. Rape Victims and the False Sense of Guilt. 

Rape. The word rape, across the screen, makes you flinch. It’s such a small word in the sea of the text, only four Lilliputian letters. Teeny-tiny. But it feels big. Like a big deal— rape, that’s a big word. It’s razor sharp when it echoes behind your skull. It’s ugly, and it ends on a blunt, hard sound. No elasticity. No give. This unyielding, little word that shatters around you in its hideous, mangled phonetics— is that what happened to you?

You’re lucky. What a close call. I’m sorry that happened to you.

Pleasure is a natural, physical reaction. A bodily reaction. That’s what it says.

You can cope with that. Comprehend that. The rest is— loaded. Like an assault rifle, in spring. You don’t know how to peel the pieces apart. You never learned how to take apart a gun.

You know what a bodily reaction is. 

But nothing explains the chimera you chase after— the fantasy, when you’re plugged around two of your own fingers, weeks, months later, chasing the phantom ache. 

Liking masks is okay, but liking masks is only okay if there’s something preliminary about them. Liking to feel small and scared is okay, but only if there’s a safety net, and safewords, and you trust the other person, and know them like the pores across the back of your hand. A stranger isn’t allowed to make you feel this way. 

But liking this— thinking about this, with your head fuzzy and your skin simmering— is wrong. Bad. 

It’s okay, but you need to heal. Something bad happened to you, and you need to sweep your pieces into the dustpan before you start to put them back together. That’s what you read between the lines. It feels accusatory.

(Only, you don’t think you could mold them into the same form, if you tried. Stick them back into their rifted crevasses, when they’re jagged and misshapen.)

The things you feel are, by all definitions— according to the internet, and everyone around you— wrong. Ugly. Sick. You shouldn’t feel anything but nausea scraping at the back of your throat, pooling briny under your tongue, when you think about that night. About him. That’s what you find in the vats of their eyes when you tell people what happened, the stricken shape of their faces. Like you’re broken. Because you are broken. 

Some part of you has a big indigo bruise stretched across it, smarting something awful. Some part of you is fractured ceramic. 

You’re a statistic. A number. A sliver on a bar graph. It feels like throwing yourself headfirst over a rock face. Into a yawning abyss. You splinter upon contact with the water, but it doesn’t ripple around you. Just lets your dissevered pieces wade and buoy.

You don’t go back to therapy after the third time, and you spend all summer burying your esoteric predilections at the back of the shelf. Let them gather dust, because they’re shattered anyways, and you don’t know how to make any sense of the smashed fragmentations. They’re so jagged, they’ll cut the soft skin on your palms up if you cup them too close.

You move when your lease ends in the summer. Not really by choice, but the decision has the weight of all those ruckled, condolatory looks. Those I’m-sorry-that-happened-to-you’s, like flour-sacks across your shoulders. Your apartment still reeks like him. It’s a phantom musk, whispering along your lungs. Cigarettes, and leather, and tangy sweat (it almost feels like it belongs— not unpleasant, like the brine across Poseidon’s abdomen). It’s uncomfortable. You long for it. You’re imagining it, you know that. 

Your new apartment is clean. It smells like bleach, and it has all different locks, and the promise spills in cobwebs behind your skull. You try not to get tangled in them.

And everything tells you it’s wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong— everything. A churning, gut feeling, when you sign the new lease, when you roll around your sheets in the middle of the night with your hand between your tacky thighs. 

You feel like you’re breaking an unspoken rule. You’re supposed to heal. This isn’t healing.

You consider booking that out-of-country trip in March. Week-long, just to stifle the premonition under the heel of your palm. The omen, that was still dripping heady, clotting the air alongside the stifling sound of the zipper closing its teeth together. Crinkling leather when he buckled his belt.

Your mom gives you a call. Tells you to come out to Maine for the weekend. You shrug the invitation off with your phone cradled between your cheek and your shoulder, and your laundry between your fingers. I’m fine, mom. I’m—

Fine. Cataclysmically. Okay. Bleeding out onto the tarmac with every step, like the incipient springtide. 

You cup a posy of daffodils between your hands with wistfulness speckling across your chest. 

You used to love spring. In kidhood, before the heavy, inordinate burden of purge-nights spanned across your shoulders, spring had the delicacy of a flower. The warmth of sunshine beading across your skin. The naivety of pastels. A callow touch of rose-tint.

You always knew living alone had its risks. In an apartment, no less, flimsy and unsheltered by security shutters and the bulwarks of a standalone. A danger, like a yellow warning sign. It’s the same precarious footing that warrants your mother’s calls back to your hometown every spring. 

(The same reason she called you last year. And you— stupid, stupid— didn’t go.)

You don’t know how to excuse yourself this year. Lack of self-preservation? Stupid, callow hope? You don’t know what you’re hoping for. 

(What you’re feeding.)

Maybe it’s the way you’ve been dusting the shattered shards on the shelf. 

Anybody else in your position would be halfway across the continent, and you’re shutting down your flower shop and turning in for the night. Pretending (that you’re pretending) you’re inviolable, like that headspace didn’t get crushed under his thumb last year. The clock ticks on the wall. 

The man who comes up to the register has a bouquet in his hand. A sprig of carmine carnations that crinkles when he lays it flat onto the countertop. He’s tall. Broad. Pretty— the first thing you think of, upon impression, mapping out the ridges of his face, the even slope of his nose, the burnt umber curl that spills over his forehead. Wordless. He stares at you. 

Just stares. Not quite boring into you, but lingering, inkpools fixed. Indescribably. Unremitting.

There’s a familiarity in his gaze. Something that weaves across you in unspooling, crepuscular cobwebs, something that prickles. And eye-contact feels like a stalemate. A competition; who will give first? Your mettle splinters in hairline fractures. 

“Is this,” your smile is flimsy. Brittle. Eyes dipping to the flowers he’s laid out. “…all for you today?” 

He smells expensive. Like amber musk, but something sticks to his scent like an afterthought. A note, in undertow. 

Smoke.

Like he washed his hands, brushed his teeth, but couldn’t kick the odor off his clothes, lingering in the stitches.  

Emotions dredge up from the pit of your psyche like his presence is the metal head of a shovel. Cold leather. A hot touch. Things you’ve left numb for too long, oozing, electric, alive. Your fingers flex on the stems, and the plastic clicks under your hand when you stare down at it. You can’t look. 

“Mm.”

You feel flayed. Raw. Like you’re going to come apart into tatters in the middle of the store. In front of a customer. You cast your gaze up. He isn’t looking at you anymore. Hands buried in his pockets, eyes listing across the melange of flower assortments you’ve got on display behind the counter. And you feel—

Embarrassed. Silly. Your cheeks heat, your heart thundering at your throat. It’s silly. 

“Oh,” you breathe as you roll the bouquet between your hands. Key in the numerical series to the system, “I like these. They’re very pretty. …Looks like today, it’s going to be… twenty-six.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Nothing at all, doesn’t make any motion towards procuring a payment method, and that nagging sense of worry spirals between your brows when you cast your inkpools up to find him staring again. Under your hands. There’s a judder to them. You watch his hand reach into the front-pocket of his jeans, and cull a cashfold. He licks his fingers before he separates the cash, and hands it to you. 

Your fingers brush. You swallow. 

You hand his change over with your fingers twitching. 

“Happy purge,” he tells you. Suddenly.

Your smile wobbles. Creases. Curls back up into a proxy of a cheery mien you have the resolve to upkeep. “Happy purge.”

His fingertips drum across the counter. “And may our souls be cleansed.”

It sounds droll. Wry. Like he’s making a mockery of every piece of propaganda the news channel paints across your screen, a week-long affair in snippets before commencement. You swallow. 

“Up for anything tonight?”

The question shouldn’t nick between your ribs. Scrape into the soft place— you’ll get loads of customers that ask. That participate, affluent folk. Young people, with grease smeared across their smiles when they tell you that they’re excited to exercise their God-given right. 

You shake your head. “No— no. I don’t… partake.”

The silence that congeals between you is suffocating. Heavy. You feel your poise withering. Shrinking back into you, under the weight of his gaze. It’s an eerie stagnancy, and you feel like you’re sinking to the depths. 

“You’re,” you tell him, trying to smile, but it doesn’t meet your eyes this time, “…all set.��

His eyes roam. Openly. Lash across you in bounds, slow, detail-oriented. It’s odd. Makes you feel strange. Finally, they fix on your face. No doubt, creased with discomfort. 

“Stay safe tonight,” he tells you, before he turns, bouquet in hand. 

“Right. You— stay safe,” you rock forward on your heels. The bell over the door jingles. 

You’re broken, but you’re not stupid. You twist the locks when you get home. Double-check every window. Turn off every light that you aren’t using. 

The announcement comes across the TV when you’re in the shower, and by the time you come out, the emergency broadcast has morphed off into a rerun of Friends. You don’t know what to do with yourself. Tuck your knees to your chest and stare at the clock? Roll into the fetal position and pray? 

May God be with you. 

The gunfire outside begins during the credits. You can’t stomach the harrowing scream that seeps across from the street below, so you plug your ears with your headphones, and you blast music until you feel like your ears are bleeding. Hole up in your bedroom.

You can’t discern the feeling that clots in your chest when you come out to your living room, eventually, to find him on your couch. In eerie stillness. Terror? Relief? 

He notices you. Swells when he breathes, all heft, just like you remember. The burgeon of fear that prickles at your nape, making your hair stand on end, you find, clots beside something you’re unable to dissect. For a long second, the both of you just breathe. Observe. 

He breaks the silence. 

“…Come tell Daddy hello.”

Daddy. Daddy— the titular moniker makes you bristle, startling you out of your stupor like whiplash. What are you doing? What are you doing?

You stall by the bathroom door. This game of cat and mouse is precarious. You’ll lose— that fact is brassbound. Undeniable. You don’t know what you were expecting. Why you stayed. You’ve got the short end of the stick, always. And still, you contemplate, lingering with your hand on the doorknob. The stagnancy in biding your time feels like staring at a snake coiling beside your feet. Waiting for it to lash forward. 

You take a slow step forward. Another. He doesn’t make any moves towards you, doesn’t give any indication that he’s keen to sit up. Content with the view of your dread snowballing. Mushrooming. Hands resting across his lap, his tree-trunk thighs split apart. 

Waiting. Watching. 

You don’t expect it when he sits up, grunting, to wrap his hand across your forearm. Lug you forward, into the alcove between his thighs. The brush of leather across your bare skin makes chills erupt across your skin. Manhandling you, like puddy between his hands. You’re supposed to fight, you’re supposed to kick, you’re supposed to—

Scream. You exhale when he twists you and forces you to sit on his knee. You’re stupid. What you’re chasing isn’t healthy.

You think he’s going to ask why you moved. Silly girl. Didn’t think I’d find you?

He doesn’t. 

“Been a good girl?” he drawls, instead, chest swelling in your periphery. It feels mocking, despite the casualness of his tone— unsanded around the edges. The irony of the position has your teeth set, like you’re a child on Santa’s lap, and not a grown woman on his. A petrifying— 

Half-stranger. Almost.

The revelation is uncanny to the way you’re searing under your skin. And there’s a thin line, you think, between coercion, and the way your heart batters a little faster, the way you clench your fingers together to avoid squeezing your thighs.

You don’t say anything. It’s rhetoric, because he isn't finished. He cups your knee under his palm, the dark leather, and says, “Kept your pussy to yourself, mm?”

Not your hands. Not your hands. 

Your pussy. 

The undiluted vulgarity trickles down your nape, makes you flinch, and you fist your hands a little harder, until the crescents dig into your palms. It’s still just as nonchalant, even-toned. But it’s crude, and it makes your face hot. 

Like he owns that. Like you belong to him, in some way.

(And maybe, in some way, some part of you does. That piece of your rib he still has tucked into his pocket from last spring.)

Your heart is in your throat. You turn your cheek. Away. Just enough, but the hand that was on your knee presses against the side of your face. Two fingers, gloved, that pry your attention back onto him. It’s almost effortless. Feels like he’s using hardly any strength at all, has your chin snapping back, and the weight of two fingers, against that groove under your cheekbone, has an ache radiating up into your temple. He’s feeling the ridges of your teeth through your soft flesh. Wrenching his fingertips into the hollow rift between the two rows, and your breath ebs your lungs in soft pants, free falling the gap between your lips. The slick, gummy inside of your cheek twinges under the pressure.

You stare back, and—

You don’t know what you find. What you’re looking for. There’s a hunger in the plastic cut outs, glimmering in the tenebrose, like a predator shimmering in the distance of the thicket. One that’s spent all winter hibernating.

He digs his fingers in a little harder. Makes your head tilt with an ease that makes your head spin. The sound that leaks out of you is embarrassing. So unlike you. So small, and vulnerable, and raw. 

It reminds you of feeling like you were being carved open, like you were having those pieces pulled out of you. Those fragments that you’ve buried deep behind your ribs, all yours. Delicate chattels between his fingers like a thread that he’ll tug to unspool you to the core.

His thumb grazes the corner of your mouth. Your lower lip. Rests there, all leather. It smells like charred tobacco. Tar. 

“Yes,” you breathe. Appease. The word comes out tangled with a frantic note, an exhale, and sounds garbled off your liquified, molasses-heavy tongue. 

Maintaining eye contact is difficult. Intense. Feels like wading a knee-deep morass with how treacly it makes your head feel, but it’s impossible to look away. With the angle he has your head, you feel snared into an unspoken standoff. Feels like you’re caught in a springe he’s laid out. You, with your rabbiting heart, and your ankle caught in a noose. And him—

Those deep-seated inkpools glimmer from the underbrush. 

“Is that right?”

It’s like a car crash, you think, stuck in limbo. A beatific maelstrom of metal scraping on metal. The beautiful, horrifying view, in the split-second of collision. Time in stasis. Slow motion.

You can’t look away.

He stops pressing to rap the pads against your cheekbone, instead, and the thump that echoes in your skull almost sounds hollow. Loud in your ears. The pang lingers in your jaw, like a dull ache, across your upper teeth, the inside of your cheek. 

There’s a split second there, where that bilious feeling slinks into your stomach and coils up, stretching between your lungs. That sick you find, buried under the galvanized cobwebs spooling your sense of self-preservation, like a haze of little, electric gossamers across your synapses. The incipience of a wave of nausea, softly lapping, at the thought that all of this, everything, is premeditated, and the gnarled root of it all sinks so much deeper than you’d ever expect. 

That he’ll know— knows— that you brought another man home last fall. 

It was stupid. A one off, scraped off a bar stool on a Saturday night after one too many whiskey sours, and the sex wasn’t even any good. You don’t remember it. 

But your head feels syrupy. You don’t know what’s worse: this burgeoning fear that you’ve disappointed him with— what? Free will? Autonomy? 

Or the slick ooze of the bone-juddering revelation that settles; he’s probably been watching you. Keeping tabs. 

(How else did he know where you moved? How to pin you under the pad of his thumb with such startling ease? You’re a thumbtack on a paper map, and a petrified part of you wonders if he’s got it— a chart of your whereabouts, your existence snared into a creased sheet— dangling next to the panties from last spring.)

If he knows about your liaison, he doesn’t indicate it. Opting to, instead, graze the shape of your lips with his thumb again, and push in to scrape the flats of your teeth with the leather. It’s gross. Feels strange— leather against the smooth inside of your lips, and when you breathe around it, you feel like you’re spinning out, headfirst, hurtling toward the ground. Something you don’t want to acknowledge rolls over, white-hot, in the pit of your tummy. 

“That’s good,” he settles on, and palms your breast so abruptly that it makes your lungs squeeze. Your throat clicks when you swallow. 

It feels so mechanical. Calculating. Collected. Nonchalantly purposeful— nothing gradual, no build up— like he’s here to reap and take, intent on what he’s looking for. But it’s all a startling, unnatural paradox, considering you were left so overly-satiated last spring, that you almost felt like a mindless shell of yourself. Entirely sapped. The enigma left your head clogged up and heavy for days. Weeks. Months. Your lashes flutter, dusting unfitting bliss across your cheeks like the speckling heat. Like pleasure is bulky, and rounded, and doesn’t fit into the jagged slot your anticipation has chiseled. 

He squeezes the doughy flesh in his hand, and scuffs your pebbling nipple with a side-swipe of his thumb. Then, the other. Long, thick fingers spanning, and coasting across your diaphragm, climbing your waist, the chiseled, swelling rungs of your ribcage, cupping under one of your tits again. He only stops at the soft sound that crawls out of your windpipe. Eyes flickering at the reedy, wanton whine that gushes through the seal of your teeth. The self-awareness makes you wither into yourself. Shrinking. Ecstasy feels like an agrestal parasite, mushrooming between your nerves. Budding in that slope under your navel.

(Wrong, wrong, wrong— a broken mechanism, misfiring. Grinding. Your eroded mettle squealing under the pressure.)

You can hear him breathing. He sounds like an animal. A panting beast. Feral. Untamed, wild, huffs stifled by ribbed cotton and matte plastic. He notches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and pinches it. Tugs. A gust of your desperate breath escapes through that barren dearth between your teeth when he palms you by the front of your neck and pushes you against the back of the couch. 

It’s sloppy. Clumsy, an awkward angle from where you were on his lap— your limbs flail before you topple, and it requires more core strength on your part than you anticipate to sink back, but it isn’t violent. Aggressive. The coarse denim on his thigh abrades your naked skin when he twists to hover over you. Cushion denting under the weight of his knee. Your neck cranes back as he pins you to the back of the couch by the column of your throat. Head tipped back, nearly dangling over, neck straining. He looms over you.

Just—

Staring. Staring. You stare back and wonder if he feels your pulse hammering with the layer of the leather barricade between skin kissing skin. Like this, the mask is limned in shadows from the slant, and the crepuscular orifices under the plastic are even harder to make out. Harder to gauge. You want to gauge. You want to see—

You won’t have the upper hand. You know that, but prying for the threadbare margin of a hint, a motive, a reaction, feels like digging your fingers in for a last-ditch lifeline. 

His eyes are half-mast. Dark lashes spanned over the glint in pitch, mounted in white. You can’t see what he’s thinking. Can’t—

He reels forward, back hunched, leather jacket crinkling, and you feel the plastic mask tucked to your cheekbone. Your temple. Your hair. He reeks like santalum. Petrichor— the first rain spilling onto the pavement, scrubbing the bloodshed off into the grates— and the overwhelming scent of leather that clots in your nose. His mask scrapes your ear. He sniffs.

And you think, a little hysterically, that he’s smelling you. The recognition prickles in your skull, and climbs up your nape in a shiver. And it feels so— 

Animalistic. Primal. Indelicate. Like any sense of decorum flaking off and shedding like desquamate feathers, and it makes you feel so small. A frisson rides the ledges of your spine. Something shudders across his shoulders. Rattles them— you clock it in your periphery, stunned into subservience with your fingers twisting into the couch cushion. 

He sighs. Hums. Like he’s vibrating over you, buzzing, and the thought has that skein across your lungs tightening. The sound that seeps out of him is brassy. Low. Hungry. And the likeness that scrapes at your hindbrain, through the plume of reluctance and crushing desire, nearly makes you feel delirious— it almost sounds like a dog whining. Like he’s been holding himself back, and your scent is too much, chips an integral shard out of his flinty resolve. 

You don’t know why, but it makes you squirm. Makes your chest roll under him, hips shifting. Your eyes oscillate. Stutter from the ceiling fan to the corner of the room, because he’s smelling you and sounds like he’s falling apart. 

Your throat jumps under his hand. He drums his fingertip under your jaw, and it feels like the tick of a clock. He reels back. Slowly. Tipped over you, huffing with his head cocked. Almost panting. This harrowing monster, quivering in his skin, in all his heft, like he wants to eat you alive. Swallow you whole. His eyes slip. The feather-dust of his lashes kisses the pink-rimmed seam of his lower lashline, and he takes a deep breath, intumescent across the breadth of his shoulders. 

You swallow again, your throat still under his hand. The heel of his palm glued to your trachea. Your jaw arched back, under the press of his fingers. His eyes list. Stall across the apex of your denuded thighs, and the brief blip of pressure across your jaw, your throat, the fleeting restriction on your airway when he levels his weight and resituates, has your irises lolling and tainted gossamers stretching in sticky netting behind your skull. His freehand skates your abdomen. Prods your diaphragm, leather fingers grazing your belly button, the hem of your sleep shirt. Rucking it up. 

The boundary between arm-twisting and downright craving is negligible. It’s a foundation, under you— a poor excuse of a half-wall— crackled in fissures. When your hips hitch at the way he circles your navel, in a way, it feels like crumbled free will. Your own autonomy worn down and corroded by the chemistry spuming your veins (you tell yourself it’s artificial. A lethal injection of dopamine and melanocortin), because it feels like the hunger is pried out of you. Pulled out, tangled on his crooking fingertips. 

(And what do you have to say for yourself, when you need him like you need to eat.)

Your hips cant when he strokes his fingers over your waistband, across the sensitive, soft stretch of skin over your mons. You can still hear him breathing over the bloodrush, like spindrift, across the little, vibrating bones, deep in your ear. He sniffs, gaze pinned to the shape of your quivering thighs (juddering knees, swelling tummy)—

He knocks your legs apart with his thigh, until the plush of them spills around the shape of him. All broad, all muscle, all denim against your smooth skin, and he wrenches one of your thighs up with his fingers under your knee. Presses you back by the shin, with your sole planted on the couch cushion, and—

Like this, he has the perfect view. The perfect shape of your cunt, through your panties. They’re white this year. So unassuming, just a plain bikini-cut in ivory, but you wonder if he’s weighing the way they’ll look beside the other pair, like a sordid tchotchke. 

His eyes linger on it. You can’t see his inkpools, but they feel molten. Heady. Predatorial, and the shockwave riding the slanting arches of your ribcage makes it harder to take in a full breath. Lagoons spilling heat. They surge the soft shapes of your body like lavascapes, melting across your skin. 

You’re wet. You know that— feel the damp heat like you feel the want droning across your bones, lacing your muscles. And the sloppy, saturated shape of your dribbling pussy, behind the thin veil of a gusset, is no exception. You curl your toes. Dig them into the couch cushion. The carpet. Dangling onto the fragility of your self-possession (unraveling), and then he probes, with the tip of his index, right where your clit sits. A meager tap.

Your arousal is a tangible wad in your gut, and he plays with it between his fingers.

Desperation climbs to the base of your throat at an alarming rate. Echoes in your jugular as a thrum when his eyes sway between your face and the shape of your cunt. The shape of it under the entirety of his palm, swallowing you whole, between your legs, when he pastes his hand there. And he can’t feel the way it’s soaking, can’t feel how slick you are, but you wonder if the sheer heat leaches through the layers. 

If he can feel how hot and wanting you are, through the glove. 

He purrs like he can. Trails two fingers along the splitting fjord, your puffy lips. His thumb crooks into one end of your gusset just to let it snap back and watch the shiver roll up through your shoulders, huffing around a thick, rumbly noise that sounds amused. Drenched in humiliating mirth. A crater forms around his knee cap when he presses it onto the cushion. Between your split legs, thigh pressed flush to your cunt. Tight. 

“Gonna be a good girl,” he murmurs, face dangling over yours, and the words sound masticated. Starved. “—and let me eat that slutty cunt?”

There’s a fine line, you remind yourself, between being forced, and whatever the— you don’t want to admit it, won’t admit it, stuff it down— rapacious froth inside of you means.

He splits your lips with his fingers. Pries them apart like a butterfly to pin up and frame.  

Mental snapshots to encase on a shelf, mounted beside your underwear and a pushpin map with your face smattered in uneven, sawtooth cut-outs. All raw, and sloppy, and wet. Gushing down to the cleft of your ass— he can see everything, and his eyes rove like he’s mapping every bit of you to memory, your underwear balled and tucked into the pocket of his coat. Drinking in every delicate detail, your pebbled clit twitching under his thumb scuffing, and it’s so—

Humiliating. 

Embarrassing— shame clots in that interstice between your battering heart and your ribs, that soft spot it’s been dribbling into since he perched you on his lap like a little girl begging for a present. You screw your eyes, cup the heels of your palms over them. You can’t look— can’t—

He moans again. Gives you a heady hum, nearly as slick with want as you are between your thighs. Only, his is oil to your honey. Motor fluid to your syrup— a slippery smear of grease to sap. Rotten. Thick and coal-dark, like tar. Something gritty that catches like sand between his teeth when you try to close your knees. It’s a faulty maneuver, with your feet pried apart on his elbows, and you can only latch your knees, and—

It’s the wrong thing to do. 

A slipshod attempt to preserve your dignity, but what’s the use, when it’s porous enough for him to spew the virulent pollutant of longing for him? Noxious. Infectious. Enough to mill your pride from the inside into a powdered dust. Instead, he pries the folds of your cunt apart with one hand, on two fingers— an index and a thumb— and slaps the back of your thigh with the other. 

Your thighs quake. Plush flesh shaking upon impact, the searing heat wave that robs you of your ephemeral resistance— rolling the thought that this is gross, not what you want— and scorches it through to the core, until all that’s left for you to face is the overwhelming desire.

“Eyes on me,” he grunts. Dour. Unrelenting, until you peer through the spaces in your fingers like you’re watching a nightmare unfold, and let him wrest your knees back apart. “Yeah,” he tells you, hardly over the feather-light weight of a whisper, despite the way it feels like it’s crushing your skull from the inside when it swims your ears. “Just like that. On me, pretty girl.”

You can’t look away, so you chew on your fingers instead. Tuck them between your teeth, toes curling into the cushions. Your sleep shirt is in a discarded puddle of fabric on the floor, beside him. There’s something so uncomfortably potent in nakedness when he hasn’t even discarded his gloves. 

He won’t.

But an element of intrigue gets dredged up into the mist of your yearning when he sticks the pad of his thumb under the plastic chin of the mask to pry it to the bridge of his nose. Speckling the nebula, that clouds you, like stardust. Worse, yet, when he pries the balaclava to the same, angular slope, to show his bare chin, his full, pink mouth, his cupid’s bow. 

His nice, clean white teeth. 

His tongue, slinking out to smear across his lips. Like this, the cut outs aren’t over his eyes, and the pools of hunger are shrouded behind the plasticated layer. He feels with his fingers. Spreads your pussy apart, grazes his thumb pad across your throbbing clit, slick with your own sticky wetness, and you watch him purse his lips before a tacky, wet glob lands across your hood. Drool, dripping down, coagulating at your drenched hole. 

You shudder. Can’t look away— it’s—

Gross. It’s wet, and it’s rancid, and the feeling of it being smeared across your cunt, the feeling of a finger prodding at your rim, uselessly clenching at the air, makes your face crease. Brows pinching. 

(So why, then, do you feel so dizzy from the spiraling wave of your own lust fizzing across your veins?) 

You mewl. He tucks his fingers into his mouth. The same ones that have been smudging the amalgam of your slick and his own saliva, still tucked in that leather glove, and the sound he makes at the taste— pure hedonism, dripping around the plug of his own fingers— has your thighs hinging apart wider. Straining. 

It sounds so— shattered. So desperate. Frenzied. A sound like that, out of him, feels so unco that it nearly wrenches your head back. He groans around his fingers, sloppy, and grunts when he takes them out to feel for your hole, tease a breach with the middle digit, not quite bursting the threshold— 

And God, when he eats, it’s like he’s a man starved. Famished. All animal between your thighs, suckling on your clit, dragging his tongue across your hole, like it’s pure sustenance and he hasn’t eaten in weeks. Slurping around you, bullying your clit between his teeth like he wants to chew you up to spit you out. Rinse and repeat. 

He drags his tongue across you, so obscenely, seam to hood, like he wants you to see. Wants you to watch— wants you to know that you’ve got this horrifying brute on his knees between your legs, kissing on your cunt. Wants that ugly revelation to stick to the inside of your skull like knotgrass spilling across your bones— a twisted thought you’ll never be able to tame out of fruition. You let this happen; let him take. 

(And worse yet, you liked it.)

“Sloppy, little pussy,” he grunts, the words muzzled against your sopping cunt, spilling against his mouth, dripping. Sticking in strings to his lower lip, the corner of his mouth— and he crooks his finger. Notches it against your rim. 

It feels wrong. Strange. Leather against your cunt, instead of skin, when he prods and—

Pops the tip in. Stretches your gummy walls to the first, gloved knuckle. The soft, wet heat of you pulsing around him like a heartbeat is lost on the leather, the barrier between your skin, but he’ll make up for it. He’ll make up for it, he’ll—

“God,” you mewl when he crooks the finger and stuffs it to the hilt, stroking the wet squeeze of your walls enveloping it. 

The brutal ugliness in the concept of this man prying you open, stretching you taut when he wedges his ring finger in beside the first, with a glove on, douses you in shame. Has a white-hot heat spewing, geyser-like, at your underbelly. 

The sounds, though, the wet-squelch of those leather-coated fingers fucking into you, spilling slick and shoving it back in, makes your eyes screw. Has a heat nipping at the apples of your cheeks the way it nips at your cunt when he grinds harsh circles around your clit. It’s too much. Nearly too much when he nicks the razor-sharp mantel of your nerve-endings and hones there upon the horrid, wheezing sound you make, the way your leg flexes out beside his head in jarred reflex. Like he’s punishing it. You. For congealing up in his teeth like an insatiable sweet-tooth he’ll never scrape off his enamel. 

You cry out. Knock the heel of your palm into his forehead. Into the edge of that eerie mask, the kiss me, unsmudged, but he’s unperturbed. Unruffled. Unyielding, the same way the brutal crash of pleasure spooling tight behind your navel, your burning, flexed core. 

He catches your wrists in his hand. Like two limbs of a lamb, ensnared. The most perfect, decadent feast to carry out on a charcuterie board, and the sound he makes against your cunt nearly sounds inhuman. Like a rabid, territorial animal at its mealtime, mouthing off at a hand that tries to intrude. Encroach. Take. The vibrations make your head spin. Dizzy— you’re so dizzy, and you don’t recognize that you’ve been holding your breath until the shuddery cry that tears its way out of your mouth is silent. A hiss of a breath that melts into a long, wet gasp. 

He tucks your hands to your tummy, and takes. And takes, and takes. It belongs to him, right? The garbled slur that slips through the negligible gaps between your teeth sounds fucked stupid, and he hasn’t even split you apart on his cock. 

Your fingers twitch, pressed to your mons. Try to reach— to pry— hips canting back, forward, away, into. Against his slippery chin, and his tongue, and his unrelenting mouth. 

And oh, how you unravel, under his jaw, like you belong there. Under his hands, and the tip of his nose tucked to your mons, and the flats of his teeth, grazing—

He doubles down when he feels the pop— the release— your pretty, little cunt fluttering around his fingers, sucking them back in on every twist out, like a vice.

It starts on a long, wilting mewl. A desperate note that laces across your vocal cords and seeps out, not by your own volition, and ends on a gasp. The cord snaps. Too taut. Too much. The ripples of the aftershocks, lapping at your core, red-hot, sloppy, and spent, and overly sensitive, crescendo into a horrible ache when he suckles over your clit. Draws a searing stripe across your nerve endings with the tip, stifling groans into your puffy sex. 

You squeak. Tremble, toes tensing. Flexing. Hips arching back, trying to scoot away. Off. 

“I— came,” you bluster, but it sounds hoarse. Distant, in the thundering thrum of your vertiginous headrush. “I—“ you try again, hips canting, and he swipes out with his tongue, catches something raw and smarting on the fleshy edge. 

You jolt. Spine twisting, distorting pleas between your teeth you’re swishing them across your gums. You wriggle your foot, wheedling it under the space where his mouth is flush with your cunt. “I— please—“

He wrenches your foot back into place so aggressively that all you can do is make a pitiful, helpless squeak. Lashes fluttering, writhing, gnawing into your lower lip when he rolls his tongue across your pulsing clit. The sound that rumbles across your core rattles you down to the marrow. It feels like he wants to chew you to the bone. 

And when he pops off, finally— finally— panting like he’s had his fill, sucking at one of your lips until it’s tender and kiss-bruised— satiated this quenchless thirst that riles in the apertures of his skeleton, humming in his musculature— you breathe. Just breathe. Catch it— snag it. A soft repose in recompense for the throb in your guts, between your legs. Crystalline beads hover, sprouted from the corners of your eyes, streaking across your lash line. Your gaze is lachrymal. Pools of an unspooled bliss, mottled overwhelming, shimmery and red-rimmed. 

And the breath you’ve been catching—

Is forced out from between your lips when his hand lurches. Pins you, supine, to the couch, fingers spanning your nape. Heel of his palm at your jugular. The abruptness of the motion has your heart lurching to your throat. It nearly kisses the shape of his hand.

(But you suppose, if that cracked bit of your rib belongs to him, then maybe a sliver of your lung does, too.)

Somewhere between the dazed stupor of you, panting like you’ve run a marathon, and laying you out on the couch, he’s fixed the mask back on. The balaclava. And the crass, dirty thought that his chin is still slick under the cotton, making it sodden, and hot, and tacky to his skin, seeps across you and cakes like cement. 

He stares down at you through the cut-outs. Your heart is a hummingbird behind the rungs, trying to break free, and you feel it in your pulse, where his thumb strokes. You wonder if he can feel it. You’re still in that balmy, soggy headspace with your muscles pliable, your head heavy. A pastiche of heaven in a come-down, roping its way across your bones and smogging your hypervigilance. 

You’re less unnerved to be stared down at like that— like you’re a meal for him to chew apart between his teeth, like he’s contemplating every possible scenario and picking through to find the prettiest position to put you in, how to grind out the prettiest sounds— with your head feeling like it’s liquified.

Your lashes flutter. You trace the seams on the ceiling, where it’s been repaired for water damage. Maybe someone bled out on the floor above, you think. 

But the warmth of the evanescent fog doesn’t curb the note of nervousness that paints its way into your respiration— like bleeding watercolor— when you hear his hands on his belt buckle. See the way he hovers over you, so large, and indomitable, eyes potent and intoxicant. Hungry. 

(He’s sated his appetite enough to hold him over, bar him from tearing you apart, but he’s still hungry.)

“Think it’s about time you start to give back, sweetheart,” he tells you. Dripping ichor-thick with want. Like blood melded with syrup. 

Even with apprehension dancing across your mind, you want him to fuck you. You want him to stretch you fucking dumb around his cock, just the way you remember he did—

But his next words make that reluctance buzz a little louder in your hindbrain. Alarms. The blood-curdling croon of the siren.

“What do you think, mm?” he mulls aloud, tracing the pad of his finger across one of your pebbled nipples, then the smooth, unmarred skin of your tummy, pausing over your belly button. “Should Daddy make you a mommy this time? Make it stick?”

Your gasp sticks to your throat. Tangles between your tonsils. Your nostrils flare when you try to take a deep breath as indemnification, and you blink up at him, you find nothing but firm resolve in those voids. Abysmal, and unrelenting. 

“I— can’t… have a baby,” you croak, a touch incredulous, but you sound alien in your own ears. Like you’re drowning. 

He cocks his head, tipped down at you, with that ugly, ivory mask. “Sure you can. That’s what you’re built for, isn’t it?”

And the degradation, being stripped down to the metal cogs, the tender technicalities of your biology, makes your cheeks blister. It’s demeaning. You hate it. Hate him, you hate him— something molten rolls in your underbelly. 

(Something hot lingers between your thighs.)

You feel your legs dipping when under the weight of his crowding closer, between your split thighs. Bent at the knee, feet planted. The couch creaks. And when the coarse brush of denim kisses your naked skin, you feel the heat from it like a furnace. 

“No,” you tell him, eyes carved into narrowed slits, and the demand in your own voice makes your bones tremble when you hear. You suck in a breath. 

He blinks. Something flickers, congeals, in his eyes, almost like you’ve stunned him with your gall. Your unrestrained defiance. And there’s something uncomfortably stifling in his gaze, searing down at you, when he tips his head. Almost like he’s contemplating your response. Rolling it between his fingers. His thumb draws a feather-light line over your mons, across the stretch of skin where your womb is buried under the soft layers of muscle and fatty tissue. 

“How do you think,” he kisses his teeth behind the layers— a muffled sound, but one you pick up on with your heartbeat in your ears, “it works out if I take you now, and they find you later? Keep you all to myself. Cancels out, doesn’t it?”

The indirect threat, framed as a hypothetical happenstance, makes something curdle in your blood like sour milk. The bile rolls in the pit of your tummy, and you feel your throat squeeze. Your exhale is a weak hiss. A wheeze, because you feel like the breath has been knocked out of you, alongside the foolish temerity.

The finger that’d traced a line across morphs into a hand, and he presses the breadth of it to your underbelly. Big. All leather, broad, your belly button peeking from the wedge between his digits. 

He sighs, and takes the hand away. Works it back over his belt buckle, until the tails are free-standing, bifurcated, and his fingers work over his zipper. It’s a huff that swells his shoulders, and you’re reminded just how big he is, over you. How massive. How staunch to his ideas— you wouldn’t stand a chance. 

“But maybe,” his head bows to watch where he’s working, and his tone is thoughtful. Menacing. Saturated with condescension, the same way you’re drenched with the remnants of your gushing slick, between your thighs. He meets your eye. “They wouldn’t look at all. Awful lotta people go missin’ altogether, tonight.”

You blink. Squirm. Thoughts of you, swollen and pregnant with his baby— chain-linked to his wrist, to a dreary, foreign bedroom like a dog to a doghouse in a backyard— makes you vitriolic. Angry. 

Horrified. 

(So why, then, does it make your head fuzzy? Kindles crackle at your underbelly, where he pressed his enormous palm.)

“No— no. I’ll be. You can—“ you shake your head. Try again. Placate. This is a gun, broken china on a back shelf. You can’t dissect it for what it means. Your ribcage shakes. “You can do— anything. Please.”

You imagine he’s sneering at you from behind the mask. Under the balaclava, lips crooked, when he tucks a thumb into his waistband and frees his cock. One hand squeezing at the root, stroking up. The motion has a slimy glob of precum blurting from the tip. It’s thick in his fist. Heavy. Mushroomed ridges vivid pink, long, fat. A little lopsided, skewed slightly to the left in his hold, arching towards you. 

He didn’t make you suck it last time, but you wonder if he will, tonight. Gag the bold subversion out with the subtle flex of his hips, your insolence— you, stupid, little thing, telling him no— with his cockhead spewing against the gummy wall at the back of your throat. 

The view makes you dizzy. Like you’re staring up to the summit of a mountainside with him looming over you. The peak that crawls over you, so tall, and makes you feel so insignificant. 

Those liquid gemstones have shed across your temples, but you don’t recognize it until his thumb swipes at the corner of your eye. A pillow-soft caress. It’s almost tender. Almost. Deliriously, you watch him smudge the same thumb, brandished in your tear, along his cockhead. The wet thumbprint coagulates with the slick there, weeping from his slit. 

“‘Course I can,” he tells you. 

There’s no gentleness in the way he manhandles you, then. Wrangling you, by the scruff of your neck, into a hover across his lap. Positioning you how he sees fit, with him seated back on the couch, and you dangling over his cock, angled up in the seal of his palm. Your knees split across either side of his lap. 

“But mum and dad,” he grunts, and when his cockhead prods against your seam, you gasp, flinching up. “should stick together. Don’t you think?” 

He drags it forward, smudging it against your spent core, and it catches on your clit, the overstimulated nerve endings there, enough to make you shiver. It wracks up your spine. 

There’s nothing romantic about the way he holds you. He doesn’t cradle you close with this sense of softhearted adoration— despite your vulnerability— only pulling you close by the nape when his slick cockhead slaps your clit, your mons, with a wet smack. You gnaw into your lower lip, muscles clenching. Seeking. He smears the tip back to your pulsating rim. 

“What’s’a’matter?” he coos, probably at the rucks between your brows, creasing across your forehead. Your eyes flicker up. “You don’t wanna be my sweet, little wife?”

(You do, you do— you—)

“Oh—“ 

The press of his tip wrenching you open, taut around him, knocks your head back. Makes your shoulders rigid, spine arching over him, and his chuckle to the gasp that clots in your trachea is dark. Rich. It fizzles into a husking growl, though, when he presses down on the tops of your thighs and sinks you over him. Against him. Stretching the wet, sopping heat around him that throbs like a heartbeat with every tight breath you take, every inch lower. Your knuckles scrabble. Notch into his leather jacket, crinkling, burrowing, balling. 

“There you go,” he hisses. Groans. You’re not looking, but you know he is. Feel the molten pools of his gaze fixed where he’s feeding his cock, unwavering. He nearly sounds awed— splintering apart— when he tells you, “Such a pretty pussy. Look at this slutty, little cunt. Swallowing me right up.”

It’s raw. Bare— skin on skin— as close as you can get, and the pang that smarts at your rim permeates all the way up to your head, until that too, feels plugged. Foggy. 

It’s too much. Too—

He flexes his hips up sharply when you stall, just enough to wedge in to the hilt, and it wrests a high sound of surprise out of you. Nearly pained. Liked a kicked animal. It snags on something deep with the motion, something you haven’t been able to reach with your own measly fingers, and you mewl. 

He gruffs a slur behind the mask, tethers it with a groan, a breath that sounds caught in his mouth, but you can’t make out what it is. Not over the thrum in your ears. The assault on your senses, the unstilted stretch that feels like it’s prying you apart. Splitting you down the middle. Your thighs tremble. A sting. A dull throb that spills in your underbelly, lapping at your sex in sweltering, warm waves. Your clit twitches. 

There is something so cataclysmic in the way he hollows you out. Carves himself deep, scoring you in a way that’ll leave you begging for a piece of him, after, when you’re empty. A piece of his rib in return. It’s wrong— you shouldn’t want this man, crave him like you crave sanctum and stability. Your frenzied desperation, panting over him, seated to the throbbing root, feels chock-full of a festering longing you’ve been burrowing down since last spring. Spilling over. It sprouts— and spring, you think, bitterly, is all about revival. Rebirth. Flowering— the yearning you’ve been hiding behind your teeth germinates across your shuddering shoulders. 

He makes you ride him. Grunting, spitting how he wants you to bounce on his cock like the good girl you are. Soft, sloppy, half-hearted grinds you can manage over him, until he takes over, hitched on a huff that sounds nearly exasperated, and ruts up into you with the leverage of his feet on the carpet. 

He fucks you like he’s sedulous to make good on his words. Hard, fast, bludgeoning your rationale until it feels like you need the tang of cigarettes and santalum in every wheezing breath you take, writhing over the shape of him. His thumbs on your nipples. His fingers under the weight of your bouncing tits. 

Every pummel up into you feels like it kisses the seal of your womb. Feels like it’s battering a little closer to fruitions, to threats, and omens, and promises. 

And you like it. Love it. Can’t get away, can’t get enough, pawing at his chest, and then his collarbones, and then his chin, fingers knocking the border of the plastic mask. Kiss me— you think it’s cruel. So cruel, that you can’t kiss him. Can’t make out the shape of his bared teeth, the glint of them with his lips snarling. You want to lick across them. Bite. Taste blood for doing this to you. For making you feel this way. You want to tear him apart. Catch his tongue against your incisors. 

The thought is a distant chimera. A daydream you can’t chase, snared in a limbo— just take, take, take. But over the crests of your cheekbones, your dewy gaze watches him. Watches him, the way he’s watched you. Unrelenting. It’s hazy at the borders. Your sight flecked with wetness, shuddering, like a camera in hands that can’t stay still, but you’re unremitting. 

“Spit on me,” he growls. It’s an abrupt request— command, brimful of authority. Perverse. Then again, when you don’t oblige, it spills as a rasping grunt, “Spit on me.”

It wheedles into your threadbare sense of logic, registers. Your brows weave. Pinch, face creasing when he delivers a sharp plunge up, into you, tip to root. It’s gross. Disgusting. Lecherous. You think about your saliva blooming across his face, the way his heavy balls will throb. 

You want to spit on him. You want to bite him, claw at him, hit him— you pucker your lips. 

It lands as a tacky glob stretching across the bridge of the nose on the mask. Seeping into the inner-corner of the eye cut-out. Glistening, slick. The sight is revolting. Nasty. Your lips curl down, your brows crinkle—

He groans. It’s loud. Suffocated on desire, hunger, want, akin to the noise he made sniffing at your hair like a monstrous hound. A fucking creep. 

One of his hands leaves your chest, his thumb wriggles under the plastic white mask. It gets discarded, tossed off onto the couch. 

The view of him in, only in a balaclava, is new. 

No less unnerving, but it’s different, and it makes your inhale tangle in your throat. Something clicks in your lungs. You hover over him, with his neck craned up at you, and his eyes are green. Two pools of epidote, eroding under the swell of his pupils. Hornblende inkblots. A long, winding wild forest. You could get lost in it. 

(And pitifully, part of you already has. Melting apart like gum under the sun, between his stupid, thick fingers.)

“Fuck. Again. Give me another,” he tells you. It rumbles, but it sounds like a plea. You feel it vibrating in his chest, under your fingers, first, then watch the divot of the balaclava wavering into his mouth when he takes in a breath between his teeth. The way the cotton is stretched, tucked, across the bridge of his nose. 

You spit where he breathes. Where he’s huffing with every brutal thrust of his hips. It speckles the ribbed cotton with shimmer, then melts into the black where his lips lay. You can’t see how it saturates the mask, but you watch the way it affects him. Watch him unravel— the way he breathes through his nose, long, deep, lashes fluttering and dusting along his cheeks as his irises loll, and you’re faced with the view of their pure ivory frames. The pink rim across his lower lash line. 

He hammers into you, mercilessly, with his leather fingertips against your clit. It’s too much. Too harsh. Pleasure and pain coagulate into a lagoon that sloshes your head, pulses between your thighs, under his incessant fingers. 

And when he comes apart, under you, you nearly tip over the precipice at the experience alone. He makes a ragged sound, a groan, hips stuttering, and spurts ribbon after ribbon of his cum against the spongy walls flexing around him. Into you. Against the seal of your womb— oh, God— you burrow your hot face into his shoulder, hips canting, and bite at the leather. 

“Fuck,” he slurs. Heaves— and you feel him melting under you. Thawing. 

Your spine ripples. The molten heat of his cum, sticking to you, plugged up by his throbbing cock, makes you feel feverish. Aching. Charred all over, from the inside. You take a deep breathe and taste his musk at the back of your throat. Lingering along your tongue.

It’s almost comforting. But the reminder of who this man is, and what he does (has done to you, is doing), crawls along the serenity of your haze like a poisonous treacle. You muster the strength in your core to rock up onto your knees, make to clamber off. 

“Okay,” you breathe, “Okay—“

The thought of repose is a bittersweet mirage, though, sparkling in the distance, when he nudges his hips back up from beneath you. 

It knocks into something that makes your lungs seize. You feel his tacky spend coated across the undersides of your ass cheeks, spilling against the inside of your thighs. Pooling in the thicket of dark, wiry hair that nests around the root of his cock, dusting his balls. He grunts, and when he jostles you over his lap again, you have to catch your balance with your hands against his pecs. 

His eyes are shimmery when you blink up at them. Expressive enough for you to clock the derisive mirth that curdles, in shavings, along the chrysoberyl flecks in the tumultuous seas, when he hums. “You didn’t think I was done, did you?”   

He’s not done. Not for a good, long while. But you suppose, that a year of self-denial, precipitous self-restraint, is bound to spill over, eventually.

(It’s just too bad for you that you ended up in the path of the hurricane, front and center.)

He fucks you again over the arm of the couch, with your ribs smushed to the ledge and your knees on the cushion. Arms behind your back, head dangling, tits aching with the press of his weight, every drag against the fabric. Fingers in your mouth, straining the corners wide, riding the grooves of your clamped, slick teeth. Pawing at your ass, squeezing the flesh, prying your cheeks apart humiliatingly wide.

He makes you cum again. And again, until you’re sobbing. Legs hitched over his shoulders, chin twisted, gnawing into your own shoulder to stifle your mewls. 

“Tell me your name,” you slur under him. With his chin over tucked your shoulder, his hum ripples across your eardrum like a humid gust. Rolls between your shoulder blades. 

“Tell me your name,” you beg, again, mottled with frenzied desperation that climbs your throat. You know those eyes. You know that face— the one that lies underneath. The misty contours of it scratch across your skull in the smog of a memory. You know—

Your lower lip wobbles when he cups over your sternum, takes your breast in a doughy handful, squeezing around it, drowning you in every wet squelch, every slap of his hips against your ass. 

“Daddy.”

When you wake up, he’s not there. Ephemeral. The night nearly feels temporal, if not for the slick between your thighs, dewy at your cunt, where your seam is still aching. Crusting along the insides of your thighs. 

You feel like every bone is out of place. Like everything needs to crackle and slot back. Worn, tired, when you kick your feet over the edge of the mattress and stand. It pangs between your legs, first. And then across your chest. 

Your underwear is gone. You know you won’t find it. 

When you check the clock it’s midday. Late, too late to even be considered sleeping in. You’ve wasted the twenty-second off into somnolence. There’s still a haze across your head. This balmy, misty thing that keeps you sluggish. Tired. You’d chalk it up to oversleeping, but. 

It’s short-lived. Hollowed by the vacancy. Something stirs in the back of your head— you should probably send a life signal out to your family. Let them know you’re not splattered across the sidewalk, somewhere, or worse yet—

You think about his words. Keeping you all to himself. The thought makes your shoulders shudder. 

On the way to the bathroom, you find carmine carnations in your kitchen. Mounted in a vase that belongs to you, plucked out of the cabinet over your fridge. Beautiful, beautiful carnations.

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[utterlyotterlyx]

Way Down We Go

Lucien x Tamlin!Sister!Reader

Summary - Basically Lucien smut with very little plot

Warnings - fluff, smut (p in v), forbidden love, oral (f!receiving), slight breeding kink, Lucien being the man of my dreams xo

Water baby.

Lucien had always called you it, and at first you had found it rather patronising, but you soon warmed up to the sweet pet name he had bestowed to you.

There had been countless occasions where he would stroll through the gardens of the Spring Court manor and find you idly floating in one of the ponds or fountains. Lucien would stand at the waters edge silently, enjoying the way the water made your dress stick to your skin and turn it almost translucent to the point where he could make out the faint peaks of your nibbles beneath the fabric. That wasn't his favourite part, no, it was the serene smile that would always form upon your lips.

Sometimes you would open your bright eyes and find him stood there, and you'd engage in conversation with him, polite and elegant as always. But other times you wouldn't open your eyes at all, and Lucien had often stood there until he was called away, enjoying the joy etched onto your face.

No one knew what drew you to the water. Tamlin had always teased you about it, telling you to go and drown whenever you had a spat to which you'd simply flip off with your usual level of sarcasm and ire. It had always caused Lucien to bite his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing.

Being Tamlin's sister meant that you were off-limits to him, even Tamlin had said that Lucien was not worthy of someone so light and perfect as you. Coming from Spring, it had made sense that you were at one with nature, not only were you a shifter like your brother and father, but you were also able to manipulate the earth, to sprout flowers in the palms of your hands and grow trees with a single thought if you required a touch of shade whist you floated in the streams.

Animals also adored you, bounding from the forest if they caught a speckle of your scent, one of early morning sunlight and lilies. It wasn't rare to see you lying in the grass with a school of new-born fox pups basking in your glow, stretching across your stomach as you read beneath the willow tree atop the mound to the west of the large estate.

"Why does everyone think that she's so perfect? She's a pain in the ass," Tamlin asked to no one in particular as he stared out of the window, catching a glimpse of you trapsing through the gardens with a fox in tow dressed in a sage green ensemble that brushed over your shoulders to expose your dainty freckles to the air.

Lucien hummed in reply, "Because she is perfect," he told his friend and High Lord, chuckling at the eye roll from Tamlin as he mumbled that he knew that you were, but that didn't mean that you weren't a pain in the ass.

To everyone else, you were the Daughter of Spring, a fair and benevolent creature that the fae genuinely believed was a decedent of the gods, maybe even the Mother herself. But to those within the manor, you were a rebellious thing, consistently pushing the limits of your freedom. Alis enjoyed your spirit far too much.

So did Lucien.

Tamlin had excused himself to patrol the boarder shortly after, fixing his green riding jacket to his frame and untucking his hair from the collar, leaving Lucien alone within the dining room.

Shortly after his departure, you entered the ornate dining space where Lucien sat reading over reports with a book between your fingers. You glanced about the room, noticing his arched brow of inquiry before closing the doors behind you and turning the lock; you crossed the gleaming oaken floor, enjoying the manner in which Lucien leant back in his chair and parted his legs, watching each step you took like a predator assessing its prey.

There was no denying Lucien's beauty. Everything he was, you beheld. The long red hair that you often braided when you were alone, braids that he would fight to keep in place and when a singular one would unwind he would find any reason to visit you and have you fix it. The russet orbs that glimmered in the sunlight made you weak. Then there was the issue of his body, his perfectly sculpted and muscular body that was so alluring that it was difficult to not be wrapped around him at all times.

Sighing, you nestled yourself onto his thighs, hitching your skirt around your waist as you shuffled to make yourself comfortable, you draped your arms lazily around his neck, lowering yourself to capture a chaste kiss from his lips, "Has Tamlin ventured from the estate?"

Lucien smirked at your words, his body tingling from the sensation your lips next to his ear brought him, "You know that I despise it when you talk about your brother when you're sat on me, my love."

His large hands rested on your hips, keeping you steady as your body straddled him; you laughed at his words, his humour matching your own, and you sank further down on him, feeling his cock twitch beneath the fabric of his briefs, "Would you rather I got off?" Your voice was light and held a level of teasing to it, and you slowly began to dismount Lucien, stopping in your tracks when his grip tightened and held you in place.

"Well I never said that," Lucien leaned forward, his hands travelling up to rest on the centre of your back despite the table cushioning your weight from behind. His finger traced down your throat all the way down your sternum, pausing at the corset of your dress that he had heard you complain of that morning, stating that Alis had secured it too tightly to your figure.

A wickedly feline glint consumed his stare, his finger dipped into the corset that was so tight that he could feel your heartbeat against the digit and leaned further to capture your lips against his, trailing kisses along your jaw until he found that certain sweet spot beneath your ear.

Emitting a breathless moan, you threw your head back as his lips worked their way to the curve of your breasts, "We can't. What if Tamlin comes back?"

"Let him," Lucien idly pulled at the strings of your corset, tugging each rung loose as he spoke against your skin, "I'm not the one who has the issue telling Tamlin that we're mates." Lucien continued to kiss along your breasts and collarbone, softly sucking and nipping at the skin.

"He'd be furious," you ground down on his lap, a low growl emitted from his lips, so low and dangerous that it made heat pool between your legs.

"I. Don't. Care." Lucien lifted you into the air and set you down atop the table, standing between your open legs and taking your head in his hand, willing it to the side to give him better access to the neck that haunted his dreams.

"Luc," you breathed, feeling weak under him, his fingers working quickly to unfasten the corset holding your breasts in place so that he could dip his head low and swirl his tongue around your right nipple.

That simple action had your back arching against him, and Lucien smirked at the scent of your arousal infiltrating his consciousness.

Lucien indulged the unconvincing scolding, planting his palms either side of you and pulling back slightly, "What is it, baby? Do you want me to stop?" Lucien drifted the tip of his nose down the bridge of your own, enveloping you in his scent, in the same scent that you had both worked hard to glamour from your brother.

"Gods no," your mouths collided in a battle of lips and teeth, Lucien captured your bottom lip between his canines and used the action to prise your mouth open just enough for his tongue to roll against your own; his hands slid up your thighs and rested just inches away from where you needed them to go, his thumbs dragging over your skin teasingly.

"That's my girl," he mumbled against your lips, his rough toned voice making your core clench with need, you always loved it when he called you that, his girl, and the damned bastard knew it.

Lucien's lips trailed from your mouth, leaving open mouthed kisses across your breasts that were exposed thanks to his handiwork at unfastening your corset and pulling it down your arms so that all you wore was your dress around your waist. You were the most magnificent creature he had ever seen, and you were his, his until the day you both ceased to exist.

Your mate dropped to his knees, looping his arms under your legs and pulling you to the edge of the table. His warm breath swept between your thighs as his eyes dropped to meet your core that was begging for his touch, "Always so eager," the vibration of the words against his lips made you shudder, realising how close he truly was from tasting you.

Without waiting for your reply, he ran his tongue up your folds, humming at the decadent taste of you on his lips and your body jolted at the touch. His tongue swirled around your clit, assessing the perfect spot he knew would have you screaming his name in a matter of minutes and pressed a light kiss to the area, smirking at the breathless moan that escaped your lips. "Luc, please," you whined, his hands had pried your legs apart and had moved to grasp onto the flesh of your ass, spreading you to give him better access.

Lucien attached his lips to that bundle of nerves, winding his lips around it and sucking gently, flicking his tongue against it and running a finger through your folds, "So needy," he mumbled against you.

Arching your back from the table, you slid your fingers into his hair, gently tugging him closer and moving against his face, rolling your hips against the graceful and fire-tinged flick of his tongue against you. It was so sinful, to have his head buried between your thighs pulling every moan and mewl from you that he could whilst you lay on the table where you had dinner each night, nipples piqued upward toward the ceiling and juices coating the table edge.

Your mate sensed your urgency, mainly from the way you were grinding against his tongue; Lucien coiled his fingers around your thighs, keeping your legs in place despite your writhing against the table and fingers clawing against his scalp with desperation. It didn't take him long to find the specific spot that had you crying out, he pushed two fingers into you, pumping them inside and curling them upward to meet the rough spot inside of your walls, keeping a steady pace when you cried out his name to the skies; a hot white heat consumed your body, his fingers stretched you deliciously, preparing you for what was to come.

But Lucien was a gentleman, he always made sure that your pleasure came first, and he was happy to serve you in whatever way you needed him to.

"Tell me," he pressed a kiss to your folds, smirking at the jolt the touch sent through your body before rising and pulling you upright to meet his chest. One of his hands cupped your jaw, making your cock-dazed eyes find his whilst his other unfastened his belt and unbuttoned his briefs, pulling his cock from the fabric and pumping it twice in his fingers, "Do you prefer the stars above or the ones I make you see?"

It wasn't a question that you needed to answer, you couldn't anyway, your mind still calming from the orgasm that had ripped through it only moments before; your legs still quaked as he settled himself between them, running the tip of his cock through your folds and capturing the slick left in the wake of his tongue ravaging you. Lucien trailed his lips along your shoulder, tasting your sun kissed skin and pecking against the herds of freckles that appeared when the sun was strongest.

Capturing your lips against his own, Lucien pushed into you, pushing until he was hilted and waiting a moment for you to adjust, your walls quivering around him threatening to become undone within a matter of minutes. A low growl fell from him, his fingers raked through your hair and he rolled his hips, thrusting so slowly that it allowed you to feel every single inch of his cock stretching your walls. Lucien's movements quickened slightly but it was still torturous to endure, but you loved the feeling of having him inside of you too much, the way he rocked his hips into you, the way his fingers coiled around the base of your neck and the way his lips pressed sloppy kisses on your mouth. All of it was enough to drive you irrevocably wild.

The frenzy had come and gone, you had decided to accept the bond during a time when you knew Tamlin would be gone for long enough for Lucien to be able to act somewhat normal around him. You had spent two weeks in that bed being fucked by fire, and even if you did rise from the comfort of the bed against his wishes, Lucien would always find you and drag you into the nearest cupboard, pinning your chest against the wall and taking you from behind without a single care as to who could have seen him or heard your mewls.

Though, the desire for him to be always buried inside of you had never faltered, and he would make sure to visit you nightly to remind you of that fact, even if he had to climb up the vines outside of your window to stay undetected.

"You look so good with my cock in you," Lucien's voice was low, his hands cupped your face and he moaned at each thrust you met with your hips; he dragged his thumb across your swollen lips, red and puckered from the onslaught of his mouth, neck coloured from his possessive markings.

The table groaned against the ground, rocking with every movement as Lucien's pace hardened, part of him eating itself alive to stay inside you for as long as possible, but the other part of him anxious about Tamlin returning a minute too early and tearing him to shreds.

"Do you know how much I love you?" You panted through the moans Lucien was drawing from your pretty little mouth and ran your fingers up his arms, setting his nerve endings on fire with the lingering touch of your fingers against his skin, tracing the muscles sculpted by the gods.

"Tell me," his fingers lightly wrapped around your throat, pulling your chest to his, making your eyes peer upward through their lashes at the perfect male rolling into you whose own gaze had darkened at your question.

Lucien's other hand travelled between your legs, his index finger circling around your clit and causing your breath to catch in your throat that bobbed against his grip. Lucien repeated his order, his grasp tightening around your neck and pace quickening so that you could hear your skin sounding against his, "I love you so much that I would walk away from this life to live in the middle of nowhere with you, just us, a life of our own." Lucien groaned at the image, returning home from catching fish in the streams with his bare hands to his perfect mate and even more perfect babes, "I love you so much that the thought of being with child, your child, brings me nothing but serenity," you widened your eyes deliciously, doe-like and innocent, knowing what those words did to him, "You can give me what I want, can't you?"

Lucien's resolve was fading, and the grunts that were sounding from him were edging you closer and closer to one of your favourite places. His index finger continued drawing soft mewls from your lips, your walls tightening around his cock as it slammed continuously into you, surely cracking the legs of the table with each movement, "Yes. I can," his hand moved to the back of your neck, forcing your lips to meet his in a symphony of desire and adoration, and the final few circles of his fingers had you coming undone within moments.

A white hot flash poured through you, had you crying out against his lips, and the convulsions of your walls drew Lucien to the same fate. Lucien fucked you with the fire you had always wondered about long before you had found out that you were mates, his moans delicious enough to send you into a haze as he emptied himself into you, continuing to roll into you to fuck his seed in as far as it could go, determined to give you what you desired.

Lucien's movements slowed, the feral beast tamed and locked deep within him, and he lowered his face to catch your lips once more, not wanting to remove himself from you like usual, but for a different reason this time. He pressed his forehead to yours, russet orbs staring into your own with a type of wonderment you hadn't seen before, "You'd give it all up, for me?"

"I'd give anything for you," and it was true, a life without Lucien wasn't one you wanted to live, so if Tamlin did find out and exile him, you'd follow. The simple life became much more appealing each passing day. "And, to answer your question," you ran your fingers down the contours of his arms and up his chest, curling them over his shoulders, "I think I much prefer the stars you make me see."

Lucien threw his head back and laughed, a smile so beautiful and bright that it could be the most perfect thing you'd ever see in your entire life, and certainly your most favourite thing in the universe.

Lucien's laughter dimmed and his eyes found you again, his hands worked seamlessly to pull your dress back up over your arms, kissing every inch of skin of your shoulders as he tied the corset against your skin, though, he removed your panties from your legs, folding them into his pocket and smirking at your inquisitive arched brow, "I'm not done trying to put my child in you just yet."

Authors Note

I go delulu for my Lulu x

[parfaitblogs]

baby it's halloween ❀ s. reid x reader

in which a mutual friendship leads to a run-in with your ex, and it's halloween, which means you can be anything. even normal with him right?

pairing: ex!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut (18+ mdni) tags: garcia party in rossi HOUSE 💜. alcohol consumption. reader's dressed as a swan (stunning gorgeous amazing). pre established friends with benefits (don't fuck your exes). s10 bau team is there in spirit i think. crazy spare bedroom hookup. brief nipple play. oral (f receiving). fingering. p in v. he dresses you afterwards. porn with plot. oral fixation. soft dom!spencer.  word count: 3.8k a/n: ex spencer reid makes a comeback. this is separate from bad idea right? but same pairing same sitch kind of same everything. LOL. thanks for giving me costume ideas guys. parfaitblogs revival!!! happy birthday spencer reid!!! happy halloween criminal minds tumblr!!!

"Penelope, what the fuck are you wearing?"

It was a very loud exclamation, over the sound of party music that certainly didn't match the overall theme of Halloween. It was only nine o'clock but the fox eared blonde in front of you had lip liner painting her chin, a pink flush on her cheeks barely hidden beneath a layer of makeup, and two cans of some multicoloured premixed vodka drink you weren't sure about trying (despite her holding one out to you). 

"Fox costume. I'm Agnes! From Fantastic Mr. Fox!" Penelope says, cheerfully, urging you to take the drink she had in her hand, not relenting until you did.

"We agreed on swans," you huff, feeling awfully stupid now, in your all white costume, a pair of fluffy wings settled on your back. 

Penelope looked genuinely apologetic for changing her costume idea on you with no warning, and so as she rambled about how she got excited after seeing fox makeup on her phone, you decided it wasn't actually that big of a deal. She finished her spiel with a comment about still technically matching because you're both animals, and it was enough for you to accept. 

She led you further into the house. House, because she had convinced one of her coworkers to let her host a Halloween party at his, claiming her apartment was far too small for such a thing. Apparently he was very easy to convince. 

It was a quick tour of where all the most basic of amenities on the first floor were, before she was shoving a shot glass of vodka into your hand, and encouraging you to take it. 

So you did. 

Perhaps it was a loosening up technique she was using in an attempt to keep you from ripping her head off when she began another conversation with you with the words,

"So, I need to preface before you get too drunk—" a sentence you really had never hoped to hear in your life "—that Spencer's here."

You're not too sure why your world begins to crumble around you at that fact. You figured he would be. In fact, when you were choosing the articles of clothing for your costume a week ago, you had the idea of Spencer Reid seeing you in mind. You had mentally prepared for seeing him. And yet; panic. 

However, instead of making a scene about how anxious that thought made you, you force a small smile onto your face and murmur out, "That's fine."

"Are you sure?" Penelope presses. "You can hover around me the entire night to avoid him, if you want. I'll stay away from him. I'm really sorry for inviting him."

You didn't like that. "No. Pen, it's okay. He's your friend."

"So are you."

Your heart stuttered in your chest at her words, a warm feeling spreading throughout it. But, ultimately, you were not the person who wants perfectly good friendships ruined because you're too scared to hold a relationship together. 

"I'll get drunk enough and start talking to him anyways. It's fine," you reassure her. 

And get drunk enough you did. 

You had bumped into him a few times already, making awkward eye contact when you passed him on your way to the kitchen for another drink, or to the bathroom to fix your corset that felt like it was getting tighter every breath you took. 

Yet here you were, stuck between the fridge and him, a collection of things you wanted to both beg him for, and cuss him out because of, sitting delicately on the tip of your tongue, waiting for the right trigger word from him.

Unsuccessfully, for he was rocking back on his heels, clasping his hands around the glass of water he was nurturing, keeping the peace between you two and staying silent. 

And you couldn't have that. 

"Hi. How are you?" you chirp after closing the fridge, a can you were getting for Penelope and not yourself now settled between your hands.

"Hi. I'm good," he says, sending you an all too familiar tight lipped smile. One he always did when he was feeling awkward. "How are you?"

"This is really formal," you say, tilting your head to the side. "I'm good."

He nods his head in agreement, and you find every curse word you had ready to yell at him dissipate in an instant. "I like your costume. Swan?"

"Yes," you nod your own head, forcing the flutter of your heart to stop.

You weren't sure what he was when you had first arrived to the party, but a few short exchanged words between the two of you revealed the fake teeth he had settled in his mouth, confirming Penelope's earlier guess that he was a vampire. 

Fitting, you had almost said then. 

"I like yours too," you say after a few beats of awkward silence and you realising you hadn't said much after his compliment. 

"Thank you."

It was an awkward song and dance around the elephant in the room (your relationship, or lack thereof). An even more awkward interaction of him reaching behind you into the fridge to get out a drink for Morgan, and then a breathless apology when he had gotten a bit too close and you hadn't had a conscious enough mind to step back.

"I don't like this," you blurt out.

"What?"

"This. Us," you clarify. "Being awkward. Not talking. We talk fine when we hook up."

Because yes, there's that secret you were keeping hidden away from Penelope. 

"We're preoccupied during that."

"I'd argue seeing each other naked once a week is much more awkward than bumping into each other drunk, at a party."

"I'm not drunk."

Right. You knew that. Spencer Reid didn't drink. It was why the cup in his hand was only water, and the alcoholic beverage in his other wasn't for him. 

If you were any less buzzed you probably wouldn't say the unfortunately very embarrassing sentence you let leave your lips, that sounded a little foreign even to you. 

"Then do we need to see each other naked tonight to make this not awkward?"

His lips parted and he froze, rightfully so. You weren't sure how you'd react to somebody asking you that either. It seemed awfully blunt for even you, and if you were any sane person, you'd probably be backtracking to take it back. Instead, you were just as frozen as him, fearful for how he would respond. 

"No," he says, but there was a strain in his voice that told you otherwise. Thankfully, you had enough self restraint to not call him out on that. 

"No?" you tilt your head to the side.

"No, we don't need to. Do you want to?"

Does it make you a horrible person to say yes? To take advantage of one of the many rooms littering the Rossi house, and use a situational run-in to have sex with your ex-boyfriend?

Probably.

"Yes. Do you?"

"I like how you look tonight."

Your heart rate speeds up. "That isn't an answer."

"Yes," he says. "I do."

The kitchen was left empty with a glass of water and two unopened cans on the countertop, that Derek Morgan was no doubt bound to discover when Spencer never returns. Followed closely by — probably — Penelope discovering the same about you. Which would probably lead to the discovery of the friends (were you friends?) with benefits situation the two of you had. 

You've barely stepped into the spare room he had located before he's kissing you. Feverishly, devouring you whole, as your back is pressed up against the door. Your wings dug into your shoulder blades, the feathers tickling your arms, and yet you couldn't find it in you to care. 

"Spencer."

His response to your plea of his name is to kiss you harder, fingers entangling in your hair, and you think if he pushes against you any more, you'll meld to the atoms of the door. 

"You taste like alcohol," he mutters against your lips. 

"Funny that."

"Are you drunk?"

"I'll remember this all in five minutes, if that's what you mean."

"Sort of."

His mouth detaches from yours, and there's a desperation in the way he kisses down your neck you don't think you'll ever get used to, no matter how many times he does it. 

It was a heartbreaking reality of the difference between how he would have sex with you then, and now. 

It's his grumbling that forces you to focus on him again, and not the comparative thoughts you have whirring in your brain. His fingers are fumbling with the lacing on your back, as he says, irritation you find almost hilarious in his tone, "I hate corsets."

"You said you liked it earlier."

"I liked it when I wasn't trying to take it off of you."

You smile. "I'll wear something more convenient for you next time."

"Yes. Thank you," he nods, successfully loosening the lacing enough so he could take the corset off of your body. "T-shirts are good."

"Duly noted." 

"Or nothing. Nothing's better," he adds, leaning in to kiss you again, his hands dropping to your chest — completely bare, considering you couldn't justify the wearing of a bra beneath the corset. 

"I'll ask the board."

You feel him smile against your lips, his hands cupping your chest, thumbs delicately running over your nipples to elicit a breathless whine from you. Ever so careful, he uses his thumbs to circle them, amused with just how easy it was to fluster you.

His lips trail down from your lips again, his hands dropping to your waist, using his hips to nudge you towards the bed.

The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you wince, although any pain dissipates as he murmurs a gentle apology and lowers the two of you to the bed. 

It's quite amusing; the articles of clothing you're removing from your bodies. You didn't think feathered wings and a Dracula-esque cape piling together on the floor would be a sight you ever saw in this context, and yet. 

"What do you want, honey?" he asks you, though your brain is a little preoccupied with his pulling of your skirt down your legs, fingers brushing against your skin. He forces your focus back onto him again with the calling of your name, and a kiss to your inner thigh. 

"What're you willing to give me?" 

"You know I'd do anything."

Your heart soars. Yes, you do know that. He loves to prove that feat to you. 

"I don't know," you shake your head. "Whatever you want. You choose. My gift to you this Halloween."

It was a tradition you had started with him three years ago, on your first Halloween together. You knew how important the holiday was to him, and so you had bought him a plethora of decor for his apartment (on top of what he already had). You had helped him set it up, and later that week he had gifted you a charm bracelet with a pumpkin clasp. Every Halloween since, you bought him more decor, and he bought you a Halloween inspired charm for the bracelet. 

This was your first Halloween where you weren't together. 

"I didn't get you a charm."

"That's okay," you reply, earnestly. 

"You're so wet," is voice is breathless, changing the topic of conversation awfully quickly. For his eyes had dropped to the only item of clothing you still had on, and his fingers had trailed far enough up your thighs to brush over it. 

"Do something about it then," you retort, bluntly, and he smiles amusedly. 

He probably murmurs something about you being a brat, but his hands were pulling your underwear down your legs, and you should not be expected to focus on two maddening things at once. 

Thankfully, he does do something about it. And quite quickly, too. Wasting no time teasing like he usually does, instead attaching his lips to your core, tugging a moan from your lips. 

His tongue licks a stripe up the centre of your folds, circling your clit, expertly so. 

"Oh God," you whine out, breathlessly, head falling backwards and digging into the mattress beneath. Sinful as it was, Spencer's tongue on you did feel like the closest thing you'd ever have to a religious experience, a thought that had crossed your mind the many times he's done this before. 

Once he's sure his tongue flicking over your clit had worked you up enough, you're forced into shock as you feel one of his fingers at your entrance. Lack of hand-eye coordination aside, he's well versed in the art of using two different body parts at once to make you come, and yet you're still writhing beneath him like it's the first time.

Sometimes it felt like it was. 

"Spencer," you nearly cry out, if not for your hand flying to your mouth to muffle how loud you had anticipated you'd be. 

He pulls his lips away at that, instead lifting his head to hover over yours, as he pushes a single finger inside you. Even when your eyes flutter closed and your head tilts back further, you can still feel his gaze on you, as if in awe of the way you looked. 

"That was so easy," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "You really did want me to do this tonight, hm?"

Too wrapped up in the feeling of being touched by him again, all you can do is nod your head, and you feel him smile against your cheek. 

"Yeah, I know, sweet girl."

He captures your lips again, swallowing a string of moans that leave your lips when he begins to move his finger in and out. Finger that becomes fingers, for he's pushing another one in, and you're arching your back up as you attempt to accomodate to the stretch. 

"I know, I know," he repeats when your head jerks back as your lips part in another, this time silent, moan. "I shouldn't have missed last week, hey? I'm sorry I was out of state."

You want to tell him it's okay. That you didn't really mind being celibate for an extra seven days on top of the six the two of you leave between your nights together. Unfortunately, growing accustomed to a once a week cycle meant the interruption of it left you overwhelmingly easy to shatter with the simplest of touches. You did mind, so you kept your thoughts to yourself. 

"Please," you ask him, almost pathetically, when he curls his fingers and your entire brain goes fuzzy.

"Please what, honey?"

You're not sure what. More of his fingers? His tongue back on you? You want it all. Yet, time was unfortunately of the essence, and you were acutely aware of the ticking alarm clock in view on the bedside table. You did not have the minutes to receive absolutely everything you wanted from him.

"Want you to fuck me," you murmur. 

He breathes out a laugh. "I know. I'm going to, I promise. I just need to get you ready first, okay? How're you feeling?"

"Ready." Your voice is an impatient grumble, one that amuses him greatly, which frustrates you even more. 

"I don't think so," he shakes his head, pushing his fingers back inside of you to elicit a sharp whine from your lips. "I want to do this a little longer, anyways."

"Spencer."

Your protest and attempt to bribe him with a kiss is hopeless, for he is continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you, using your arguably selfish kiss to quiet every single sound you make. 

It isn't until you're quite literally writhing beneath him and begging him with an incessant repeat of his name, does he pull his fingers out of you. Tapping your lower lip with them, you take his fingers into your mouth, despite your panting and attempts at catching your breath. 

You want to close your eyes, but the way he's looking at you as you suck on his fingers is borderline ridiculous, and you should probably be locked up for just how attracted to it you are. 

He trails his fingers out of your mouth after a few moments, but any desire to protest that is lost on you when your eyes catch his removal of his boxers. 

He disappears from above you for only a minute, though he knows you too well and says, "I'm getting a condom," before you have a chance to start complaining about it. By the time he's returned, he's kissing you again, and you've forgotten all about your irritation.

The head of his cock pushes at your entrance, and you're already a mess. He's slow as he eases into you, and you're eternally grateful for it, because your entire body tenses up, and he's forced to pause, and ease your muscles with his hands kneading your thighs. 

"I'm sorry," he says, genuinely, when your eyes squeeze shut, and you're back to remembering why you're not happy about the dreadful thirteen day celibacy he forced upon you. But he's so nice, and so apologetic, that as he bottoms out, your hands are wrapping around his neck to provide him with silent forgiveness. 

He stays still for a few more moments, his lips tickling your jawline. His breath fans your skin, warm, and just as desperate as your own, which is comforting. 

"Tell me when you're okay," he says, quietly, breathing out a moan when your walls flutter around him. 

After a beat, you murmur, "I'm okay," and he pulls his hips back, before rolling them back into you, slowly. 

You're a puddle of content and pleasure and love as he repeats the gentle motions of fucking you, moaning and squirming beneath him, despite his hands on your hips in an attempt to keep you still. 

"Doing so well for me, honey," he tells you after a few minutes, and heat warms your cheeks at the compliment. He laughs at your bashful smile. "You feel so good."

He moves his hips a little faster, and you're moaning again, hands dropping from his neck to the mattress. At that, he picks up his ministrations once again. All up until all the tender, slow motions are gone, and he's listening to your throat produce broken whines and pleas, his own presenting breathless groans.

"Spencer," you gasp out at one particular thrust, and he's instantly repeating that same deep movement. "Oh fuck."

"Like that?" he asks you, tenderly, and you're frantically nodding your head. "God, look at you. You're so pretty when I do this to you, you know?"

Vulgarity — in any form — coming from Spencer Reid's mouth should sound foreign, and yet it doesn't. Though, perhaps you're too lost in the pleasure of just how good he feels to believe he's anything but perfect.

"I want to come," you tell him, a disguised plea.

"Okay. I can make that happen."

You know he can. He's proven it a thousand times, you're sure. 

One of his hands drops to your cunt, fingers finding your clit and timing the circles onto it with his thrusts, until you're pretty sure there is no longer a coherent thought in your brain that isn't simply him.

If his aim was to turn you into a mess with very little time, he was excelling above average. Your hands had grabbed fistfuls of the duvet cover atop of the bed, your mouth producing nothing but a constant repeat of, "Please," and "Spencer," one after the other. 

He wasn't surviving very well, either, you found. His breathing heavy and his thrusts growing sloppier by the second, until he was feeling your own walls clench around him with your stomach tying itself into a knot. 

He forced his hips to keep moving, albeit much more messy now, as he moaned against your skin, his own orgasm wracking through his body, while still attempting to chase your own. 

It didn't take much more than that, to be honest, and your entire body went boneless and shattered beneath him as you came too.

Jelly seemed like an apt description for what you felt as you relaxed in the bed and your nerves began to calm down, Spencer breathing heavily above you. Up until he was sliding out of you, and standing up on legs you could see shaking, perhaps just as much as your own. 

He's disposing of his condom as you lay there, attempting to regain your breath, eyes fixated on the ceiling above you. He's shuffling around more than you'd expect for a simple trash trip, but then you feel hands on your ankles, and your head snaps down to find him kneeling at the foot of the bed, gently tugging your underwear back up your legs. 

"I know it's not ideal," he says, when your face scrunches up as the piece of fabric lands back on your hips. "But I also know your skirt is too short to not wear these."

"I'll get over it," you reply, letting him redress you with delicate fingers that leave your entire body hot, with goosebumps rising on the skin.

"Yeah," he agrees, though half-heartedly, expert fingers clasping your bra back onto your body. 

Once your skirt is back on, he helps you up into a seated position, helping to reapply the feathered head piece you had on. 

It's oddly intimate, way he's kneeling in front of you, breath warm against your face as he clips the feathers into your hair. Your breathing hitches as his hands drop back to your thighs upon finishing, and you swallow the lump in your throat. 

"Everybody's gonna know what we did," you say, quietly, for it was true. You two had been gone for too long of a time for people to not draw correct conclusions. 

"They already know we do." Hook up.

"What? How?"

"You need to stop telling Garcia things."

Your face falls, and he smiles, sympathetically, thumbs drawing gentle circles on the skin of your thighs. 

"At least you don't work with them."

"I guess there's that," you confirm with a small nod.

He's silent for a few more moments, simply staring at you and studying your face, before he sighs, and goes to pick up your corset. 

"You need to go to the bathroom after this," he instructs you, though gently, motioning for you to stand up and turn around so he could do up the dreaded lacing. 

"I know. Don't worry."

"Good," he replies, your skin tingling with every extra bit of pressure he put on your back as he laced up your corset. "You feel okay?"

"Yes," you nod your head. "Do you?"

"I do," he confirms for you, tying off the lacing and tapping your hip so you could turn back around. 

You do, and your eyes flicker up to his face. "Do you also promise not to make me wait two weeks again?"

"I'll talk to the board."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[almostempty]

Look at this photograph

(joel miller x f!reader)

The second installment of Never made it as a wise man

WC: 3.5k | Part 1 | Part 3| Other fics | Rating: 18+ 

Summary: you open Joel’s dick pic and (after examination) decide to give him a call

Note: it’s me ya boi (gn), back with more divorceddadrockdilf!joel bc you guys get me. i know y’all want them to fuck, and I want them to fuck too. unfortunately, this flowed through me first, and I am merely a vessel for the spirit of buttrock joel. 

so, until they get their freak nasty on, please enjoy this as a chapter 1.5, with gratuitous dick pic art critique and crankin’ it over the phone <3 don’t worry, he’s still a lil pathetic. mistakes and bad jokes are all on me. 

Tags: au no outbreak modern joel, divorced dad rock dilf joel x f!reader, picks up right where ch.1 ended, dick pic descriptions, alternating pov, dirty talk, phone sex, masturbation, it’s all just phone sex, but edge yourself through it with fond memories of ch. 1, still crackish, but i am still dead serious about it being hot so idc

inspo playlist i found on spotify: Divorced Dad Rock: BANGERZ

thanks: to @hellishjoel for hosting the #hotdilfsummerchallenge and to everyone who enjoyed part 1 

@gothcsz i promise fuckboy!joel is cookin, he’s just in the crockpot rn. he’s gotta tenderize like a white lady’s pinterest recipe for pulled pork. 

* i tried to tag everyone who wanted more, but if you don’t wanna be here i’ll remove it <3 or if i missed you and you want to be tagged next time pls let me know

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you blurt out after opening the message from Joel. The vulgar dick pic sends a prickly worm of arousal slithering down your spine. 

Without thinking, you tilt the phone down toward your chest, and your eyes shoot up like you’ve got to make sure nobody saw your naughty message. Warmth blooms on your cheeks as the flash of embarrassment starts to dissolve. You don’t need to hide. 

You’re in your bed, in your apartment, wearing Joel’s grubby Creed t-shirt. The one that smells like Degree Sport and a Jiffy Lube break room. You're free to look at all the dick pics your heart desires. And that’s what you’re going to do. 

The wiggle of bashful energy turns into a squirm as you shift your hips, seeking a comfy position in bed. The t-shirt bunches up under your back and you wonder if the unique Joel scent of it will linger on your pillow beneath your shoulders. You knew pilfering the shirt on the way out the door was a good move, and now you get to enjoy your trophy. It makes it feel like the broad-as-a-barn-door DILF himself was still close enough to touch you. 

It gives you another bright shudder when you think about the noises he made when he came in your hand earlier. The disappointed grunts of “fuck, wait” and how he tried to choke down the throaty groan that came from deep in his chest. Fuck. The perverted gremlins that have a permanent residence in your mind have been roused by the digital dick, and now they chitter and squawk at you. More! More! More!  

You reopen the message, and seeing it gives you another rush. You save the picture to your phone storage. For your personal collection. Mine now, big boy. Your chin starts to dip towards your chest. It’s like you’re giving your phone the Kubrick stare with the ghost of a smirk. You’re free to take your time with this one. And you can be as much of a creep as you want. That makes you sigh softly and sink deeper against your pillows. 

Before this afternoon, it was titillating when Joel would pop up in your mind's eye with his slutty slo-mo scenes. The one where he was bent over your car's engine like Megan Fox in that Transformers movie. Or, that damn happy trail tease with the t-shirt-sweat-rag move. You had just enough imagery to let your dirty thoughts take the wheel. 

And, god, you had a good production team in your mind for projects starring Joel. Adding this will give the team a whole lot more to work with. You can hear them crashing around your conscious like the Animaniacs on the Warner Brothers lot. Horny chaos goblin mode activated. 

Now that you have time to study the image, from the luxury of your microfiber sheets and lamplit bedroom, you let it get pervy. It’s your first real, lingering look–earlier today, you were so busy trying to rile him up in his jeans that you didn’t even pull it out.

It had somehow been even more delicious that way. Having him all needy and unable to stop himself from making a mess in your hand. And not just the noises, but the erratic thrusts into your tight fist? The heat of his pulsing length as he forgot himself? Yeah, you’re gonna remember that one. 

But now? Now you need the visual. If the devil is in the details, you have a new neighbor with horns and a tail. 

You zoom in on everything. Holding your phone closer to your face than necessary, like how do we enhance this bitch? 

And holy shit. 

Drool pools in your mouth and between your legs. You have the knee-jerk reaction to lick your phone. 

You can hear Joel’s voice from earlier today. All husky and grumbly, arguing that you really were a slut for him, like, “You are, aren’t you, though? You came all this way in this excuse for a shirt just to see me?”  He might be touch-starved enough to cream his jeans, but you just know he’s got a nasty mouth in bed, and you’ve got to find out firsthand. Soon. There’s no reason not to, right? 

You pause when a flicker of reasoning tickles the back of your neck. 

You’re back to looking in your review mirror in Joel’s driveway. The last-ditch attempt at checking your ego before you marched to his front door like a Halloween hoe bag version of Betty Crocker. 

You had told yourself you weren’t trying to fuck your (almost) friend’s (sort of) dad. Told yourself there was nothing to pursue, and even if there was, you wouldn’t bite. 

You like Ellie. She’s been (mostly) welcoming to you. You told yourself not to fuck anything up with the only person that’s got a single one of your jokes at your new job. 

You were just bringing some food as a friendly gesture. The fresh visuals to add to your spank bank reel were supposed to be a harmless bonus. Okay, maybe it was a stretch to say you had rolled up to Joel’s driveway with pure intentions. 

And it was an even bigger stretch–when he added that third finger while he finger fucked you on the kitchen counter—wait, no. It was an even bigger stretch when you had told yourself you probably weren’t his type anyway. 

Like, that guy? With the fridge full of Coors Banquet? With those ugly Oakley sunglasses that you know are featured in his only picture on social media that isn’t a car or truck? The guy with all the words to Buckcherry’s “Crazy Bitch” and Puddle of Mudd’s “She Hates Me” memorized? 

Nah, deep down, you knew. You knew there was no way that middle-aged bachelor would turn down any action. But you hadn’t planned on actually making a move, especially not a handjob in the middle of the kitchen. 

That’s on Joel for leaving the door open while trying to rub one out to some bimbo on Brazzers. And for barking at you in that sexy, angry voice. And for teasing you with the bulge in his oil-stained jeans. What were you supposed to do? 

Something must be really rotting in the logic department of your brain. 

Hey! The gremlin voice in your head is still shouting at you. Hey!! Why are we not tasting that dick yet?!! You’re back from your daydream and the excuses you crafted for your behavior, back to laying in your bed with Joel’s dick pic emitting a bright glow in your hand. 

You still do want to lick the screen. 

Fortunately for your immune system, you control your tongue. The critical part of you expels a sigh when you zoom out and take in the picture. 

It’s undoubtedly a nice cock, but the image as a whole? Yikes. 

Why do men have to be so fucking thick? And blunt? Wait, now you’re just describing the slightly blurry boner lighting up your face. Thick as in dense. How can men be so dense? 

No imagination or creativity. No patience. 

You shake your head slightly, scoffing. No wonder you caught him hunched over his cracked phone screen. It was probably the first video loaded on the only site he had saved. 

No sweet, sweet, buildup, setting the mood, or getting cozy. Just whippin’ it out midday or snapping a photo in some ratty sweats. 

Like you’ve never been that touch-starved or down bad?

You ignore that voice to continue your art critique. 

The photo you sent is… sexy. 

Sultry. A flirty tease. It says, “Look who has your shirt? Am I wearing it in bed? Do you think I'm wearing anything else?” 

It’s all implied in the look in your eye and the picture's composition. The tease of the soft curves on the underside of your breasts, asking if he remembers what they felt like. Your hand bunching up the shirt, asking if he remembers the slide of that fist around his cock. If he remembers those fingers, the ones you sucked his sticky spend off of. 

Such delicately crafted imagery. Personalized erotic fine art.  

But men are so crude about it. He sees your tasteful, sexy pic, and immediately, the best his caveman brain can come up with is: send her ur dick! STAT!! Hard cock! Now!!

And, of course, he did. Taken in the dark with the flash on, making ominous shadows in the background. His old charcoal gray sweats are pulled down just enough to expose everything he’s offering. 

The color is slightly blown out from the flash, and it’s a touch blurry where his phone didn’t autofocus quickly enough. His hand looks like it’s straight up, just choking the base of his cock. It’s jarring. 

But that’s really the “man” of it all, right? Nothing subtle or demure about a rock-hard erection jutting towards you, reaching like it could get to you on its own if it just could get a little bit harder. No, there’s nothing coy about the raw thoughts of a man with no blood left in his brain who’s just aching to get inside you, either. 

And fuck if that doesn’t start to override your critical analysis. 

The glare from the flash reflects in the beads of precome rolling down his rosy tip. Mouth wateringly delicious. Your blood rushes to your pussy, filling your tender sex with heat and a deep, needy itch. It makes you dopey and silly. Not cock drunk, but like, dick pic buzzed. 

You know it felt sizeable in your hand earlier, but you aren’t an expert at estimating size from a through-the-pants handjob. You try to recreate your own grip around nothing to estimate the size. 

You giggle to yourself when you realize you're just a woman in her bed staring at her hand, jerking an invisible cock. The horny goblins aren’t amused, though. They’re sick of the daydreaming and distractions. They’re picking fights with the rest of your mind. Throwing rocks and sticks, shrieking and hissing. 

The part of your brain that was griping about how men used to write love letters and respect the art of romance is getting quieter and further from your faculty for caring. You can hear its muffled shouts, and you assure that voice that you won’t give it all up this easily. Then, you completely tune it out. 

The last brain cell with a complaint has you rolling your eyes. You have to be ovulating or something because it’s wholly debased the way this guy is doing it for you. 

He’s just shameless with it. 

You sent him tasteful underboob, and he gives you jumpscare dick-in-the-dark! How is this supposed to escalate? He gave it all up immediately! You send another picture, and he sends you his money shot? What’s he gonna do to give you more? Send you an asshole shot? That one makes you snort. You bet he would do it, too, if you asked. 

Oh, that gives you a better idea. He’s not getting another picture from you at all. You tap on his name and tap the call icon. Of course, this horny motherfucker answers immediately. You aren’t sure it even rang before you’re connected to his porny bedroom voice. 

“What are you wearing, dollface?” 

“I already showed you. Call me dollface again, and I’m hanging up.” 

You can hear his breathing like he’s got the mic on his phone in his mouth. That would typically drive you fucking nuts, but right now, you wanna hear his heavy breath against your ear and feel it hot against your skin.

“All right,” he speaks slowly, distracted. You know why. “You wanna be my slut, instead?” 

Fuck. That has you throbbing between your legs, but he doesn’t get to know that yet. 

“I already told you,” you keep your voice low and soft, “you don’t get to call me a slut for you, not with your behavior.” You strain, trying to hear any other noises, but his mic is probably clogged with dust from his shop or lint from the pocket of his sweats. You can just hear his fucking breathing. 

“What behavior, baby?” he rasps.

“You always jump straight to sending a picture of your cock?” 

You hear the soft snort through the phone. Followed by a deeper, throatier noise. A noise that makes you go cross-eyed and has you running a hand down to your naked lower half to tease yourself. 

“You always steal a man’s clothes after you come on his fingers?” 

You don’t really care what he asked. His voice makes your tongue go numb. Your mind goes blank. You start slowly, coating your own fingers in your slick arousal and drawing circles with a light touch. 

You hum a noncommittal response into the phone. 

“You look good in my shirt, baby, fuck,” he trails off breathlessly. The idea of you in his clothes gets him too close. 

You don’t answer, and he’s too far gone to wait and tease. 

He’s been wound up since you took off this afternoon, and it doesn’t feel like a coincidence that you sent him that pic when he had just gotten into bed.

It had taken ages to get his brother out of the shop this afternoon, and then Joel completely fucked up when he mentioned you and the lasagna. He had to begrudgingly host Tommy for dinner when he couldn’t come up with a better excuse than saying, “I’m gonna need you to fuck off so I can deal with the aching balls I’ve got from your surprise visit scaring away the woman I had my fingers knuckle deep inside.”

But when he was finally alone, it was like fate; your text came through right after he flopped onto his bed. His semi-stiff cock had sprung to full mast at the sight of you. The shirt he knew he didn’t fuckin’ lose, your soft curves, and the expression on your face. Like a vixen. Your PG-13 tease would do more for him than any X-rated video. 

Knowing you were thinking about him and that you wanted him to know? That had him throbbing. He already knew from the desire in your eyes earlier today that you wanted more.

He could swear his fingers still hold the lingering flavor of your wet cunt. The visceral memory of you has him on edge. When he wraps his hand around the base of his cock, he has to pause, holding firmly in place. His body screams and aches for release, but he’s determined to keep it in check. He doesn’t want to blow his load until he gets a response from you. 

He fights his urges, trying not to fuck his own fist in a frantic race to come. 

But, fuck, it’s difficult when he can imagine the sounds you’d make as you sank onto his cock for the first time. The face you’d make. Your tight, wet walls hugging him just right. Like, he’s where he’s meant to be. 

And the way you would look, bouncing on top of him. Your tits, your blissed-out face, the way your soft lips would part when you called out his name and cried for more. 

Those lips. 

The way he’d love to see them swollen and slobbering around the base of his cock. Fuck. His hips buck reflexively, and he hisses out a breath through his clenched teeth. When his phone lights up with your name, he answers before it can make a sound. You’re so bold. He likes that. It plasters a saucy grin on his face. 

And now, with your breathy voice crackling through his janky phone speaker, he’s not gonna last long. You've got him losing his composure for the second time in one day. His whole body is rigid. His toes flex and snap unconsciously, and his jaw tenses. He hears your soft moan, and his thoughts are overflowing. He has no filter left. 

“Yeah, baby? You moaning for me?” His hips punch up into his fist, and he gives in, allowing himself firm, severe strokes. “You’ve got me so hard. You moaning for my cock?” 

You are so not gonna answer that one. If the next words out his mouth are, “Yeah, you like that?” you’re gonna block him for that. But it is undeniably hot to hear him already so worked up. You just know he’s gonna be coming all over himself again for you, and that really does make you moan just for him.

Your noises earn you another growly groan from Joel that you’d kill to hear again. The more uninhibited his noises are, the louder you get in response.

“You using your fingers, or you have a toy?” his question is punctuated with a grunt. 

“Mm, just fingers,” you purr, finally granting him an actual response as you roll your hips. Having Joel on the line gives you a heady sense of satisfaction. Wondering what’s going to come out of his filthy mouth next gives you a shiver of anticipation. 

“I know that sweet pussy is just achin’ to be filled again.” Correct. 

“Yes.” 

“S’right, baby, I know.” 

Joel whimpering on the phone for you is absolutely going to get you off. Your hips chase your own fingers. You switch your phone audio to speakerphone and drop it on your pillow so you can use both hands. Pinching at your own nipples as if it were Joel’s big hand under your smuggled shirt. 

“Tell me,” he pants, “who do you need to fill it for you?” 

“You, Joel.” 

“Fuck,” he chokes out, “you wanna ride this cock, huh baby?” 

“Mhmm.” Bingo. Right again. You wish you could feel the pressure of him inside of you, massaging and soothing away the agony. The weight of his body atop of yours, so solid and secure. You can just about feel the pressure of his pelvis grinding into you. The friction from the coarse curls at the base of his cock getting you closer and closer. 

“Know you’d do so good,” he cuts himself off with a low noise, “so damn sexy.” 

“What else would you do with me?” You wanna hear it. For your own fantasy and to know what he’s into.  

“I’d have you taking me down your throat til you’re crying on it for me, fuck,” a primal noise erupts from him.

Face fucking. Of course. You can’t deny that when he says it, your body responds instantaneously. Your pussy floods eagerly at the idea, and your cheeks burn hot from the visual he gives you. You swallow down your moans, and you can imagine the weight of him on your tongue and the strain of trying to swallow around his cock. 

“You wanna come down my throat?” As if that isn’t a fucking siren song that would make him steer a fleet of ships into a cliff? Your salacious words are too much. 

“Shit. Yeah, baby, wanna watch you swallow for me.” You let all your moans and gasps flow freely for him to hear. “I’m so fuckin’ close,” he can’t stop the words from spilling out his mouth, “let me hear it, baby,” he can’t stop his pending bliss either. “Please, baby, I can’t, oh f-fuck,” he cuts himself off with another primitive grunt, and that’s precisely what your cavewoman cunt wanted to hear. 

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” The horny goblins chant out loud this time. You can envision sweaty, pleading Joel lurching toward a reckless, full-body climax. 

You’re far from grace when the crude sounds he lets out turn you into an uncivilized beast. You hear him gasping, growling, and whining for you. It plunges you into a staggering orgasm. Rolling waves of ecstasy leave you panting and sweating.  

You lie in bed, chest rising and falling beneath the Creed logo. You’re left stunned at the intensity. A dreamy smile spreads across your face, and warm contentment, like honey, pours slowly over your muscles. Relaxing you as your tension softens and you turn to pick your phone back up.

Why was it so wholly consuming just to listen to him? Imagining the mess he made again,

because of you. 

Maybe you’re just made for each other. 

You and Joel. 

Oh, god. You should start listening to Alanis Morissette and Evanescence and trade your car for a 1990s-era Toyota 4runner and a pack of Marlboro Smooths. Really lean into matching his freak and the divorced alt-rock vibes.

You laugh softly into your phone before a deep sigh possesses you, and you nearly fall asleep. You stretch and smile, letting your heavy eyelids rest. 

He’s muttering something at you, catching his breath from the stress of being that fucking horned up for you all evening. And the overexertion of lasting long enough to hear your sweet cries of release. 

“You’re unreal,” his smoky voice rings with awe. “Got me shooting loads like a fucking teenager.”

You snort at the juxtaposition of his tender voice and crude comment before ending the call with a whispered, “Goodnight.” 

It shouldn’t make you smile. 

But he’s somehow such an enticing disaster. A cliche lonely bachelor, a cocksure idiot who knows he’s got a big dick and a generous guy who was willing to fix a stranger's car. 

You shouldn’t be trying to justify it, but you know he had you figured out earlier. 

You may be sated tonight, but you won’t be able to rest.

Not until you get your hands on that DILF – or rather, your pussy on that dick. 

-> Part 3

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[miyukisu]

I Might Bite .ᐟ

❤︎ | Resorting to dirty measures like biting your superior during sparring usually doesn't end without you having a taste of your own medicine... (2.6k wc) ╰ feat. Hoshina Soshiro (Kn8) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 2 | kinktober masterlist

tags - subordinate! reader, biting, marking, spanking, pussy slaps, humiliation & punishment, Hoshina's kinda mean, fingering, p in v, creampies, swearing

minors do not interact

The recent uptick of kaiju attacks over the city has every member of the JAKDF on edge. No one knows when the next attack is coming or if they'll live to see their next birthday. The atmosphere in the Tachikawa base specifically felt odd. Most were hopeless, but then there was you.

You weren't the strongest by any means, but you believed that if it came to being persistent—you'd be the best. It showed; after all, you trained your ass off even in your off hours.

There were times you bled and shed a tear, but you never stopped. Your fellow officers often told you to slow down. But there was one person who always watched from the sidelines—silently observing how you improved every night that you would sneak away into the training rooms.

It was none other than your superior, Hoshina Soshiro.

The vice captain didn't seem all too interested to be invested in the lives of the officers. Frankly, he had better things to do. But the rookie that worked themselves to the bone had successfully caught his eye. There was something about them that reminded him of himself. In many ways, he was drawn to that fiery spirit.

Not a lot of recruits had your determination and he was more than willing to foster that. What kind of vice captain would he be if he didn't help you in honing your skills?

────────────

You stared, dumbfounded, at the fox eyed man in front of you.

"Ya heard me right the first time," he insisted.

You gulp down. "Well... I'm certainly not going to refuse your offer, sir. I was just making sure I understood what you said."

"I told ya—I'll help ya train every night. I meant it."

Finding out that your superior knew you have been violating the curfew had you expecting the worst. But Hoshina's reaction was rather unforeseen.

Instead of making you run laps or do cleaning duty—he offered to train with you during your night sessions. It made sense; training with someone better than you would allow you to improve at faster speeds. The choice was a no-brainer.

"Alright... thank you, sir."

Hoshina simply nodded before walking away from you, satisfied that you were cooperative with his ideas.

"Sir!"

He turns around with a small smile. "Yes?"

"When do we start?"

"Have ya skipped a day before?"

"...No, not really."

His smile widens. "Ya have yer answer then."

────────────

Labored breaths filled the training room—though, most of it came from you. Hoshina barely broke a sweat throughout your entire sparring session. It wasn't shocking anymore at this point.

You estimate that it's already about two weeks since he has started joining you in your training. Not once have you won against him.

At first, it felt quite motivating—knowing that you had so much to improve. But as days go by, it becomes depressing how you can never even land a good hit on him.

You weren't fit to face a kaiju with how things stand and it crushed your once blazing spirits.

With your chest heaving and your vision blurring, you continued to anticipate his next move. You figured he'd at least cut you some slack after seeing the massive difference in skill, but he was merciless. You didn't even fight back as he tackled you to the ground.

Hoshina Soshiro wasn't just talented with a blade, but also with his bare hands. Who would have thought he knew grappling as well? He easily put you in a rear naked choke and you felt your airway quickly constrict.

He taught you that if you couldn't even handle basic hand-to-hand combat—then you'd be nothing doing anything else. Besides, before ending your session with the usual bare knuckled fighting, he trained you with swords and other weapons... in which you couldn't beat him in either.

Going up against him was futile. You absorbed his teachings like a sponge, but when it came to applying them—all hope is lost.

You were going to pass out soon; you could feel it.

Despite telling yourself that you'd always fight fair and square—you realized that this wasn't the time to be righteous. Virtues, principles—whatever the fuck it is—chucked out the window.

You bit down on his arm—hard. Did you draw blood? Perhaps. But that hardly mattered to you. He finally let go, failing to defeat you completely. Hoshina hissed, checking out the fresh wound you gave him.

Neither could you move or speak. In fact, you kept your back leaning on his chest. Doing anything other than breathing was a bit too much at the moment.

"Ya play dirty, don'cha?" he whispered darkly into your ear.

The thickness and intimidation laced in his voice was enough to reinvigorate your entire being. You took the deepest breath possible before peeling yourself off of him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Of course ya didn't mean ta do that, right?" he cuts you off, lifting you off of the ground with his impressive strength.

"What shall I ever do with ya? Li'l thing bitin' her superior."

You could only stutter out a pathetic apology as he carries you in his arms.

"Nah, don'cha apologize now. Ya must be sick of me treatin' ya like a ragdoll hm?"

He was right, of course. But you weren't about to admit that to him.

Hoshina carried you over to the side of the room where the long metal bench was. Even out of fighting, he continued to treat you like a doll with the way you effortlessly flipped you over. Your stomach pressed against his lap with one of his hands resting on your nape.

You weren't sure where his other hand was, but you soon found out... the hard way.

A sharp slap made its way to your ass. It had you sucking in more air than usual.

"Not even a single yelp huh? Think ya can handle more? Ya need to be punished after all."

Another slap and then another on the other cheek. Tears were starting to brim in your eyes. With the next slap, you finally yelped in pain. Hearing your sharp breaths, he caressed your poor behind in a soothing manner.

"Think ya've repented enough?"

God, you didn't want to sound weak, but a few sniffles escaped you. His question racked your brain, yet not a single good answer came for it. It was a trap and he was steadily luring you in.

You figured—silence was the best response. However, that pissed off the vice captain even more. Hoshina let out a long and deep sigh. He didn't want to do this; he swears. But you just had to push his buttons.

"Not speakin' huh? How many times will ya disrespect yer superior after I've been kind enough ta be trainin' ya every night?"

If you've learned one thing about him these past few sessions—it was that he never gave you time to react. Only now, you're discovering that it applies to things apart from fighting as well.

He slid you off his lap without warning. Soon as you flipped yourself over, the vice captain was already hovering over you with a stern expression on his face.

He inched closer, slowly but steadily. His eyes never left yours and it seemed to have you in a trance because you failed to realize how he had already caged you between his thick arms.

"Sir..." you managed to say between shaky breaths.

"So you can speak?"

Your eyes finally stray from his face, feeling flustered by the proximity.

"Ya should use that mouth of yers fer talkin' —not fer bitin' ," he said. He leaned in to the point that you felt the warmth of his breath against your neck. It was tantalizing—almost paralyzing. "I think ya should get a taste of yer own medicine," he added.

No time was given to protest as he sunk his sharp teeth into your neck. You gasp, hands finding purchase on his arms. He suckled on the tender skin, sure to leave a mark that you'd have to cover up in the morning.

Then another bite came. Your fingers dug into his flesh. It was painful, but oddly arousing. The intoxicating scent he radiated coupled with his fine looks were a recipe for disaster. But the only one being ruined was you.

Perhaps he felt satisfied after two bites, settling on wet kisses scattered on your neck instead. He kept getting lower and lower until he was met with a barrier.

"Lemme get this out of the way, a'ight?" he says before gripping the soft fabric of your black tanktop—ripping it apart. He smirked at the sight, a flimsy lacey bra.

He pushed it up before smashing his face down on your chest, sucking and lightly biting at a sensitive bud. Your hands went from his biceps to his hair, almost pulling out the strands from the roots.

He bit, tugged, and marked you all over again—like he was staking claim. Hoshina made sure to give attention to the other one as well, sucking on the swell of your breast while using his fingers to toy with the other.

Truth be told, he was too excited and immersed in devouring you that he only now became aware of your sounds. It was delightful to say the least. It made him smile as he nipped at the sensitive flesh.

You began to arch your back, needing more of him. But he took this as a sign to go even lower, planting more kisses that trailed down your stomach. He was giving you whiplash with the alternating softness and harshness of his touch.

He looked up at you and saw your dazed expression, unable to even look back at him. This was fine; this was the only time he'd permit a subordinate not looking him in the eye.

For once, you were able to catch your breath and make sense of it all. You returned your gaze to the man above you. He was hovering over you again, looking down with a feral glare. His large hand gripped your thigh.

"Ya know... fer someone bein' disciplined... ya sure look like yer enjoyin' this."

"I'm not," you retorted. But both of you knew the truth.

"Ya challengin' me? Let's see then, shall we?"

He made quick work of the zipper on your pants before pulling it down and throwing it off to God knows where. His eyes opened slightly, zeroing on the damp patch on your panties. Of course, he was right.

"Would ya look at that—yer pussy's all soaked from that. How naughty."

"I... I... um..."

He huffed. "Ya what?"

Slap. He had slapped your pussy. The stinging sensation had you arching your back off of the cold metallic surface of the bench. A soft groan fell from your lips.

He landed another slap. "Look at how wet ya are right now. Ya shouldn't have lied huh?"

As if to soothe you again, he began rubbing his thumb over your poor cunt. "Didn't mean ta make her cry."

Hoshina smirked at his own joke—because who else would appreciate it? Definitely not you; you were too fucked out to even catch everything that he's saying.

He hooked a finger in the gusset before pulling your panties out of the way. The sight of your dripping cunt made his dick twitch. He had already been especially frustrated this week and the cute little subordinate he trained every night wasn't helping. Her little stunt was essentially the final nail in the coffin.

There was nothing else he wanted more but to fuck you senseless already. But he was a refined man; he had patience.

Hoshina pushed in two digits at first and it almost made him shudder with how tight and warm you were. Patience be damned; he was crumbling all too quickly for his liking.

"Fuck... yer suckin' it in."

A string of soft moans left you. It was music to his ears and he wanted it to be louder.

He began fucking his fingers into you at a faster pace. The muscles of his arm tensed and the veins on his forearm were popping out. A loud and vulgar moan reverberated through the training room. You could only hope that everyone in the base was asleep because there was no way you could be quiet with what he's doing to you.

You tightened around his fingers before unravelling completely. Your pussy fluttered, cumming on to his fingers shamelessly. It almost felt like a task to him—only getting it out of the way to get to the main event.

Hoshina pulled out his fingers, sucking them clean. He would have loved to get a taste of it on his tongue, but all restraint had been lost. He had to sheath himself in you or else he'd actually lose it.

"Take a deep breath for me, a'ight?" he says while unzipping his pants, only barely pulling out his leaking cock from its confines.

Maybe you should have listened because the sudden intrusion of his cock knocked the air out of your lungs. It filled you up nicely, hitting every spot with just one fluid motion.

He groans, throwing his head back in ecstasy. His fingers were practically white with how hard he gripped the bench supporting the both of you.

"Coulda fought me with this instead. Maybe ya coulda won," he teased. He began slowly fucking into you, perhaps a reprieve after his previous actions.

Your hands held on to his back, softly digging your nails into the chiseled flesh. A satisfied groan poured from his smiling lips.

The string of moans coming from you urged him to go faster. He had enough of being slow and soft. He snapped his hips at a maddening pace almost immediately. Your leg fell of the bench, hanging off and allowing him deeper access into you.

He never faltered for a second—even as he leaned down to leave marks on your neck again. You held him closer to you as if you never wanted him to leave... and he wasn't; at least, not until you've cum all over his cock.

His ragged breaths filled your ear as he continued to rut into you. Hoshina was tough, ruthless, and precise—much like on the battlefield.

A familiar clench squeezed his dick. "Ya close? Ya gonna cum on my cock? C'mon, do it," he goaded.

His thumb began circling your swollen clit. After holding on to the cold bench for a while, his touch felt freezing. The warmth you felt inside contrasted with the cold touch of his thumb. The sensation was almost numbing with how good it felt.

"Wanna cum with me? How romantic of ya," he teased again. "Fuck... I'm cummin' —take it all. This is still part of yer punishment. Got that?"

You responded with a breathless moan. That was all it took before hot ropes of cum filled you. The warmth seemed to push you over the edge as well, milking him for all he's worth. And like he said—it would be romantic. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"Ya learned yer lesson yet?" he asked, but not before capturing your wet lips in a kiss.

Hoshina let a shaky breath out as he pulled away. He knew it would be good, but he wasn't expecting for it to be this good.

"Shit... was only plannin' one round. Guess it wouldn't hurt ta discipline ya more."

He lazily rubbed his still hard cock. "C'mon, get on all fours fer me and I might not make ya run laps in morning's training." He watched intently as you followed, lining up his dick against your entrance. It was going to be a long night.

"Good fuckin' girl."

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note slightly longer I guess because I like Hoshina more lol

[dropsnectar]

When a Fox is Bored...

M!Kitsune x gn!reader

NSFW

A Kitsune who recently inherited a new territory, of which your house is smack in the middle of. 

As an easily bored spirit, he finds the thought of pranking you hilarious. He starts out with small things, moving your cereal bowl in the morning, replacing dish washing detergent with dish soap. He laughs quietly to himself as he watches you search for what should have been obviously in front of you, eyebrows furrowed, and confusion fueling his quiet laughter. He watched you run around in horror, trying to scoops bubbles into water buckets. Something about your confusion and panic satisfied him. 

He made a habit of visiting you and making something go wrong. But after the fifth prank, something changed. You laughed at how your water bottle, once filled with water, was now orange juice. Your missing backpack, instead of being on the table, under your bed. You cleaned the place up, reducing clutter. You kept your bags close, and hummed to yourself as you searched about, peaceful. This picked at something in him. Your worried expression had been his after all. He upped the ante.

He messed with your washing machine. That prank took a while, since as a spirit of nature, tech was foreign to him. Filled with pride expecting your eyes to go big and your lips purse for him, all you did was roll your eyes and take your clothes and laundry detergent to the bathroom. You turned on a little play on your little black rock, and filled the tub with water soap and clothes. Then you got to work, stomping like you were pressing grapes for wine. Despite the distraction of the “phone”, your face was still crinkled in effort, sweat drifting down your brow. He liked this expression. Maybe this too was a prank well done.

At some point, you had started making double helpings for dinner. In the past, meals of ramen and grocery potatoes salad had turned into steaks, chicken and pasta. 

You would pour two glasses of wine and put out a plate and a glass on the old stump by the back door. Curious, the kitsune would eat up, soon enamored with your cooking.

About time! It was only right of you to give him offerings. You were in his territory after all. In the mornings you would collect the dishes, and the cycle would continue.

Of course, this didn't mean he would stop his favorite source of entertainment. Far from it. He'd replace your coffee maker with one of a differing model. He'd leave piles of fruit by the door, savoring your surprised reaction as you looked around, not noticing the small form he had taken behind the door. He learned your preferences, your schedule, even your sorrows as you poured over a hastily scrawled budget that just wouldn't add up the way it should. 

He had to admit sometimes his pranks grew even farther then he meant to. You had dressed up to the 9s for a much needed job interview, with a man whose soul was so gray he could see it through the phone. You had gotten in your old, rusty car, only for it to get hit by a huge black Denali, five minutes from your house.

Out stepped a gentle older man in a weathered cardigan. The old man listened to you cry, as you waved about a dead phone, and explained how you couldn't afford this. You had missed the job interview you so desperately needed.

 This was the part that bewildered the kitsune. He wasn't sure if it was his own magic or yours, but the older man offered you a job on the spot, twice the salary you were looking for. The old man's aura was a gentle green. This satisfied the kitsune. This man would take care of his favorite victim.

His heart filled with satisfaction at how you bounced and garbled out thank yous. He didn't fail to notice that dinner that night came with a whole tray of brownies. You made him cupcakes when you got the huge insurance check in the mail. 

After dinner, he was surveying you as you watched “Net-fix”, something about a mute woman rescuing a lake monster, when you turned the TV off and headed upstairs. 

This intrigued the kitsune, as you usually watched television for another hour before passing out. 

You took off your pants and crawled into bed. The room was quiet except for your breathy moans as you pleasured yourself, one hand working yourself up under your underwear.

The smell that filled the room was mouthwatering. And the way you mewled out made the kitsune feral. He was on you in a few minutes, transforming from his invisible form to his most majestic one. He leaned over you, eyes red and hungry, as he pinned your free hand over your head and licked his lips.

“Its you.” You whispered, voice light and merry. It was like it had been a long grey winter and the sun had finally decided to come out. It was an expression he had never collected from you and it made his heart heavy.

“I knew you were here. Thank you. For everything.”

He stared at you, now full of apprehension. But a peice of him was still so full of joy that you recognized him. That you saw him and wanted him with you now.

“You have been my playtoy. I have made your life difficult more times than I have lightened it.”

“You kept me on my toes” you laughed out, tone innocent. “But I know how to deal with boys who tug my pigtails. And you haven't tugged on them in a long time.” You reached your other hand forward and brought it to his cheek. It was a gentle gesture of affection, but it did not have the soothing effect you intended. 

Your hand smelled so full of your core it drove him insane, dick throbing and hard under his robes. He took your hand and brought it to his mouth, swallowing down any residue that had been left on your fingers. The face you made was adorable, how your eyes glowed and the ghost of your tongue peaked out from your lips. He was going to collect so many faces from you tonight, and they would all be his. YOU would be his.

He discarded his robes and your underwear with magic, a tidy pile on the chair next to the bed. Then, he was on you, mouth nibbling your neck, biting you collarbone, before licking at the marks he had made. He rutted his hips against you for relief as he claimed your mouth, your tongue swirling around his. Your hands grasped hard to his back, nails scratching. It was your way of claiming him too, of this he was sure, and it was just too damn cute.

He dragged himself around your entrance, laughing and saying he wouldn't enter you until you begged him for it. You pouted at him and huffed, but eventually gave in, asking him to fill you. He did so with one hard thrust causing you to cry out, your eyes rolling in the back of your head.

He kept a quick pace. Your eyes were glazed, your core molten hot as he hit every little spot inside you that would bring you closer to release. You tried to hide it at first, hands covering your mouth but your eyes gave it away. He let you conceal yourself for all of five minutes before he had both your hands pinned above your head, his thrusts jutting at an unforgiving pace inside you. 

He was feral. THERE it was! That was the face he had wanted, the expression he had wanted to capture from you since the very beginning. Your panting, your eyes glazed over, mouth open in a silent plea, THAT'S what he wanted all along. And it was his! You were his now. The realization, the feeling of you, and the way you cried and clenched around him in release was what finally sent him over the edge. Against all odds you came together, riding out your ecstasy with sighing breaths. 

His mind was hazy with afterglow as he pulled you into his arms, large fluffy tails wrapping around your legs, arms, even one teasing at your face, a tickle. You laughed and kissed the fluff before turning over and kissing his nose, eyes bright. You were sated and happy. 

“Could we maybe, make a habit of this?”

He grinned at you. Every single feature of him was dripping with mischief when he replied.

“You think I'm satisfied with just this? There's so much more I have planned for you, you silly thing. Be prepared, got it?”

Part Two-ish

[phyrestartr]

If We Had Lived (Divine Favour) | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader

W/C: 3k #SFW, fluff, mentions of past abuse, heian sukuna, typical kitsune shapeshifting, jp mythology, morally grey reader, DRABBLE

tags: @kamote-kuneho @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @3zae-zae3 @chibiduck @kiiyoooo @lukaijah @memedealer-exe @f0th3rr @boretheral @cicithemess @paastaboi @someone0vx

--

“Sit still.”

“I'm sitting fucking still, fox.”

Sukuna did not sit still. He shifted and huffed, not unlike an annoyed, restless bull locked up in a pen–only, he was far from being in a pen and could leave whenever he so wished. 

Yet, he stayed. He endured the torture you, his prized possession, put him through for the sake of making good impressions or whatever. But the harvest festival was hardly a big deal–the last time the king was bestowed a gift of any value was when he found himself the owner of a beautifully annoying fox that hid in his garden for a fucking eternity. A prize like that was unlikely to be given again. What else could possibly excite the man who had everything?

Your tails swished behind you dramatically as you shifted on your knees, tilting your head to look over the work you'd done with cleaning and manicuring his nails and hands. Thankfully, you left callouses in place. Not that he thought you'd be so cruel as to remove them, but you certainly had the ability to, considering how soft your own hands were. 

“How much more?” Sukuna grumbled.

Your eyes flicked up to his for a moment before returning to your task. “I've hardly finished one hand.” 

The king scowled as a child might as you continued gently pushing at his cuticles with the slim, soft stick of an orange tree, carved specially for this occasion. Sure, he was the one who demanded you to turn your self-preening onto him, but still--

Your soft, warm touch cupped under his jaw and lifted his pouty gaze to meet yours. “You asked this of me,” you reminded. “If you've changed your mind, I've other tasks to attend to.” 

Sukuna’s lip twitched in an ugly, childish snarl. “You'll stay here and finish your job.” 

“Very well.” You leaned up toward him and kissed the spot between his brows before sitting again. But Sukuna followed you, bowing his head to chase a proper kiss that you gave freely, the kind spirit you were. “Then you will have to sit still.” 

“Tch.” But he obliged to the best of his abilities. “Already gonna have to sit still for hours while those damn peasants show up and dump scraps at my feet,” he sighed, pulling up a knee and resting an elbow on it. 

“My, a kingly thing is complaining about fealty?” You wondered, sarcastic yet cripplingly honest. “While I understand your unwillingness to do anything but fight and kill, you must remind those beneath you of your status.” 

Sukuna scoffed. “Yeah? Then why isn't my kyuubi doing just that?” 

“I am no king,” you said. “I am simply the servant of one, no? Given to him as a mere offering, yet kept alive for his amusement.” 

“Huh. Guess you know your place.” Sukuna shifted, and he noticed you pick up the pace, tending to him a bit quicker lest the restless beast lose his patience and leave with the job incomplete. He wouldn’t leave, not when he hungered for your attention and touch more than anything else the pathetic world could offer him–only something from the divine plane could satiate him. 

“Mh.” You raised his hand and pressed his knuckles to your lips, then against the soft plushness of your cheek. “My place is by my king’s side. It will forever remain that way.” 

–

You left his side. You left him, your pious saviour, your sworn king, your chosen mate, in favour of–what? Freedom? Adventure? Men? Women? What was it? 

Thunder echoed in Sukuna’s chest as he paced. He’d swept through towns, destroyed any houses you might have been sequestered in, searched vacant shrines and the like, but never caught a glimpse of your ebony tails nor your decorated kimono. It drove him mad. How had he not noticed? Did the harvest festivities really engulf his mind? Sure, they were more eventful this year, what with clansmen attempting revenge in the name of their fallen brethren, but it’d only been a week of problems–nothing challenging, nothing that really, truly required his full attention. And still–

“Sukuna-sama,” Uraume called, interrupting his buzzing thoughts. 

“What?” The king snapped, turning on his heel to face Uraume standing at his chamber door. “If this is about anything other than my fucking fox, then–”

“Please, come,” they said. “I believe I’ve found an explanation.” 

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. Uraume sounded calm, not that they ever sounded particularly frantic, but they seemed…happy, maybe? Some weird kind of content, perhaps. It wasn’t something Sukuna was used to seeing on their placid face, though it’d become more common ever since you entered their lives and made yourself at home. The frost sorcerer had a soft spot for you. Sukuna couldn’t blame them. 

“Pray tell what the fuck the explanation is,” Sukuna grumbled as he followed his subordinate, arms all crossed and tensed. 

“I’m certain I’ve found the whereabouts of your beloved.” Uraume slid open the door leading to the gardens in the back and walked on. “In the absence of (Name), I decided to tend to the gardens myself. In doing so, I found something quite peculiar–a hidden grove of sorts.” 

Sukuna’s fury morphed into prickling, fiery intrigue. “Bullshit. I’ve been all over this fucking garden with that fox. I know the ins and outs.”

“Then it would not surprise me if he indeed kept this a secret from you.” 

Sukuna grumbled. “He knows better.”

“I don’t believe it’d be intentional,” Uraume said, “but I believe his instincts may have influenced him to secure a quiet, safe place for the future.”

The king relaxed. Electricity sparked weakly in his fingertips first,then throughout the rest of his body when everything started falling into place–you wanted all eyes to be on him, you didn’t want anyone to look at you during the festival. Your cheeks had grown fuller, your body more plush, your desire to snuggle and snooze went through the roof. Could you have been–?

Uraume stepped toward a thicket of trees in the far corner of the garden–one that Sukuna indeed had never bothered with, considering it looked full of trees and foliage and definitely not a spot to meander on your shared morning walks–before ducking under thick branches and pushing aside flimsy bushes. 

Sukuna followed with a little more brute force, nearly ripping the pesky foliage out of the way and half-considering decimating the trees that dare whip him in the face with a cluster of leaves. But you’d probably get pissy if he did that. A pissy fox was fun, but also withheld sex, and that was a no-go for Sukuna these days, considering his concubines just weren’t doing it for him as of late. 

Sure enough, Uraume’s words rang true. The grove was small and cozy, letting in warm dappling sunlight while shielding itself from the prying eyes of the outside world. In the very corner of the garden and the evident centrepiece of the grove, stood an immense weeping willow, one with a formidable trunk and thick, gnarled branches reaching up to drape long curtains of green like cascading waterfalls around itself. Truly, it felt like a separate little world would be hidden in there, behind swaying vines and rustling leaves. 

“You gotta be shitting me,” Sukuna muttered, stepping past his right hand to push aside the foliage, revealing a black fox curled up in the hollowed trunk of that very tree. 

You didn’t stir when he approached. Something uneasy curled in Sukuna’s gut, but once he sat himself in front of the mouth to your little den, he spied the steady breathing shifting your small form, and calmed–until he saw something else wiggling against you, chirping and squeaking with pathetic, fragile voices. At first, he thought it was some sort of parasite sucking you of your lifeforce, but he realized too quickly that what he beheld were two, tiny kits, both covered in fluffy brown-black fur, both keenly aware of the presence of a curious new man sitting before them. 

Sukuna tensed when they approached him. Their chubby bellies knocked their weak, stubby legs off balance, but they persevered best they could, bumbling their way through trampled leaves and grass, and finally reaching the crossed legs of the king. Tiny paws papped at his pant legs before they hazarded climbing the formidable mountain before them And despite Sukuna’s hesitation, he hastily held their butts before they fell off of him like the stupid, dumb babies they were. They were his stupid, dumb babies, after all. Best to take care of them. 

“It appears he went somewhere quiet to nest,” Uraume hummed, sounding far too pleased as they watched the king handle fox kits. “Perhaps the festival was too stressful.”

“Tch. Could’ve shot the runts out inside,” Sukuna mumbled, half-heartedly annoyed. “Coulda said somethin’.” 

“He could have,” Uraume agreed, an air of ‘but what’s done is done’ clinging to their words. 

Sukuna sighed. “What a pain in the ass.” His eyes flicked to you again. He expected you to wake up, to snap at him like the feral thing you were. He expected you to calm after recognizing him. Maybe he expected you to curl up in his lap, too. Or did he just want that?

But you stayed sleeping. Content and safe under the shelter of your lover and the stalwart embrace of a weeping willow. Perhaps it was thanking you for your kind care with the way it soothed your soul and kept you hidden away. Sukuna wouldn't doubt it for a second. The garden acted differently ever since you claimed it as your own. 

“Shall we take them back?” Uraume asked.

The king thought for a long moment, sifting through selfish desires and rational decisions before coming to his conclusion: “Leave ‘em. He'll probably throw a damn fit if we interfere. You know how gods are–annoying and irrational as hell when they don't get their way.”

His subordinate smiled. “Very well.”

–

Winter’s first frost came, and you returned to his side. 

You woke him with a classic move–standing on his chest and staring at him expectantly until he woke up and gave you attention. You didn’t do it as much anymore, not ever since you found yourself in the midst of a thousand responsibilities and daily quests, but every once in a while, like when your lover would return from long journeys, you’d pester him endlessly for pets, scritches and kisses. 

But this time, once his heavy eyes opened, he not only saw you standing atop his chest, but a chubby pup caught in your maw, too. 

Sukuna blinked away his grogginess just as you gingerly placed the babe on his collarbone, tucking him underneath the king's chin. One of his large hands flew up to ensure the kit (his kit) didn't slip off when you let go and trotted away with purpose. 

“Fox,” Sukuna grumbled, displeased with your hasty retreat. Thankfully, you trotted back up to him a handful of moments later and placed a second ball of fluff on his chest before settling down beside him and watching. 

“Tch. Took you long enough,” the king huffed as he tried his damndest to be careful and gentle with the little ones. “Was about to drag your sorry ass in here myself.” 

I see. If you were so desperate for my company, you could have simply requested it, you countered. 

Sukuna sucked his teeth and huffed. “Like it woulda been that easy.” Nothing was that easy with you–and Sukuna liked it. If you gave in, if you tended to his every fleeting want and need, you'd be too boring, frankly. 

It is unlike you to not try. You shifted and wormed your way into his arms and half onto his chest, right beside the two snoozing kits you'd worked hard to bring up while Sukuna was off fighting, killing and maiming. But that was expected; servants and bedded beasts were to stay and make a home, weren't they? 

“Tch. I let you have your way for once and this is how you act?” Your partner admired your foxen features and traced his fingertips along your snout, between your eyes, to the top of your little skull before scritching behind your ears. You leaned into the touch, eyes falling closed with the meagerest offering of affection.

Shall I praise you and bow at your feet once I am able? You teased. 

“Bending over'll do the trick.” Sukuna smirked when you huffed. “How long you gotta stay as a shitty mutt anyway?” 

Until they wean. I'm not certain as to how long that will take.

“Not even a guess?” 

Perhaps another week or so. You turned your nose to the two small fluffs and groomed the tops of their heads. They're becoming more independent. More willing to explore. I take that as a good sign for their development. 

“Huh. Good.” A strange coil relaxed in Sukuna's chest, and he braved petting them with a single finger again. “‘N how long ‘til these two learn to play human?” 

Not for some time, but I will help them until they master it themselves. You nipped at Sukuna's hand as a third rose to come pester you. You should not pray for them to be human too soon. They will terrorize you. I have seen such chaos before. 

Sukuna grinned. “Ho? You forget who their father is?” Your sigh echoed in his mind, and his smile split wider. “I can handle anything.”

–

Kazuya and Genji took too much after you and your mischievous heritage. 

Too often Uraume would find them in baskets of produce, happily munching away like they were supposed to be in there. Other times, they'd be caught stealing shiny jewelry or knick knacks from the king's concubines and servants. They'd sometimes even take Sukuna's clothes and run amok with them, using them as toys or completely shredding them. 

You, he who had birthed and raised them, were swift when it came to correcting them. You were, of course, the prime example of a kitsune, and therefore found their treasure stashes, foretold of their destructive crimes, and knew when they'd be off to steal food. You were like them, once, after all. 

And maybe that's why you had a peculiar pep to your step. Once the boys found their devious personalities, you bothered lifting your tails from the floor. No longer did you let them drag and droop like limp noodles hanging from chopsticks. You seemed…prouder. Livelier. Perhaps being amongst your own gave you a sense of belonging, of hope. 

Belonging, huh? Tch, what a load of shit. Sukuna mused as he rested his cheek against his fist, lounging while he watched you wrangle the twins from his spot under a shady tree. Spring was here, and that meant the runts were now terrorizing the great outdoors. 

More accurately, they were following you around like two tiny shadows, too eager to waddle after you as you moved along the paths, sowing seeds and pruning withered leaves as you went. The tots picked up whatever your tending cast to the ground, and they held each thistle, leaf and twig close in tiny, pudgy hands like they were rabbit's feet. Strange little things.

He lost sight of you and the bumbling babies eventually, but your light chatter flitted through the brush and kept him company for a time. The sound of leaves crunching underfoot accompanied your walk as you came back around, closer and closer and–through the garden itself? Wait–

“RAH!” A little voice cried before a littler body launched onto Sukuna. 

“Ha?” The king quirked a brow and looked at the little thing biting and kicking at his arm like a spastic cat. “What the hell is this?” 

“He's trying to play with you,” you said as you wandered back into view, voice airy and light. “They wrestle.” 

Sukuna held his arm up to get a better look at the runt nibbling on him. “This is supposed to be playing? Damn thing's acting feral.” 

“Because he's young.” You settled down beside your lover, adjusting your robes and such to ensure they cascaded and pooled around you attractively. “One day, he'll ask you to teach him how to fight. How to use cursed techniques.” 

Sukuna's expression almost softened. “Huh. That so?” 

“Mh.” You smoothed Kazuya's hair back as he settled in your lap, choosing peace over violence, unlike Genji. “They are yours. I've no doubt they'll have the same hunger for strife and knowledge.” 

They are yours. The words nearly made Sukuna sick; they weren't his per sè, they were a result of his relentless attempts to tie you down and make you stay with him no matter the cost. They only shared half of his genetics, they didn't rule his every thought nor own half of his heart. That all belonged to you.

But then why did he feel…trepidatious? The way he once felt too long ago when he knew nothing of the world and met too many cruel hands from the moment he opened his eyes. Maybe because these little ones were that age, able to run around and cause problems where they ought to not. Maybe because messing with the wrong person might not end with them slaughtering he who had the audacity to harm them, but with their young lives being lost. 

Ah. That must have been it–the petulance of his own kind pissed Sukuna off to no end. The thought of extensions of himself being looked down on brought about creeping waves of disgust and distaste. Humans were the ones who thought themselves godly enough to kill Sukuna. Humans were the ones who thought themselves mighty enough to enslave and breed a divine beast. The little ones were destined to share humanity's ire, and it pissed him off. It really pissed him off.

“Yeah,” Sukuna decided, shaking his arm to test Genji's ability to cling onto him. “I'll show ‘em a thing or two. Can't have humans beating the shit outta some godlings just for fun.”

“Well, if one were to try, I'd kill them myself,” you cooed like it was the most romantic thing in the world. “Level their village, light the sky ablaze.” 

“Now you're speakin’ my language,” Sukuna said, grinning. 

[dernier-mystere]

! SPOILER WARNING FOR 2.5 UPDATE! READ WITH CAUTION ! summary: the yaoqing trio returns back to the yaoqing, though things are a little different, being an alchemist in the alchemy commission, you receive the instructions and diagnosis from the cauldron master of the luofu, lingsha, about jiaoqiu's condition and what needs to be prepared for him and his treatment plan. despite being someone who worked a few times with the healer, you find yourself assigning treatments to him for once, despite his stubbornness and negligence when it came to his own health. pairing: jiaoqiu x alchemist!foxian!reader (afab) warnings: slight gore, injury descriptions word count: 3.4k a/n: how are we feeling jiaoqiu fans? a mess? :,) me too <3 so we need some comfort yes <3 the idea is based on an idea oc that was an alchemist and as the xianzhou yaoqing is mostly foxians, it makes sense right? hope you enjoy it <3 sorry for the medicinal rambling too! sorry if this may seem ooc, I feel so rusty with writing these days... ^^; I plan to write some proper fluff, I apologise this isn't lovey dovey, if anyone has suggestions please send them please support me by following or sharing! it's much appreciated! <3 twitter/x: @derniermystere ao3: Dernier_Mystere

The diagnosis was almost painful to read, you knew the trio was reckless, and a part of you thought it would be the Merlin’s Claw that would come back with the injuries, not Jiaoqiu. Even Moze who lingered in the shadow of the General had his incident report of injuries, most of the events that had occurred on the Luofu remained on the hush, so unfortunately, it left you and numerous other healers in great distress when the commission received the outpatient details and care instructions for the pink-haired foxian. Toxins in the wounds have caused surrounding flesh to decay and atrophy… acute shock from severe blood loss…? Disturbed blood circulation from Tumbledust results in disturbed blood circulation, massive internal bleeding, neurological atrophy and optic neuropathy, leading to… blindness. These were just a few lines written in his injury reports, you felt your eyelids flicker in concern at the words, each description made your lips crease further into a frown, your heart wavering as you could only imagine the pain he would’ve struggled with in that short period, not only ingesting a lethal amount of Tumbleweed but also baring the injuries sustained by the Borisin Warhead, Hoolay. Not to mention there were found traces of Lupotoxin still present in his bloodstream, in short, he danced on the thin line between life and death, a second too late, and he would have died an agonising death.

As you sat in the cool room of your examination office, the rhythmic ticker a counterpoint to the steady hum of the medical equipment in the room still trying to convince yourself how Jiaoqiu remained in such good spirits, and oddly with a good appetite despite his situation… his calmness and sly exterior made you fear the worse, after all, he hid a lot of his emotions, using his fox-like smile as a mask to pretend all was fine, even if inside he could have been begging for a semblance of hope. Your e/c gaze flickered up to the Foxian who hummed softly, sitting on the examination table with a Gaiwan* in his hands, as he curiously took in a whiff of the scent of the tea, swirling it occasionally in his hand as he tried to depict what herbs were in it. “Not much to say honestly, I feel quite fine besides the fact, I have been told not to eat spicy food… it’s truly a torturous treatment,” his voice was calm, yet the mention of not being allowed to eat his favourite food made him click his tongue, one of his long ears flicking in annoyance, “But, other than that, I am quite alright,” 

Your eyes squinted as you observed him talking to the pot plant in the corner of your examination room while you were seated on the other side of him, yet… you felt your insides soften that, he was still adjusting to his new condition after all. “Master Jiaoqiu, you know ingesting amounts of spicy food will only increase inflammation of your wounds.” You spoke softly, choosing not to comment further that he was talking to the plant rather than yourself. Jiaoqiu’s ears flicked in your direction rapidly, as he quickly adjusted himself to face the direction your voice came from, acting as if he knew the whole time you were seated there, it made you softly giggle in amusement as you slowly lit a stick of Dreambranch Incense in the office, in hopes of providing calmness to the mind during his routine follow up examination.  

“You always say you’re quite alright to avoid unnecessary long appointments, who dropped you off today? Was it the Merlin’s Claw or Moze?” You teased, prepping the small station beside him with all the necessary tools and treatment needs. Jiaoqiu’s tail flicked in annoyance as he crossed his arms, followed by a tiny pout on his lips, “I will have you know, no one dropped me off, Thank you.” His tone was almost childish and petty, “I came as instructed by the Cauldron Master of the Luofu, nothing more than a routine check-up.” He clarified, yet the creases in his brows seemed to convince you further that someone made him actually arrive at his scheduled appointment. “For a healer, Master Jiaoqiu… you should always look after yourself before treating others.” You commented, your fluffy tail swaying behind you in amusement as you spoke, enjoying the small amount of petty banter with the Foxian healer who had left the field a while ago now. Being a long-life species, a mere few years seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye, but when one formed friendships or any kind of relationship when they left or moved on, it felt as if they had left for centuries, this was no different to Jiaoqiu. His sassy nature and his usual greeting with a cunning smile were oddly something you missed, but deep down, you knew the losses on the battlefield tore and ate away at his heart, leaving nothing but emptiness, a path of Nihility to creep in. Some days, you found yourself sitting on the stairs of the commission, looking at the fake night sky of the Yaoqing, wondering if your research and treatments meant really nothing in the end. Countless patients slipped between your fingers like sand, no matter how hard you tried to grab the delicate granules, it would still slip through. The many nights where you prayed to Lan or any aeon to hear your pleas and silent begs to help a young patient that was slowly succumbing to the effects of Mara, the way their limbs twisted un-naturally, root-like appendages growing from his body like a deformity as they slowly lost their mind day-by-day, yet none of them cast their gaze on you or your pleads… they always replied in a numbing silence. You felt his pain… you sympathised with his feelings for those who were lost in battle… You could treat a thousand patients, but what was the point if they returned to the battlefield and lost their lives in the end… was their sacrifice in vain? These were the many questions that went through your mind on a daily, and something you assumed most alchemists thought. 

Your eyes fluttered closed as you shook your head to dismiss the darkening thoughts, you forced yourself to read over the letter submitted by Lingsha. As written in his treatment plan, you were to clean his wounds with Pathovore bugs, before applying liberal amounts of medication and dress them up firmly. As well as take a deeper examination of his blindness and relay any suggestions to her for possible treatments of his blindness. “Well, I know you want this to be done quickly, so I will start with the treatment of the wounds, Master Jiaoqiu, then if possible, I would like to examine your eyes…?” You asked hesitantly, your h/c ears pinning back against your head as you cautiously asked him, you honestly didn’t know why you were nervous, it was your job… but he had only recently just lost his vision, was it a touchy subject? Or maybe would flat-out refuse and say it was nothing.  

Jiaoqiu simply remained silent as he continued to hold on to the delicate clay cup, he gave the tea one last sip before he gently pressed the edge of his hand along the surface of the table to confirm he could safely place his cup upon it, “Why are you concerned, Y/N? it’s your job after all. Do what you need. For once, I am simply the patient, and you’re my healer now, are you not?” He spoke up, turning to face in your direction, though you could hear the slight hesitation laced in the last few syllables of his words but you slowly nodded in reply, not that he could see it. 

The initial examination was rather simple, you had to look over his wounds, the deep lacerations on his chest, the state of his collarbone, checking him for any signs of Lycanthropic symptoms which came in the forms of excessive hair growth, elongation of the canine teeth, hostility (namely to Foxians) and a heightened increase of Lupitoxin which are evident in a blood rage. Further examination of his red blood cell, Platelets and the protein count in his plasma, to gauge how well his blood would coagulate over time, while the effects of consuming Tumbledust has significantly lowered the count, he was slowly making progress as there were some improvements. While it wasn’t much, it was better than none… 

“So far, you seem to be on the road of recovering… slow, but I am sure we can get there eventually, there has been a minimal increase in your plasma counts, and platelets, but not much to say you can return to handling sharp objects… I am hoping you’re not, Master Jiaoqiu, and you have no signs of Lycanthropy so that rules out any further conclusion of you becoming a borisin.” You explained, all while scribbling on his patient forms that would be sent back to Cauldron master Lingsha, and further approval by Head Alchemist on the Yaoqing, Yingyue. “With this, I would like you to be placed on a higher dose of anti-inflammatories, to help reduce the swelling in your wounds. That, or need I remind you that you are not to ingest spicy foods, Master Jiaoqiu.” You slowly raised a brow at him as he turned to you, pulling out his fan that was underneath his alchemy commission uniform that he had removed so you could treat his injuries. He delicately fanned himself a few times, before hiding his lips behind the coloured feathers. 

“I would never betray the doctors’ words, no knives or spicy food here. Are you insinuating that your patient ingested spicy foods? Y/N you wound me… I would never,” He stated with a cunning smile pulling at his lips behind that fan, his tail swaying behind him as he took in the results of his examination. “But is it really my fault that Moze had hotpot, I couldn’t turn down such a request, even Feixiao was there.” He soon added, nodding his head innocently as his ears twitched in your direction. 

“So you did have Spicy food, is that what you're telling me?” You pressed, raising a brow as he kept fanning himself, concealing his smile. 

“I never said that, I just said that Moze might have offered it to me. But as such a good patient, I never touched a drop. I instead had to sit and watch my so-called friends enjoy a hotpot in front of me, it was quite cruel, really…” His fluffy ears drooped down, as he dramatically acted as if it had taken a toll on him that he couldn’t have some. Your expression fell into a deadpanned glare as he kept innocently fanning himself, humming all innocently, you knew that this sly foxian had made the hotpot himself and threw the blame at Moze to get off any kind of lecture. You feigned a sigh in defeat as you allowed him to win at his little game, “Alright, whatever the patient says… but know your slight increase of white blood cells, and redness on your laceration tells me otherwise,” You simply pointed out as you began working on removing the now loosened bandages around his shoulders and chest, you had seen your fair share of injuries and wounds, but the deep claw marks along his chest with lingering parts of decaying flesh seemed to leave a deep pang in your heart… reading about his injuries were bad enough, but seeing them in person was just as bad. 

The audacity he had as he simply hummed in reply and with a nonchalant shrug, “I have no idea what you’re insinuating here, doctor,” He added, placing his fan down to reveal that sly fox-like grin, as he lifted his head proudly, more so that you could work on his wounds better. But upon sensing your concern with his wounds, Jiaoqiu slowly fell into silence as he turned away, “This is nothing. I can handle this, there is no need to look at me with… pity.” 

You felt an all-familiar annoyance stir inside you as if small flicking flames lapped at the insides of your chest as your movements slowed down, “It isn’t pity… it was concern Jiaoqiu when the incident reports were handed to us, it was worrying… especially when there was no news or context from the Luofu. I knew something was covered up, and it involved Hoolay, something for sure went wrong… it may not be my place to ask what happened, but… You shouldn’t bare yourself to a wolf's fangs… and ingest Tumbleweed… even if you had a plan.” you whispered, gripping the bundle of bandages in your hands that you had removed, “You could have died, then what-” 

“I would have died fulfilled and content, Y/N.” He cut her off, a heavy sigh ruminating from his chest as he still refused to face you entirely, his brow furrowing in annoyance as he refused to accept your concern for him. 

“Would you really say that?” You pressed, your shoulders slouching as you continued to remove the last of the bandages to fully observe the wound in its entirety. Yet unlike before, you weren’t phased, instead, your heart simply felt like it was crumbling at his words. However, Jiaoqiu remained silent when you pressed him, his ears folding back a tad, it was a sign that you were right in some way. Despite the deafening silence, you continued to work on him, applying the Pathovore Bugs onto the rotting parts of his wounds, all while she delicately ran her scalpel over the unhealthy flesh to promote excess skin growth. Jiaoqiu grunted softly, leaning back onto his arms as he tried to push himself through the uncomfortable sensation, he didn’t want to be seen as weak or vulnerable, even though he was the one knocking on death's door. Yet his stubbornness to admit anything or the fact that for once he required treatment was unyielding, even when he was in pain. 

The silence continued to hover between them, once playful banter turned to a darkened cloud of tension, but, Jiaoqiu managed to face Y/N once more, parting his lips as he tried to find the words to say something, “Why do you care so much. Don’t they say laying your life out on the path of the hunt is a blessing…?” He managed to whisper out, his voice almost weak and one could even say vulnerable. Y/N glanced up, but unlike the look of annoyance or a frown, she offered him a compassionate gaze, “We are both healers, different kinds sure, but in the end, we are here to help those in need. I know you have lost many patients, as have I… I may not have been through or seen what you have on the Front Lines… but we share the same burdens of what we do is the right thing…” Your voice was soft, yet anyone could hear the way your words seemed to break through the ragged breaths you took in as you tried to formulate each word with sincerity, “But… we… no, you shouldn’t allow yourself to go through such measures… General Feixiao is already strong on her own, and your patient can only go as far as they can if their healer is also healthy, I have seen too many people die over nothing to claim they did so in the name of The Hunt… but it felt like they were throwing themselves away.” 

You gently removed the bugs, placing them in a glass beaker as you kept talking, “As I said… I don’t know what happened on the Luofu… but I know, you shouldn’t have risked yourself at such a high stake. There is always an alternative, another way to do things, picking the dangerous path isn’t always the right way.” You whispered, head now falling downwards as your ears drooped once more. You had seen so many soldiers come back from the battlefields injured and proclaiming proudly that if they died, they did so for The Aeon Lan, but, it more so felt like they were throwing themselves at the denizens of Abundance without another thought of a better strategy. Y/N slowly bit on her bottom lip as she continued with the treatment by applying liberal amounts of the ointment onto his wounds, before securely wrapping them up in bandages. 

During the quiet moment as Y/N worked, Jiaoqiu found himself sighing once more, shaking his head as his expression softened slightly to that of contentment. “You might have been right, I could have found another way… but I made it, did I not?” He replied in a lighter tone, even if you swatted his side with the flick of your fluffy tail, “You’re just as reckless as the Merlin’s Claw, she is rubbing off on you. You know… there would be a lot of people upset if you had died… I am sure even Moze would be upset in his way… you may have been fulfilled as you say, but what about the others that care for you?” you added, making sure that each one of his wounds was fully covered, before you soon sat back in your chair, your mind also wanted to add ‘what about me?’ yet, you didn���t. The Foxian offered you a sad smile, as he turned to the direction of the pot plant, “You’re not wrong, Y/N.” He reluctantly whispered, his voice holding a sense of vulnerability yet again, each word spoken like a prayer, with an ear twitch he turned back to you, this time with a more genuine smile.

“I am sure you would have been deeply hurt. To think during your training you said you hated me and my spicy food you could smell from a mile away…” His demeanour shifted to his usual self, sly and jabbing, which seemed to stir you up, evident as your tail swished around in annoyance as you finished up with his wounds, giving him the space he needed to change back into his clothes. “Stop being snarky… you seriously need to take better care of yourself.” You huffed as you turned to clean your instruments, all while he resumed fanning his delicate face once more, his soft pink hair flowing with each motion of his fan as he continued that same mocking smile. “I know. I can’t promise anything.” He hummed, for once he spoke truthfully, “But, I will do my best, I have no guarantees.” 

“That's all I wanted to hear, Jiaoqiu.” Your shoulders eased up and relaxed at his words, her heart feeling ever so lighter. 

“You know, you dropped the formalities halfway, this is quite intimate, Y/N, I am almost flattered, after many years and now you call me by my name and not Master Jiaoqiu,” As usual he tried his best to get under your skin, still calmly fanning himself. He expected you to retaliate or shoot back another snarky comment, yet you did something that surprised him… You gently hugged him, wrapping your arms around his lower torso to avoid touching his wound, as much as he wanted to open his eyes in surprise, the Foxian instead felt his expression melt into a soft fondness, one that wasn’t all that often seen. “You were that worried?” He finally admitted, moving one of his hands to delicately brush against your back soothingly. 

“Just promise me you will be more careful next time,” you whispered faintly, near one of his long ears that twitched at your words, his tail swaying side-to-side. 

“I can’t guarantee anything… but, if I get hugged like this, I might consider it.” He purred, still fanning the two of you with his fan, blissfully unaware of the edge of the fan catching a lit with the sizzling of fire lapping at the tips. Jiaoqiu quickly moved the fan to stop the fire from continuing with a silent huff of annoyance, “Maybe we could even go for some hotpot sometime?” 

You wanted to say he wasn’t allowed spicy food, but you were content from his words, you simply hoped that one day, he would take your words to heart, if not for your own sake, but maybe for those that were close to him…

[areislol]

‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤfox's devotion

pairings. m!kitsune x gn! reader

warnings. slight yandere tendecies, nothing too much, proof-read. set in ancient japan. kitsune wears a yishang despite it beingset in japan so don't mind that.

a/n. i love fox hybrids :') if there are any mistakes please let me know!

wordcount. 2.1k

the quiet forests of the yamashiro mountains were no place for a lone traveller, especially with the whispers of mischievous spirits haunting the winds. but you had no choice.

you were sent to retrieve herbs for your ailing grandmother, and the rarest ones only grew in the deep woods, where mortals dared not venture.

the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the dense trees as you carefully made your way along the narrow path. you’d heard the stories—how travelers would be lured off their paths by strange lights or laughing voices, never to be seen again.

kitsune were the most feared, ancient fox spirits with the power to trick even the wisest of sages.

but you didn’t believe in such tales… at least, not until you met him.

it started with laughter—soft, melodic, but undeniably playful. the moment you heard it, you stopped in your tracks, eyes darting around for the source. there was no one in sight, but you felt a presence, something watching you from the trees.

“h—hello?” you called out hesitantly, gripping your basket tighter.

more laughter, closer this time. the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, and before you could react, a figure appeared before you. he seemed to materialize from the mist itself—standing tall, his molten silver hair cascading down his back in waves that seem to shimmer under the moonlight, as if alive with an ethereal glow.

his sharp, golden eyes, reminiscent of a predator, lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. every movement he makes is smooth, graceful, and effortless, as though he’s one with the very wind itself.

he’s draped in yishang, its silken fabric flowing around him in delicate layers. the garment, though traditional, carries a mysterious air, its texture almost too smooth, too fluid, as if it was woven from the very essence of the night.

even when the air is still, his robes sway gently, giving him an otherworldly presence, like a mirage that could vanish at any moment. and when he smiled, his sharp teeth gleamed in the fading sunlight.

but the most striking feature? the nine tails that swayed lazily behind him.

a kitsune.

“you seem lost, little human,” he purred, his voice as smooth as silk. his lips curled into a sly smile. “or perhaps… you’re just looking for a bit of company?”

your heart raced as you stepped back, your mind screaming at you to run, but something about his gaze rooted you to the spot. he was beautiful—dangerously so—and the playful tilt of his head as he regarded you made you feel like prey.

“i—i’m not lost,” you stammered, trying to sound braver than you felt. “i’m just gathering herbs.”

the kitsune’s eyes gleamed with amusement, and he took a step closer, his movements graceful and almost predatory. “ah, how noble of you,” he said, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “but these woods are no place for a delicate thing like you. it’s dangerous.”

“i’ll be fine,” you insisted, though your voice wavered. you tried to sidestep him, but he blocked your path effortlessly, his tails flicking with amusement.

“i can’t let you wander around like that,” he said, his smile widening as he leaned in, his voice a low, teasing whisper. “what if something happened to you? i’d feel terribly guilty.”

you frowned, trying to put some distance between you, but his presence seemed to fill the entire space, surrounding you. his scent—like wildflowers and something musky—invaded your senses, making it hard to think clearly.

“i don’t need your help,” you said firmly, taking another step back. “i’ll manage on my own.”

the kitsune’s expression darkened for just a moment, his eyes flashing dangerously before returning to their playful glint. “oh, but i insist,” he purred, circling you slowly. “i can’t leave such a lovely human alone in these woods, after all. it wouldn’t be right.”

without warning, he vanished in a puff of mist, reappearing behind you in the blink of an eye. you gasped, spinning around to face him, but his long fingers had already wrapped around your wrist, gentle but unyielding.

“let me go,” you demanded, trying to pull free, but his grip only tightened, his golden eyes locking onto yours with a fierce intensity.

“why would i ever do that?” he murmured, his voice low and possessive. “you’ve captured my interest, human. i’ve been watching you for some time now.”

your heart pounded in your chest. “what do you mean?”

the kitsune’s lips curled into a smirk, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “i’ve seen you… in the village, tending to your family, always so kind, so sweet. you didn’t know, but i’ve been waiting for you. and now that i have you…” his grip on your wrist tightened slightly, just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“i’m not letting you go.”

you swallowed hard, feeling your pulse race under his touch. “i… i’m just a healer. there’s nothing special about me.”

the kitsune chuckled softly, his tails swaying behind him like flickering flames. “oh, but you are special. you see, humans are so fragile, so fleeting… and yet, you’ve managed to catch my attention.”

his words sent a chill down your spine. "i don’t belong to you,” you said firmly, though your voice trembled slightly.

the kitsune’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, the playful mask he wore slipped, revealing something far more dangerous beneath. "right."

you tried to pull away again, but he was faster, his arms wrapping around you in an almost crushing embrace, his nine tails curling around your body like chains. his face was inches from yours, his golden eyes burning with an intensity that left you breathless.

“you’ll see,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “i can give you everything. power, immortality, anything you desire… as long as you stay by my side.”

your heart pounded in your chest, your mind racing for a way out, but the more you struggled, the tighter his grip became. he wasn’t going to let you go.

“i don’t need power or immortality,” you said through gritted teeth, refusing to let him see your fear. “i just need to get the herbs and be on my way.”

the kitsune tilted his head, his smile returning, though it was far more sinister now. “you’ll learn to love me,” he said softly, his voice filled with dark promise. “i’ll make sure of it.”

before you could respond, he leaned in, his lips sfotly brushing the edge of his lips, the heat of his body pressed against yours, and for a moment, you felt yourself slipping into the depths of his obsession.

but you weren’t ready to give in. not yet.

with all the strength you could muster, you shoved him back, breaking the kiss and stumbling away from him, your chest heaving.

"wha—what do you think you're doing!?" you exclaimed, cheeks flustered. that was your first kiss!! and he just took it so casually!!

the kitsune stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before his smile returned.

“feisty,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming with approval. “i like that.”

and with that, he vanished into the mist, his laughter echoing through the trees.

but you knew this wasn’t over.

it had been days since your encounter with the kitsune in the forest. though you managed to escape his immediate grasp, his presence lingered in every corner of your mind.

his laughter echoed in your thoughts, and you often felt his eyes watching, even when you were alone.

you tried to go about your daily life, but the eerie sensation never left you. every shadow, every rustle of leaves, felt like him—waiting, lurking, ready to reappear.

and, as you feared, he did.

you had returned to your village, thinking maybe being surrounded by people would keep him at bay. but even within the walls of your modest home, with your grandmother sleeping soundly in the next room, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched.

the silence of the night was thick and oppressive, and the flickering light of the oil lamp seemed to dance in the windless air.

suddenly, you heard it—soft footsteps outside, impossibly light yet unmistakable. you froze, your heart pounding in your chest. it was him. you knew it.

“don’t,” you whispered to yourself, but your feet moved on their own, leading you to the door.

the moment you slid it open, the cool night air hit you, and there he stood—leaning against the entrance, his golden eyes glowing under the moonlight, the tips of his tails barely visible in the shadows.

“miss me?” he purred, his voice laced with amusement, though there was a hunger in his gaze that made your skin prickle.

“i told you to leave me alone,” you said, your voice more confident than you felt. “i don’t want anything to do with you.”

his smile faltered for a split second before returning, though now it held a dangerous edge. “you keep saying that, little one, but you don’t really mean it.” he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “i can feel it. i can feel how your heart races when i’m near.”

lord, did he have to say that outloud?

his presence was overwhelming—suffocating, like he was weaving a web around you with every movement, every word.

“Iive been patient,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone. “but my patience is wearing thin. i’ve watched you every night, waiting… and now, i’m done waiting.”

you took a shaky step back, speaking up. “you don’t own me,” you said, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. “i’m not yours...”

in an instant, his hand was against the wall beside your head, trapping you. his nine tails fanned out behind him, glowing faintly in the moonlight as if reacting to his emotions.

“oh, but you are,” he whispered, leaning in so close you could feel his breath against your skin. “you were mine the moment i laid eyes on you. and now, no matter what you say, i’m not letting you go.”

your heart raced, your mind spinning as his words sunk in. there was no reasoning with him, no escape from his obsession. he truly believed that you belonged to him.

turning your head away from him you shook your head, "absolutely not!! i will not be your prisoner!" you hissed, trying to ignore the flutter of fear and something far more dangerous creeping into your chest.

the kitsune chuckled softly, his fingers gently tilting your chin back toward him. “prisoner? no, no, no… i don’t want to trap you. i want to protect you. keep you safe from the world that doesn’t deserve you.”

his words, so tender yet possessive, made your stomach twist. he leaned in closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch deceptively gentle. “i’ll give you everything you need,” he whispered. “i’ll care for you in ways no human ever could.”

“and if I say no?” you asked, your voice barely more than a breath. you hated how weak you sounded, how difficult it was to stand your ground when he was so close, so overwhelming.

his golden eyes narrowed, his smile fading ever so softly. “you won’t say no.” his voice was soft, but the warning was clear.

before you could react, he pressed his lips to yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. his hands, now gently cupping your face, were trembling slightly—as if holding back some deeper, more dangerous impulse. his tails coiled around your body, binding you to him as if to remind you that there was no escape.

you tried to pull away, but the kiss deepened, his lips moving with an intensity that stole your breath. it wasn’t just a kiss—it was a claim, a promise, a binding of your very soul to his.

when he finally pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes glowed with triumph. “you feel it too, don’t you?” he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin. “that pull between us. you can’t deny it forever.”

you stared up at him, your heart pounding in your chest, torn between fear, confusion, and something far more dangerous—something that threatened to draw you in.

his touch, his words, his very presence, seemed to wrap around you like a spell.

this was bad.

without another word, he stepped back, the cool air filling the space between you once more. his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he vanished into the night, his form dissolving into mist, leaving you breathless and shaken.

he would return. he always would. after all, he had already decided—you were his, he was yours, and there was no escaping a fox’s devotion.

[pinkydevil16]

Kamisama Kiss

Tomoe x Land God! Reader

18+

Tomoe was seething, to think this incipit child was to be his new God? This weak, fragile human girl was believed to be worthy of Him? He scoffed as she scratched her head awkwardly, confused as the spirits explained her role.

"Look guys, i don't know what's going on if i'm honest. Some guy kissed my head and suddenly i was here. I didn't sign up to be a God but i do really need a place to stay." Tomoe could feel his aura grow dark as he stepped forward, taking a deep breath of his pipe and blowing it in her face before speaking.

"You are not worthy of Mikage's Shrine. Leave now." Y/n let out a small laugh and shook her head.

"Sorry, no can do. I'm sort of between places and Mikage? I assume offered me to stay here for a while, so as much as i would love to run out of here because you are giving off some bad energy right now i really need somewhere to stay. I just got evicted so." Tomoe turned and left in huff, swiping his claws to open a portal and disappeared before Y/n could say anything else.

"Well...i guess i can stay for a little bit then? Who was that?" Y/n mumbled, one of the spirits answered enthusiastically.

"That's Tomoe! He's a fox yokai, a very powerful one and he was Mikage's familiar before he left. He's spent the last 20 years looking after the shrine since Mikage abandoned us." Y/n contemplated for a moment as she looked around, the Shrine was in perfect condition, it was beautiful even. He must have put a lot of time and energy into making it so spotless.

"So what would happen if i accepted this whole Land God thing?" The spirits almost cried as they begged Y/n to stay, pulling at her arms as they tugged her inside.

"You would be an amazing mistress! You will help others, going through prayers and helping the earth grow! Please Miss Y/n stay." Y/n could feel how calming the Shrine was as they showed her each room, including Tomoe's which was almost bare compared to the many other rooms.

"This is all the prayers Master Tomoe has written in the last 20 years in preparation for Mikage's arrival." Y/n was stumped as she stared at the well organised piles, there must have been thousands, no tens of thousands, filed by year. The first 10 years were filled to the brim, but the last two had dwindled to only a few hundred compared to the magnitude of the beginning.

"He's been doing all of this? Alone?" The spirits nodded as Y/n walked around, her hands touching Prayers, feeling the pure devotion within them as she read some.

"Why did he not leave?" Her voice came out as a whisper as she stared at his handwriting, it was beautiful, just like the Shrine.

"He didn't want to abandon the Shrine, he hoped one day Mikage would come back. At first he was sad but then he accepted it, when he sensed your presence he was angry thinking you were Mikage." Y/n nodded along, placing down the prayer before turning to the spirits.

"Well then, if he can have that much passion perhaps i can borrow some from him and try to assist yes?" The spirits cheered as they showed Y/n all her jobs, the first being cleaning, which much to Y/n's chagrin was a long winded chore but once she finished she felt accomplished.

"What next?" Y/n worked day and night for three days before she finally dropped into her bed, having only cat naps before now she snuggled into her blanket and tried to sleep but it was no use. She knew there was more to do, how Tomoe had been doing this alone for 20 years was astounding and now she felt guilty for passing off being Land God and only concentrating on not being homeless, she'd essentially invaded his home and now he was out somewhere alone again. Forcing herself up she stretched her body, she knew what she needed to do.

"Onikiri, where is Tomoe?" The spirit appeared, with shining eyes as they explained that he was in the yokai world.

"Please take me to him."

Tomoe was lounging on a futon, the front of his Komodo barely held together as he drank sake, beautiful yokai around him as they fawned over his beauty.

"Tomoe. It's Y/n, may i enter?" Tomoe's ears spiked up as the silk draping separating him from the other yokai parted and Y/n entered, her hands sheepishly hidden behind her as she looked down.

"What do you want?" Y/n sighed as she heard the hatred in his voice but she could not find it in herself to respond harshly back, looking up she gave him a sad smile.

"I am sorry for how i acted, you have kept the Shrine in beautiful condition and i came in with such a selfish outlook. Please forgive me and return to your home." Y/n bowed, her hair covering her face as she stared at her trainers, keeping her pride pushed down.

Tomoe scoffed, letting out a mocking laugh as the other yokai laughed with him. Y/n jolted up and watched as he took another deep breath of his pipe and once again blew it in her face as he had the first day he met her.

"My my, what a pitiful human you are coming here to beg me to return because you cannot handle the work of being a God!" Y/n clenched her hands and bit her tongue as he taunted her, drinking his sake as one of the yokai women ran her hand inside his open Komodo, her long nails striking against his pale skin.

"Be gone useless woman, i do not call that place my home nor do i wish to return to such a horrid life. I am now free to do as i please, including eating you if you continue to enrage me." Y/n could now feel her eyebrow ticking as she tried to contain her anger but his words were too much.

"You ungrateful fox! I came here to try to make amends, so that you would feel comfortable to come back not because i am unable to look after the Shrine! You want to stay here and drown your sorrows in booze and women then do whatever you want you...you...argh!" Y/n shouted and stormed out, unable to come up with a good insult in her anger, leaving Tomoe's eyes wide before he gripped the woman's hand and dragged it off his chest. He was now intrigued, to speak to a powerful yokai such as himself with no fear for her life was almost admirable. He felt an almost guilty twang in his chest as he thought of her storming through the village, the mark on her forehead a target whilst she most likely drew more attention to herself with her anger. Sighing he stood, if she was to find her demise atleast he could watch.

"That damned stupid fox! Who does he think he is huh?" Y/n let out a huff as the spirits tried to talk her down.

"Please go back to Master Tomoe, it is not safe for you out here." Y/n turned around quickly and pointed where she'd just left.

"Did that sound safe? That arrogant asshole said he's eat me! He should be glad i didn't take a bite out of him to show him i'm not afraid of some yokai."

"You're not afraid of Yokai Land God?" Y/n turned slowly, a large Yokai in front of her as he grinned maliciously down at her, Y/n was engulfed in his shadow as he cracked his knuckles.

"Seriously am i cursed?" Y/n asked herself before stepping back, pivoting and running away from the large Yokai as he let out a bellowing laugh and chased her.

"Come back here delicious girl, you look so scrumptious, i just want to taste those legs." Y/n shivered in disgust as she heard him get closer, darting to the left as he lept at her, his claw dragging along her calf as she let out a loud cry falling forward. The Yokai made a loud crash as he hit the ground, skidding a few feet forward allowing Y/n time to get up and continue her running.

"Oh my, aren't you in trouble now Y/n?" Tomoe taunted as he laid on his fox fire, hovering next to her as she glared at him.

"What do you want?" Y/n huffed out as she hid behind a tree trying to catch her breath as the Yokai ran past her. Tomoe grinned as he leaned closer, his face so close to hers as he inhaled the sweet smell of her fear.

"If you want my help all you have to do is admit you are incompetent and unable to protect yourself and i the Great Tomoe will help you." Y/n let out a scoff as she pushed him back, slowly creeping around the tree trying to spot the Yokai but it appeared she had outsmarted him.

"Fat chance fox face, you're not here to help me, you're here to gloat. If you care so little for the Shrine and the spirits who reside within it then just leave. I don't need your pity." Y/n began walking back where she came from hoping to find her lovely spirits and hopefully get back to the Shrine in time to do the days prayers.

"There you are girly." Y/n turned seeing the large Yokai come back, shrieking she jumped away as he swiped out at her side, the Yokai snarling as she hurried to climb a tree. His large claws coming down just below her legs as she gripped the branches and climbed higher, her hand covered in scratches and splinters as she fought for her life.

"Leave me alone!" Y/n screamed as he shook the tree, her hands clutching the oak as hard as she could to try to stay on the highest branch away from him.

"Come on Y/n, just say it, beg me to help you and i'll seal the contract." Y/n shook her head as Tomoe purred in her ear, enjoying how fearful she was of falling.

"No! I won't beg you to care for me!" Y/n slipped slightly, her trainer dropping into the Yokai's mouth as he moaned and began clawing at the tree harder.

"I can taste the sweetness of fear on your clothes Land God, fall down and let me devour you. I promise it will hurt." Y/n let out a cry as her leg slipped, the cut along her calf scraping against the bark as she dug her nails in. Tomoe was now beginning to panic as she shook her head, she was barely holding on but her pride would not let her be belittled by him.

"Just say the damn words human and i will rescue you!" Tomoe growled as Y/n slipped more, one of her legs gripping the branch tightly as her other dangled just out of reach of the Yokai, but her grip was not good, her naked thigh didn't have enough friction to hold her body up as she slipped further. Tears now poured out her eyes as she scrambled to climb higher but the burn on her inner thigh and the blood dripping from the cut on her calf was hitting her full force as she looked up at Tomoe.

"Please look after the Shrine." Y/n begged as she finally slipped, her eyes wide as she fell quickly, the Yokai's mouth wide as he laughed, Tomoe moved faster than light diving down and catching her. His flames engulfing the Yokai as Y/n's body snapped in his arms, the wind knocked out her lungs as she cried in pain at the sudden resistance. Her eyes staring up at Tomoe as he looked over her, one of her hands gripping his neck before he could stop her as her lips sealed over his and the contract was sealed. Tomoe's eyes closed as he felt her soft lips press against his, he knew this is what he had unconsciously wanted, when he took the plunge and rescued her he had made that decision for himself. However as he felt the shackles fall onto his wrists, and his body entwine with hers, his previous decision weighed heavily on him as she parted too soon for his liking.

"Thank you Tomoe. I'm so tired." Y/n's body gave out as Tomoe smelt the sweet scent of her blood, it was along his Komodo as he looked over her injuries, he could feel the exhaustion in her body as he shook his head and returned to the Shrine.

Y/n woke up groaning in pain, her head pounded and legs felt weak as she pulled back her blanket. Her skirt and top were now replaced with an oversized shirt, her legs both wrapped as well as her inner thigh and palms. As she stared in confusion she suddenly recalled the previous events and went bright red, holding her face as she dropped her head and tried to control her breathing. She'd forced Tomoe into a contract, not just a contract but a kiss, her first kiss. Oh gods her first kiss was with that damned fox, she hoped he wasn't too angry. Getting up she winced as she pulled the shirt down, it was her own from her small bag of belongings, looking around she found a pair of pyjama bottoms and pulled the door open. Wiping her eyes she could feel the blisters on the backs of her feet pulling as she walked towards the kitchen smelling food as she took a deep breath and sighed at the comforting aroma.

"You are awake." Y/n humped as she opened her eyes to Tomoe stood before her, a tray with soup, rice and a dark green drink in his hands as he looked down at her with scrutiny. She felt a shiver run down her back as she nodded, voice caught in her throat as she stared at his lips recalling how they fit against hers. Gulping she shook her head and awkwardly scratched her neck.

"Morning Tomoe, i hope you're okay. I'm just going to use the toilet and then i'll continue with my chores." Y/n was stopped as Tomoe almost growled out his words.

"You fragile human, you are covered in cuts and wounds, you almost died yesterday and you are now rejecting the healing process. Go back to bed before i drag you in there." Y/n yelped as his tail smacked her calf reminding her of how they throbbed the longer she stood.

"Sorry." Y/n spoke sheepishly, turning around and walking back to the room she had woken up in, she could hear Tomoe following her as she sped up, ignoring the pain in her legs as she opened the door and sat back on the futon.

"Good girl." Y/n felt her face heat up as she felt an unfamiliar rush in her stomach.

"Don't..don't say that." Tomoe's face changed into a smirk as he placed the tray down and crouched beside his Mistress, his clawed hand gripping her chin as he forced her to look at him.

"Why not Mistress? Do you not want praise for following instructions?" Y/n gulped as he teased her, her nose wrinkling as she pulled her head free and tucked her legs into her chest.

"You don't need to call me that. I don't need praise." Tomoe's grin turned cat like as he tutted, taking a seat and lounging beside Y/n, placing a hand on her knee and pulling them back down before he brought the tray to her lap.

"But when my Mistress is so obedient how can i not praise her." Tomoe continued his teasing, enjoying how she blushed a deeper shade but didn't dare to look away. Y/n used a hand to push her hair back before smirking back at him, reaching over and placing a hand between his ears, fussing his hair and running his fluffy ear between her fingers as he too turned a deep red and jerked back.

"Thank you for looking after me, good boy Tomoe." Y/n mocked back causing Tomoe to sneer at her before his eyes turned to slits and he stood.

"Eat your meal and restore your health, you are neglecting your Land God duties." His voice was low as he walked out, Y/n letting a small giggle out.

"Will do." Y/n chirped as she picked up the chopsticks and placed veggies in her mouth, moaning lightly at the warm soothing broth that coated them, placing down the chopsticks and collecting a spoon to fully indulge.

"This is amazing, i need Tomoe to teach me how to cook." Y/n praised as she drank some more of the hearty soup, gushing over Tomoe's cooking as he stood by the door listening to her as she did so blissfully unaware of his presence. His nail spiked as she praised him, his ears twitched and tried to control his thoughts. He knew praise from your Mistress/Master was always a nice feeling, when Mikage had praised him it made him beam with pride but this feeling was different, it made his whole body stand straight and the urge to make her say it over and over was deeply rooted in his soul. Tutting he walked away, he was not some silly familiar who would be taken control of so easily, not like the pathetic ones who would beg their masters for attention. Why should he, the great Tomoe, need attention from a silly girl like Y/n.

Y/n placed the tray beside her before standing, she felt exhausted both mentally and physically but she could feel the grease in her hair, probably blood and tree sap aswell based on all her wounds. Exiting the room she found the bath house quickly, turning the hot water on as a sweet aroma filled the room, inhaling she sighed out before undressing. Staring in the mirror she took in all the bandages wrapped around her body and winced, slowly unwrapping herself she touched the bruises on her thighs and legs, aswell as the lighter ones on her upper arms from holding the tree.

"Good job Y/n, do a full number on yourself 2 days before you have school. Guess i'll be wearing dark tights to hide these." Rolling her neck she felt it crack as she let out a satisfied moan, checking the water she looked around and grabbed shampoo and conditioner. Climbing in she let out a pained groan as she lowered her aching legs into the hot water until she was fully submerged and able to lay back. Laying still for a few minutes as she felt her muscles relax and a tension headache roll in from her beaten body.

Y/n cleaned her body thoroughly, her hair finally felt soft and silky once more as she braided it out her face whilst it dried, sat on the side of the bath as she dried her legs. She felt rejuvenated, granted the bath didn't contain healing powers where she came out brand new but she wasn't as achey and sore compared to when she woke up. Wrapping a towel around her body she began looking through the cupboards for some moisturiser, anything that would bring her skin back to life and get the bruises to heal quicker.

"What are you doing?" Y/n let out a scream as she stumbled back and into Tomoe's chest, his clawed hands catching her waist as she looked up at him horrified and clutched at her towel. Stumbling over her words she tried to pull away, turning around as he gently let her go, her face now pink and eyes wide before her face changed to anger and she placed a hand on her hip.

"What am i doing? What are you doing you pervert! Why are you in here?" Y/n's voice grew louder as Tomoe's tail whipped behind him, his hands together in his kimono a steely look in his eyes as his ear twitched at the insinuation.

"I am not a pervert Y/n, you should not have taken your bandages off and now i need to tend to your wounds again. Sit and i shall put some ointment on and wrap them." Y/n blushed harder as the mental image of Tomoe on his knees, touching her leg and thigh popped into her head.

"N-no thank you! I can do it myself." Tomoe raised an eyebrow and shook his head, leaning down and picking Y/n up as she squirmed and panicked, her hands coming to hold down the towel as best she could.

"Tomoe! I'm not wearing underwear! You are a pervert!" Tomoe ran his hand up and down the back of her knee, keeping them from going too high as he kept his head straight and didn't look at how the towel formed around her thighs.

"My Lady i would never disgrace you in such a way, i simply wish to look after you as is my sworn duty per the contract you sealed me into." Y/n shut her mouth as she held down her towel, her face now bright red and her ears burning from embarrassment, she had only been a God 5 days and wasn't sure if this was normal for a familiar to do or if Tomoe was truly a perverted fox. Tomoe placed her on a stool, her hands coming to grip her towel as Tomoe exited and entered within moments, a basket in his hands as he crouched in front of her.

"Tomoe, i need to put some underwear on and a top." Tomoe bent down, ignoring Y/n as he dipped his hand into the ointment and raised her foot, Y/n grunted as his cool hands ran along her legs and up her thighs before he reached the towel and stopped. His eyes stayed on his hands as he ran them back down and Y/n let out a low moan at the pressure against her muscles and massaged the knots out slowly.

"Tomoe..." Y/n groaned out as she closed her eyes and enjoyed how his claws grazes her legs tenderly, his hands leaving one leg to collect more ointment and return to the other, Y/n sighing as she felt her stomach warm and hands clench the stool to hold herself up.

"I'm going to do your inner thighs Y/n, i won't look i promise." Y/n's eyes snapped open as Tomoe stared downwards, his fingers dipping into ointment before he gingerly spread her legs, one of her hands coming to cover herself as she blushed dark red and shivered at his hand touching her knee and slowly pushing higher until his claws almost touched her hips. Rubbing along her inner thighs he held his breath, her skin so soft and pliable under his hands, this wasn't his first time touching them but before she had been in her skirt and underwear. Hidden from him, now if he were to look up he would see her, open for him and only him but he would never destroy her trust in such a way, not his Mistress. Y/n couldn't stop staring at his hands as they dipped below the towel and out, his claws tickling her hips as she bit her lip and tried to remind herself he was only doing this to heal her, not for his or her pleasure.

"Are you okay Y/n? You are so red." Tomoe's voice was full of concern as he inhaled the sweet smell of her arousal, pushing her thighs back together as he looked up at her.

"Y-yes, sorry i'm just not used to being looked after." Tomoe stood slowly, bowing to Y/n before collecting his basket.

"It will be best to air your bruises and cuts then we will bandage them tomorrow for support when you walk." Y/n nodded, her mouth unnaturally dry as she stared at his back before the door closed behind him. Letting out a deep breath she placed a hand on her forehead and willed her body to cool down, standing on shaky legs as she dressed in her pjs and climbed under her blanket.

Tomoe laid on his futon, his pipe in hand as he sipped on his sake, his eyes closed and mind reeling as he recalled how her skin felt under his touch, how she had moaned ever so slightly. How she'd spoken his name in such an unholy way he was sure her title of God had wavered even for a second at the sound. His control was slipping too quick, he had only been her familiar a day, a singular day and he was willing to drop to his knees and serve her in every sense of the word. His tail bristled as he parted his kimono to cool his body, lying back as he stared at the ceiling and took a deep breath of his pipe.

The weekend flew by, with Y/n regaining her strength and attending to the Shrine as much as her familiar would allow, which meant she was allowed to sit and read Prayers and practice talismans. When she had deemed she was healed enough to put the ointment on her own legs Tomoe had all but forced her to sit down and accept it was his job. When monday rolled around Y/n was dressed for school, dark tights covering the bruises and half healed cuts, her shirt buttoned and tucked into her skirt as she pulled on her blazer and adjusted her bow. Brushing her hair she stared at herself in the mirror, she hadn't been in school for over a week now and was prepared for the immature response from other students.

"Where are you going?" Y/n turned as Tomoe stood behind her, giving him a small smile she turned back to the mirror and continued to brush her hair trying to decide what to do with it.

"School. I only have a few months left and i'll be able to graduate." Tomoe glared at Y/n before taking the brush and slowly detangling her hair before placing it down and running his fingers through her hair, claws grazing her head as she closed her eyes and enjoyed how calming it was.

"You should not go alone. It is not safe for a Land God to be unprotected. I shall come with you." Y/n barely registered what she said as she agreed, too relaxed as he braided her hair and placed a hair pin in, taking his hands away as she opened her eyes and gasped at her hair. It framed her face beautifully and the jewel in the hair pin matched her eyes uncannily.

"Where did you get this? It is beautiful." Y/n didn't dare touch her hair but hovered her hand over it as she moved closer to the mirror astonished by how quickly and well he'd arranged her hair. Tomoe preened at the praise, his ears twitching as he smiled proudly, transforming himself into a 'human', Y/n gasping as she spun and grinned at him.

"You look so human! Although i do miss your ears and tail, i can almost tell what you're thinking when you have them." Y/n pouted slightly before checking the time, her eyes widening as she grabbed Tomoe's hand and pulled him to the Shrine's exit.

"Come on i can't be late." Tomoe allowed her to pull him along, enjoying how excited she appeared for such a mundane and boring task.

Y/n sat at her desk, her head in her hand as she wrote down whatever the teacher said even if it went in one ear and out the other. She could feel Tomoe's gaze burning into the back of her head as he ignored the class in favour of remembering how soft she was, if he inhaled deeply he could smell the sweet citrus on her skin.

"Kurama!" Y/n jumped at the sudden screaming, all the girls fangirling as the door opened, smoke and lights seeming to appear as a boy walked through the door with dark red hair and eyeliner.

"Please, do not stop on account of me." Even the teacher swooned as she told him to not be silly, he was welcome to come in whenever he could, Tomoe glared at the tengu as he entered.

"You're in my seat." Y/n stared at the redhead as he hovered over her, his eyes slightly widening as he noticed the God mark on her forehead.

"Your name isn't on it." Y/n spoke back, her eyebrows knitted together as she glared at the cocky redhead, who in return cocked his head and gave her his signature smile which almost every girl swooned at. But not Y/n, instead she was more confused.

"I haven't seen you before, if you wanted my attention congratulations you have it, now why don't you move your pretty butt to another seat or take a seat on my lap if that was what you wanted from this exchange." Tomoe's claws scraped the table as he watched someone disrespect his Mistress in such a way, Y/n gave a disgusted look and stood up, her face close to Kurama as she looked up at him.

"I don't want your attention and i certainly don't want to sit on your lap so why don't you take your arrogant attitude and sit in the back." Kurama grinned as he heard his fans start mumbling and telling Y/n to move, sighing he ran a hand through his hair and spoke.

"My and i thought i was doing a fan a lovely service. I guess some people just can't take a compliment." Y/n ground her teeth as he walked away, the girls swooning at him before glaring at Y/n for being so cruel to their crush, sitting down with a huff she looked forward to see even the teacher giving her a harsh look. Rolling her eyes she looked out the window and waited for the stupid lesson to be over. She hoped that asshole wasn't in all her classes, she didn't need more eyes on her when she had Tomoe burying a hole in the back of her head already.

Y/n was exhausted, Tomoe had been non stop, telling her to avoid Kurama and the other boys in the class, he meant well since he'd scared off someone who tried to bully her. She was grateful to have him around, especially with her legs aching as she walked between classes.

"I am sorry Y/n but i need to go to the Shrine, i will return when you finish." Y/n yawned, nodding as Tomoe apologised, waving him off as she walked towards her next class.

"Well hello pretty God." Y/n froze as she entered a lone hallway, Kurama stood opposite her with a smug look, Y/n clutched her bag to her shoulder as she shook her head.

"You must have the wrong person. Move out my way i don't want to be late." Y/n went to side step him when a large black angelic looking wing covered her exit, stumbling back Y/n dropped her bag falling on her bottom.

"What the hell!" Y/n shouted as Kurama rolled his shoulders and grinned showing off his wings.

"What's wrong Y/n? Never seen a tengu before?" Y/n shook her head as she crawled back, Kurama now walking towards her slowly, his eyes on her with a piercing gaze which made her feel like prey.

"It is a shame to waste such a pretty face but if i consume you then the power i'll hold will be unimaginable, plus to be known as the fearful tengu who killed a Land God is just too much to pass up. I promise to make it quick." Y/n winced as she scrambled up, running towards the nearest exit as Kurama laughed and chased her.

"Come here bunny." Y/n yelped as she ran up the stairs, cursing herself for missing the stairs down, her legs throbbing as she threw open the roof door. Panting as she slammed it closed snd ran towards the other exit, hoping to put some distance between herself and the tengu.

"Nice try Y/n, atleast now i can take my time with you." Y/n ducked as he landed on the roof, falling on her knees as her tights ripped. Could she not have one normal day? Forcing herself up she turned to where Kurama now strode towards her too confident for her liking.

"I suggest you step back from my Mistress." Y/n felt her body be tugged backwards into warmth, an arm snaking around her waist as blue flame appeared beside her. Gasping she looked to see Tomoe, his full yokai form revealed as Kurama let out a laugh and crossed his arms.

"Well, you've got the fox watching over you? I guess today will be the day i kill a God and defeat a fox yokai then." Tomoe let out a humourless laugh as his face darkened, a talisman hitting Kurama as it turned him into an ostrich. Y/n's jaw dropped as Tomoe sent a flame after him, hearing his laugh in her ear as he pulled her even closer.

"Shall we have roast tengu for dinner Y/n?" Her jaw was still wide open as she watched Kurama run around wildly trying to avoid the fire as Tomoe laughed and mocked him. She could feel the heat from his body warming her insides, she felt so exhausted and now he was holding her up she was able to drop her weight. Tomoe stopped laughing as he picked Y/n up, cradling her legs in one hand so she could drop her head against his shoulder.

"You must be more careful Y/n, your fragile body cannot handle it." Y/n nodded before she heard a yelp, her head turning to see Kurama's tail on fire as Tomoe let out another laugh. Y/n scowled, smacking Tomoe's chest.

"Tomoe stop, he doesn't need to be killed." Tomoe ignored her as he pushed her head back into his shoulder and enjoyed Kurama panicking. Y/n pushed his hand away and grabbed his face, forcing the fox to look at her as she spoke in a forceful way.

"Do not kill him. Turn him back to normal." Tomoe felt the harsh pull of the familiar bond tugging at him as he stopped his fire and Kurama turned human. Y/n sighed as she moved her hand from his face and Tomoe wanted it instantly back, to see that fire in her eyes as she commanded him. He wished she would command him more, to feel it deep in him, the need to do what she wanted. It was addictive.

"You insolent fool, if you ever go near my Mistress again i will not be as lenient as i was today." Kurama panicked as he agreed, stumbling back as he exited the roof, leaving Tomoe and Y/n alone. The latter now barely awake as Tomoe stroked her legs, he could smell the metallic blood that seeped into her tights.

"I shall need to wash your legs and bandage them again." Y/n let out a small whine before nodding and closing her eyes.

"Am gonna just have a nap." Y/n barely spoke above a whisper, her words slurred as she slouched more into Tomoe's hold and he could hear her breathing evening out.

The next week passed quickly, Kurama apologised and decided he was going to steal Y/n's heart, whether to eat it or keep it he wasn't too sure either. Y/n's legs finally healed and Tomoe was letting himself relax more around her, allowing her to do her chores around the Shrine and he had taught her how to cook the soup she'd enjoyed so much. Her praise whilst he showed her was too much, his tail had spiked up and his body was sweating by the time he had plated up the food. It was angelic, he'd lapped it up and thoroughly enjoyed himself. Now monday rolled around once more and as Y/n stood in her uniform, this time without the black tights and knee high socks instead which frankly Tomoe was ready to force her into a longer skirt and dark tights to hide her beautiful skin.

"I must stay at the Shrine today Y/n, you should stay here too without me able to look after you that Tengu might try to harm you again." Y/n let out a laugh as she grabbed her bag, patting Tomoe on his chest with a grin.

"Don't be so silly, he's just a dramatic pop star. I'll fine, i'll see you when i get back okay?" Tomoe's eyes dropped to where her hand grazed his bare skin between the fold on his Kimono, electricity striking where her fingers touched before he felt them leave along with her out the door. Letting out a shakey breath he shook his head and regained his composure, he would not fall for a human ever again.

Y/n entered the classroom, placing her bag down before she heard the commotion, all the boys crowded around a small white snake trying to scare it away as she scowled and pushed through the crowd.

"Leave the poor thing alone!" Y/n bent down allowing the snake to wrap around her wrist as she gave it a small smile and walked towards the window, the boys in the class all making comments as she opened the window.

"Come on little guy, it's not safe here." She lowered her hand as she bent put the windowsill, the snake seemed to stare at her for a while before slowly unwrapping and landing on the soft grass. Y/n smiled as she closed the window, the snake turning and staring at her retreating figure.

"Are you okay Y/n?" One of the girls said as Y/n raised an eyebrow confused and went to answer before another girl pointed at her arm. The snake had left a red mark where it had been wrapped around and a white mark around her wrist. Tilting her head she shrugged and wiped at her skin but it stayed.

"I'm sure it's nothing." Y/n gave them a reassuring smile as she continued on her day.

Tomoe tried not to stare at the entrance of the Shrine for the whole day as he sorted through everything, dinner was boiling away and the odd miasma which had appeared that morning was now gone. Sighing he fanned himself as he saw Y/n approach, smirking he watched as she took in the beauty of Shrine as she did everyday she left, he felt honoured at how proud she was to call it her home. His eyes narrowed as she placed her hand in the water, moving quickly as he grabbed her arm causing her to gasp at his sudden appearance.

"What is this?" Y/n's eyes were wide as she yanked her arm back and crossed them, cocking her hip out as they both stared each other down.

"I helped a snake earlier and i must be allergic. I'm fine." Y/n huffed as she moved and rubbed her arm, it didn't hurt but the mark was still there although now the white mark looked more like a bracelet than an actual allergic reaction.

"That is not an allergic reaction. That is a nark of marriage!" Y/n raised an eyebrow at the angry fox as he lectured her on being careful and how he now would have to be by her side every waking moment.

"You're a very dramatic fox y'know." Y/n finally spoke in between Tomoe's lecture making his eyes snap to hers as his aura darkened, hands now inside his kimono sleeves as he glared down at her making Y/n laugh awkwardly and step back.

"What did you say?" Tomoe's voice was deep and full of threat as Y/n shot him a nervous grin.

"Nothing...the Shrine looks amazing by the way! Absolutely magnificent, have you done something new with your hair? Your ears look so fluffy and.." Tomoe huffed as he walked past Y/n, pretending her compliments and praise hadn't instantly made his anger diminish. Y/n breathed out a sigh of relief as she looked at her arm and poked at the mark.

"Why do i have to be nice?" Y/n slumped as she walked into the Shrine, smelling the lovely dinner Tomoe had prepared as she went in her room and changed into her casual clothes. She had better start making some talismans to protect herself, was this God thing ever going to get easier?

Y/n walked through the corridor, Tomoe stood beside her as he glared at any male who looked at her, it was starting to warm up luckily so Y/n's spirit had cheered up and she had easily forgotten about the marriage mark from the previous week. Tomoe however had not and every man that looked towards his Mistress was met with a fiery gaze which sent them running, it gave him great pride to see them scamper away. He had heard rumours of Y/n dating him and although Y/n had been disputing them left and right to any girl who came up to her he had only been shrugging when someone asked him. What harm would it cause for the humans to believe Y/n was his? In a way she was, just as he was her familiar, they just didn't understand that was what he was inferring too, not that he ever tried to correct them. He enjoyed how Y/n would blush and quickly try to dispute the rumour compared to his bored attitude to the question, it only furthered the idea that they were hiding their relationship.

"Hey Tomoe, i just need to use the toilet i'll be back in a minute." Y/n chirped as she waved her hand and entered the girls bathrooms, within moments a few girls came up to Tomoe, trying to steal away his attention as he reminded himself to be polite yet firm.

"Why don't you walk us home today Tomoe? Y/n said you're not together so you can do whatever you want right?" The girl said as she pressed her chest against Tomoe's arm, he tried not show his disgust as another girl played his the hem of her skirt. Were human males so easily tempted by such things?

Y/n exited the toilets as she looked around for Tomoe before seeing him with the girls who had flagged her down earlier than day in gym class, she had panicked and told them to do whatever they wanted just so she could finish changing without them crowing her. Shrugging her shoulders she decided to wait outside the building for him, if he wanted to walk one of the girls home she would find out then but she didn't want to deal with his wrath if she walked by herself and left him to walk alone. Humming to herself she watched the rain as she sat on the step, going through her notes from class when a strong wind blew a few pages towards the bushes, standing up she quickly raced to get them before they got soaked. As her hand went to reach for the paper a white clawed hand collecting the paper, looking up she stared into the pale eyes of the male holding her papers, a smile on his face that made her feel uneasy as she stepped back.

"Here you go Y/n." His voice was smooth, white hair and eyelashes but she swore she knew those eyes from somewhere, taking the paper from his hand she spoke quietly.

"Thanks..." Y/n then frowned as she looked from her paper to him in confusion.

"Wait how did you know my name?" Y/n took another step back as the stranger grinned wide and stepped closer, his umbrella now closed and by his side.

"Why wouldn't i know the name of my beautiful bride?" Y/n panicked as she turned and went to run, her arm grasped before she could make it further than a step, with the hand on her she suddenly lost consciousness and fell into the yokai's arms.

Y/n woke up with a headache, pushing herself off the futon as she held her head eyes still closed, she tried to recall how she got back to the Shrine until she opened her eyes and the panic returned.

"Nope. Nope. Not good. Tomoe's gonna kill me." Y/n stood quickly, jumping as the door slid open and two spirits entered with too much energy for Y/n to process falling back onto her butt as they hovered over her.

"Hello Miss Y/n!" They cheered, each of them holding her cheeks as they pulled her about.

"You are a pretty human like Master Mizuki said!" Y/n slapped the hands away and crawled back, the spirits now pulling out bugs as they offered her something to eat making Y/n cringe as they dangling a centipede in front of her face.

"Good morning Miss Y/n." Y/n snapped her head to the door as it once more slid open, this time revealing the mysterious man from before, the spirits all cheered as he entered.

"Master Mizuki!" Y/n panicked as he came closer, Y/n stared at him as he stood over her with a gentle smile.

"I wanted to thank you for rescuing me the other day when i ventured into the school. It was very sweet of you." Wracking her brain Y/n recalled the snake she had saved over a week ago and her jaw dropped as she looked the yokai up and down.

"Hang on, you kidnapped me because i helped you?" Mizuki crouched and knelt before Y/n as he nodded and took her hands, Y/n stared at him as he spoke.

"Of course, you will be my beautiful bride. I am the familiar of this wonderful Shrine and now we can live here for eternity together. Isn't that wonderful?" Y/n felt a shiver go down her back as she yanked her hands back and scrambled backwards away from him, his eyes turning darker as he seemed to crawl towards her.

"I think you've got the wrong girl. I'm not marrying anyone! Especially not like this." Before Mizuki could reach her Y/n found her footing and got up, pushing her legs to run as fast as she could out the Shrine, the sky was a dark green as she sprinted into the forest. Mizuki stood at the entrance of the Shrine with a subtle smile on his face, she would be back before she knew it.

Panting Y/n rested against a tree, looking back at the vast forest behind her with a sigh, hopefully she had put enough distance between herself and the creepy familiar.

"I really need to listen to Tomoe more." Y/n placed a hand on her head pushing her hair out her face as she took deep breaths, she needed to continue running to keep the distance between herself and the snake. Shaking the slight ache out her muscles she continues running, trying to figure out how to get back to the main roads or atleast somewhere she could recognise.

Tomoe was seething, none of his flames could find his blasted God and his anger was reaching new heights as he imagined all the horrendous things that snake could be doing to her.

Y/n's eyes lit up as she saw lights, a burst of energy entering her body as she pushed herself to sprint again although the joy was quickly replaced by confusion as she noticed the Shrine. Mizuki and the spirits stood by the entrance, a gleeful smile on the snake's face as he walked towards her.

"What the hell." Y/n turned her head to see the forest she had ran into, her eyebrows knitted together as she turned back to the Shrine, Mizuki now stood before her with his hand outstretched.

"You must be exhausted my Lady. Please come and rest." Y/n thought about returning to the forest but it was now dark and she didn't know what lurked in the shadows, atleast here she knew where her danger was. Nodding she took his hand, his skin soft under hers, Mizuki blushed at her warmth in his hand and smiled walking her towards her bedroom.

"This our bedroom Lady Y/n. But i will let you rest now, i will not do anything you don't want me too." Y/n crossed her arms over her waist as she stared at the double futon, rose petals around the room with candles, this snake obviously had other ideas for how her kidnapping was meant to go.

"Thanks." Y/n mumbled out as she closed the door in his face, pushing her weight against it as she collapsed on the floor and stared at the room. She was deep in it now, with no way out she just had to pray Tomoe found her before the snake could marry her. Crawling to the futon she blushed dark red at the lingerie left for her, the thin white silk would barely cover anything as she quickly threw it across the room as though it burned. Mizuki definantly believed this kidnapping was going to go his way, shivering she crawled under the blankets in her uniform and tried to sleep. She tried to imagine she was in the Shrine, her spirits squabbling whilst Tomoe called her to wake up or he'd drag her out of bed but it only made her heart miss being free more. Eventually she fell into a dreamless sleep until morning when she awoke to a weight over her waist, cuddling into her pillow she mumbled for Kotetsu and Onikiri not to hide in her room if they upset Tomoe but when she felt a hand pull her closer her eyes snapped open.

"Good morning my beautiful bride, you looked so angelic i had to join you." Mizuki purred in her ear as he cuddled closer to her, Y/n bolted up, turning so her feet were between her and the snake as she gave him a horrified look.

"What are you doing in here! Y-you promised not to do anything unless i said so." Mizuki let out a small laugh as he blushed and hid his face, crawling towards Y/n, his hand grabbing her leg and pulling her under him. His face now nuzzling against her ribs and chest as she placed her hands on his shoulders and struggled to push him away with a yelp.

"I know but you just look so delicious, just let me have a taste, i know we should wait until we're married but what does it really matter? You're mine anyway." Y/n now full panicked as Mizuki placed a kiss on her waist and pinned her hands beside her, her legs kicking out as he climbed between them, her skirt pushing up as he sunk further down, eyes on her with a gleeful glint.

"Get your hands off my Mistress right now." Y/n's eyes lit up as the wall between the Shrine and there stood Tomoe, flames around him as he glared at Mizuki on top of Y/n, his eyes darting over her as he saw her skirt against her hips and the snake between her legs with fear in his eyes.

"Ho-how did you get here?" Mizuki shouted as he moved off Y/n allowing her to close her legs and push her skirt back down, scampering up and rushing to Tomoe as he held her against him.

"If it is for my Mistress i would move heaven and earth to find her. Now, it is time for punishment for touching her in such a disgraceful way." In a way only i should ever touch her, Tomoe thought as he began burning down the Shrine, Mizuki rushing out the Shrine towards a beautiful sakura tree, his eyes filled with tears as he turned to Tomoe.

"Please, do not harm my tree." Y/n felt pity as he guarded the tree, the spirits of the Shrine rushing to him as they cried out that their house was being destroyed. Y/n teared up as she pulled against Tomoe.

"Please Tomoe, i just wish to go home." But Tomoe would not listen, not when this snake had touched Y/n in such a way, not when she had been pinned down and almost dishonoured, all he saw was red as he conjured a fire ball.

"Thank you for showing me what you love most, i shall take great pleasure in watching it burn." Y/n's eyes widened as she shouted Tomoe's name and moved out his arm to stand in front of Mizuki and the tree.

"Stop! He has learnt his lesson!" Tomoe froze as he felt the cold wash of her words splash him, forcing his fire to distinguish as she stood before him. His hands balling up in anger as he stormed towards her, her head at his chest as they both glared at each other.

"This yokai touched you, he kidnapped you and almost disgraced you and you dare to stand in my way from destroying him?" Y/n placed her hands on his chest to try to soothe the angry kitsune as she shook her head and looked down.

"I know it sounds silly but please Tomoe. He knows what he did was wrong, don't take the last of his happiness because of me." Mizuki fell to his knees in tears as Tomoe stared down at Y/n, her head now turned to look at the broken familiar as he explained his God had died. It sparked pity and guilt in Y/n's chest, he was so lonely and wanted company, he had done wrong but he just wished for a Mistress to serve. Crouching down Y/n took his hand gently which made Tomoe's chest hurt in a way he wasn't used to as she promised to return and see him.

"You what?!"

Y/n stood sheepishly in front of Tomoe, now back in the Mikage Shrine as he once more lectured and shouted about how reckless she was and how dare she agree to see that pest!

"Come on Tomoe, everyone deserves a second chance." Y/n gave him a smile as she moved forward and lifted her hand to run it through his hair, her nails scratching his ears making his tail swish as he tried to keep his composure.

"Thank you for saving me, i don't know what i'd do without you y'know?" Y/n blushed as she complimented the fox, his eyes wide as she ran her nails along his ears making his body heat up and mind go blank before she let go and gave a small giggle.

"I'm going to have a bath and go to bed. I missed you all so much." Tomoe let her walk past him as her words ran around his mind, she had missed him. The words were like the first drink in the dessert, a meal after being starved for centuries and he was sure it would feed his desire for months.

Y/n laid on her futon, her hair now braided and half dry as she tossed and turned unable to settle, her door sliding open as she squinted and looked towards the light. Tomoe stood in the doorway, his kimono half open as he entered and slid the door closed behind him, Y/n now sat up and called out his name rubbing her eyes.

"Are you okay Tomoe?" Y/n mumbled as Tomoe crouched beside her, his eyes piercing into her soul before he pushed her lay back down and crawled into the futon next to her, her body still as she took in Tomoe cuddling her.

"Shh my Lady, go to sleep, i will keep you safe and warm." His hand came to pull her head into his chest as he wrapped around her, Y/n's eyes were wide as she stared at the pale skin that pressed into her cheek, she was sure this was some dream. Y/n gulped and nodded as she forced her eyes closed and tried to calm her beating heart, he was right, he was so warm and she hadn't realised she was cold until she was engulfed in his warmth. Tomoe wrapped his tail around Y/n's waist as she began to drift off, he was aware of how bold of a move he had made but could not find it in himself to care as he heard her breathing even out.

Tomoe glared at the sky as he watched the lightening strike closer each time it appeared, Y/n wrapped a raincoat around herself as she grabbed her school bag and her lunch, waving bye to Tomoe as he hummed back. The Shrine was to have a visitor who appeared to be in a bad mood, sighing he continued with his duties. Atleast Y/n would be at school and away from the God's anger as she was prone to be set off easily.

"Princess Narukami." Tomoe greeted as she grinned and walked into the Shrine.

"Hello Tomoe, when i heard the Shrine had a new Land God i did not expect to hear rumours of them being a puny human girl." Tomoe scowled at the insult to his Mistress, his hands tucked in the sleeves of his kimono as Narukami walked around the Shrine.

"That damned man, stealing Tomoe away from me and then leaving him in the hands of this little girl. I won't forgive him." Narukami shouted as she picked up a picture of Y/n throwing it against the wall as she stormed out. Tomoe's eyes widened as he rushed to follow the angry God.

Y/n watched the lightening as it seemed to get closer, bored out of her brain as she barely listened to the teacher, her mind recalling Tomoe saying the Shrine was to have a visitor. She wished she could have stayed home but she had a test today she could not miss, not that Tomoe had tried to convince her to stay which was off since he tried to keep her close at all times. Shrugging Y/n looked down at the pages she had scribbled in and sighed, jumping at the lightening seemed to strike directly outside the window.

"Y/N L/N!" Y/n jumped back as the window next to her smashed, the room turning dark as a woman appeared with lightening flashing around her, Y/n fell back and stared up in shock at the God.

"You do not deserve the title of God and i am here to relieve you of the burden." Y/n crawled back as the God got closer, bending down and gripping Y/n's face as she flinched, this was how she was going to die. But instead of violent murder a kiss was gently placed on her head, and Y/n's eyes opened as the God moved back, the gold glow following her as Y/n watched her Godhood be taken.

"Let go of her!" Tomoe shouted, throwing fire at Princess Narukami, causing the angry goddess to move back from Y/n as Tomoe caught her, looking over her as he cradled her face.

"Tomoe." Y/n whispered with a small smile as the kitsune sighed in relief that she was still alive, glaring at Princess Narukami as she looked down at him with a smug smile.

"Come Tomoe and be my obedient Familiar." Tomoe growled as Y/n gripped his arm, his anger rising.

"No." Princess Narukami deadpanned before a malicious grin came over her face, a mallet appearing in her hand as she hit Tomoe over the head with it. Y/n shouted out as smoke appeared around Tomoe until it cleared and in his place was...a child Tomoe? Y/n caught him as he fell back, his eyes wide as he looked at himself in horror.

"If you wish to be restored to your true body come to Mikage's Shrine and seal the contract." Princess Narukami laughed as she left, leaving Y/n holding Tomoe as she stared out the window.

Y/n sat on the bench with Tomoe's head in her lap, fussing over him as his temperature seemed to rise by the minute.

"Huh? Y/n?" Kurama's voice jolted Y/n as she looked up at him, the popstar pushing back his hair as he gave her a cheeky grin.

"What are you doing outside my apartment building? Did you want to come cuddle with me instead of that stupid fox?" Kurama winked at Y/n before a leaf hit him harshly in the face making him scream out as Tomoe sat up on Y/n's lap and glared at him. Kurama stared at Tomoe for a moment before bursting out in laughter, Tomoe now crossed his arms as Y/n wrapped her arms around him and stood.

"You live here Kurama?" Kurama composed himself and nodded, looked down at Tomoe as Y/n explained what happened with the Mallet, her Godhood and now baby Tomoe's temperature.

"Well you're more than welcome to stay the night with me Y/n but the damn fox can freeze out here for all i care. But don't worry, i'll keep you company." Kurama grinned as he got closer, his nose almost touching Y/n's when another leaf landed on his nose causing it to burst into a nose bleed, his body jumping back as he shouted at Tomoe.

"I won't leave Tomoe out here." Y/n declared which made Kurama sigh before agreeing to the fox coming into his apartment aswell.

Y/n's jaw dropped as she entered, looking around as she carried Tomoe towards the bedroom.

"This is my bedroom, you can stay here tonight Y/n but the kitsune can sleep on the floor, i can keep you warm." Kurama purred out as he took a string of Y/n's hair between his fingers and went to nuzzle her neck. Y/n glared at him as she walked over and placed Tomoe on the bed, his eyes glaring deeply into Kurama as he watched Y/n bend over in her school skirt.

"He is not sleeping on the floor! If i'm staying in this bed so is he." Kurama huffed as he looked at Tomoe and conceded, not like the little guy would stop him from being able to make a move on Y/n, even if she wasn't a God she was still hot and he wanted to bite the forbidden fruit so bad. As though Tomoe could hear his thoughts another leaf smacked Kurama as Y/n called out and they all began shouting at each other until Tomoe collapsed, Y/n panicking as she told Kurama to get some cold water and a flannel.

Kurama sat on the bed as Y/n placed the flannel on Tomoe's head.

"Why will his fever not go down?" Y/n questioned as she moved Tomoe's hair and caressed his little face before she looked at Kurama.

"The mallet only changed his body, his powers are still running rampant and his small body can't handle it. He won't get better until he becomes normal again." Y/n bit her lip as she looked back at Tomoe, Kurama moved over to his bedside, collecting a pill as he explained it would help, shoving it into Tomoe's mouth as Y/n gasped. Tomoe clenched down on Kurama's finger as he screamed out and threw Tomoe onto the floor, Y/n rushing over and picking him up as she scolded Kurama.

Y/n fussed more over Tomoe, the soup he had taught her to make being spoon fed to him as Kurama leaned against the doorway watching, mumbling to himself about the damn fox. Y/n changed the flannel on Tomoe's head, placing a gentle kiss in his skin as she begged him to get better, standing as she awkwardly rubbed her arm. Kurama stood in his pjs watching her as she looked up at him with an adorable expression that he was sure she didn't know she was giving.

"Umm, can i borrow some clothes to sleep in please?" Tomoe's ears perked as he opened his eyes and looked at Kurama's smug face, handing her a shirt and some boxer shorts which made Y/n's face go red as she thanked him and scurried to the bathroom. Kurama turned to Tomoe as he huffed.

"Go sleep on the sofa or something fox." Tomoe glared at him as Y/n came back in, the boxers peeking out the oversized shirt as he tried not to stare at her nipples poking through the thin material, her clothes neatly folded but both Kurama and Tomoe could see the frills of her underwear poking out as she placed them down. Smiling at them both she sat next to Tomoe and checked his temperature, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Kurama in joy.

"His fevers gone down! The tablet must have worked thank you Kurama." Y/n beamed as she grabbed the flannel and replaced it with a cold one, Tomoe staring at Y/n as she tucked him in.

"Well i guess we'd better get into bed then Y/n." Y/n's face went red as she turned to look at Kurama, a smirk on his face as his wings expanded.

"Huh? I thought you'd sleep on the sofa." Y/n chuckled awkwardly as Kurama deadpanned, grabbing a pillow as he offered it to Y/n.

"This is my bed, i'm not sleeping on the sofa, if you don't want to join me then you can take yourself to the sofa and put that pest on the floor." Y/n pouted as she looked at Tomoe, his eyes now closed as she ran her hand through his hair.

"Fine. But stick to your side alright?" Kurama grinned as he pulled the blanket back, his wings taking up half the bed whilst Tomoe took up the other half, Y/n bit her lip as she climbed in, the shirt crawling up her body as she laid down making Kurama lick his lips at how her body looked in his boxers. This must have been some kind of wet dream, if only Tomoe wasn't here he would believe it, instead Y/n placed a pillow between her and Kurama and cuddled up to Tomoe's body. Huffing Kurama crossed his arms and turned to face the other way, so much for running his hands up and down her legs until she was panting and asking him for more.

Y/n woke up as she felt small hands tug on the shirt she wore, yawning she looked down at Tomoe's little body curled into her chest, his hands gripping the shirt as he breathed evenly. A sudden tug made her aware of the arm around her waist and warmth on her back, looking down she saw black nails against her naked skin where the shirt had ridden up exposing her midriff, her face turned dark red as her ears burnt, trying to shift away from him she heard Kurama groan and pull her closer. His face now nuzzled in the nape of her neck as he moaned, his nails now grazing her stomach as he rolled his hips into her butt. Holding her breath Y/n stayed deadly still before the hands loosened and Kurama turned over mumbling something before snoring. Letting out a breath she looked down at Tomoe, jolting up as she saw his face red, her breasts smothering his little face as she pulled him free. Tomoe taking a deep breath as Kurama fell off the bed at the sudden panicked movements, holding his head he sat up seeing Y/n fussing over Tomoe whose eyes were wide.

"I'm so sorry Tomoe! I didn't mean to suffocate you." Kurama's jaw dropped as he realised the lucky fox had been face deep in Y/n's chest, glaring at Tomoe as he looked away trying to hide his embarrassment. Damned Fox Kurama thought.

"Why are you cooking whatever he wants?" Y/n turned her head to where Kurama sat, tilting her head in confusion.

"He always does everything for me and makes sure i'm okay, this is nothing compared to what he does for me." Y/n grinned a she rolled the rice into balls and placed them on the plate, she wasn't quite sure if she'd made them right but hopefully he would enjoy them. Kurama watched in envy as she took them through to Tomoe, sitting him up and watching as he ate them, Y/n beaming with pride as he praised her for the cooking. Kurama walked in as Y/n stroked Tomoe's hair before he smacked her hand away.

"You must be on your guard with him. He is not so innocent." Y/n waved her hand away before Kurama grabbed one of Tomoe's ears.

"Talking about me huh?" Kurama laughed as Tomoe fell over, Y/n picking him up and cradling him to her chest.

"Don't be so rough with him!" Y/n chastised as Kurama pushed his hair back and looked at Tomoe.

"Getting Y/n to come to your aid, not bad Tomoe. Anyway i need to get to rehearsal, find a way to get that mallet or he won't make it more than a few days." Y/n nodded as she placed Tomoe down and moved to clean the kitchen. Tomoe stood by the window as Kurama mouthed to him. His eyes going wide as he looked down in shame, he was supposed to protect Y/n and instead she was caring for him in his useless body.

Y/n heard the door closed as she turned, calling out to Tomoe she found the bedroom empty, rushing to the window she watched as he walked towards Princess Narukami's spirits and left. Her jaw dropped as she rushed to dress, pulling on her uniform and rushing out the apartment. As she stood where he had been she felt tears in her eyes, he had gone to Narukami, he must have truly been desperate.

"Oh Tomoe i knew you'd come back!" Tomoe was lifted from the floor as Narukami cuddled him into her chest and he couldn't help but recall how much softer Y/n had been when she cuddled him.

"You are so cute like this but i much prefer you in your true form, so big and strong. Now. Seal the contract with me and be mine forever." Narukami declared as she let go of Tomoe, closing her eyes and pouting before she opened her eyes to an empty hallway.

"Tomoe!" She screamed as she sent her lion spirits to search for him.

Y/n sat on the bench outside Kurama's her knees draw to her chest as she stared at the ground, a blue butterfly landing on her shoulder as Kurama approached.

"What are you doing out here?" He questioned as she raised her head, the redness around her eyes betraying her.

"Tomoe left. He went to the Shrine." Kurama's eyebrows rose as he sighed out before handing Y/n a feather, Y/n took it gently.

"They have been with you since you arrived and i'm sick of being the only one to hear them." Y/n gasped as Onikiri and Kotetsu appeared.

"Lady Y/n!" They cried as Y/n hugged them, both of the spirits crying out about Tomoe as Y/n tried to listen.

"Tomoe is hiding away!"

"He refused to be her familiar and she is going to destroy the Shrine."

"Please help!"

Y/n stood by the entrance of the Shrine as she watched the poor lion spirits be shocked.

"Find me Tomoe!" Princess Narukami screamed as she turned and spotted Y/n.

"I have a deal for you." The Princess' eyebrow raised as Y/n gulped and stepped forward.

"If i can find Tomoe you give me back my Godhood and return Tomoe to normal." Princess Narukami thought about it for minute before agreeing.

"Agreed. But if my spirits find him before you, you can stay as a lowly servant for the rest of your miserable human life. You have 30 minutes. Y/n nodded quickly as she ran inside the Shrine, hunting for Tomoe, calling out to him but it was no use. She only had 10 minutes before she would become a servant regardless if anyone found him. Onikiri and Kotetsu popped up as Y/n was losing hope, shushing Y/n as they directed her to the table, a small mirror surrounded in butterflies laid hidden under a book. As she removed the book she saw Tomoe, his little body laid down and his body covered in a red flush, gasping she held a hand over her mouth.

"You need to retrieve him." Onikiri whispered before they disappeared, Y/n bit her lip as she pushed a hand into the mirror, begging Tomoe to take her hand as she willed him to come out.

"Tomoe." Y/n whispered as she held him in her arms, his body boiling as he struggled to breathe, rushing out the Shrine she called out Princess Narukami.

"I have Tomoe!" The lightening God huffed as she snapped her eyes to her spirits, a silent threat that they would be paying for this.

"Fine. I am a woman of my word and i do not want him if he does not want me." Princess Narukami bent down and placed a kiss on Y/n's forehead, bestowing her Godhood once again.

"They'll explain how to fix him." With that she left, her spirit holding the mallet up to Y/n with wide eyes.

"Swing the mallet and will him to be big again." Y/n nodded as she held the mallet, swinging it at Tomoe as she shouted out for him to grow.

Tomoe grew instantly, the smoke clearing as Y/n stared at him, his hair now long which enhanced his beauty making Y/n turn red as the lion spirit took the mallet and left. Y/n gulped as Tomoe looked at her, the Shrine's energy now clean and the repairs fixed within seconds of Tomoe being normal once more.

"You look...beautiful." Y/n stuttered out as Tomoe approached her, pushing her hair out her face before he cupped her face.

"Thank you Mistress." Y/n didn't have time to react before his lips sealed over hers, her hands coming to touch his chest as he hungrily pressed into her, deepening the contracts kiss until he pulled away against his own desires. Y/n's eyes opened as she watched him become a familiar once more, her hand moving to her lips as she bit them. He had sealed the contract once more, and yet that did not feel like a contractual kiss.

Y/n was struggling to not stare at Tomoe as he stood in the garden, the broom he leaned against whilst a butterfly landed on his hand was what he had been doing. Now he stood gracefully, his long hair tied behind his head, sun beaming down on him like he was being blessed by the Gods and Y/n couldn't help the rush of arousal that ran through her veins. She blamed the contract kiss for the confusing emotions, or maybe she was coming down with a fever, that had to be it, that's why she was rubbing her thighs together as she watched him. She couldn't ever call him a pervert again whilst she was doing this. Tomoe turned his head to Y/n as he smelt her sweet arousal, his whole body reacting to her as she jumped and scrambled inside hiding away from Tomoe as he chuckled.

"My sweet Mistress. One day you will beg me to follow you and that will be the day i finally break." Tomoe looked at the sky as he inhaled still able to smell her sweet aroma, the butterfly flying away as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment.

Y/n sighed as she laid in her futon, her shirt rode up as she tossed and turned until she finally stood, pulling her shirt over her underwear as she left her bedroom. Entering Tomoe’s bedroom she found him reading a book under candle light, his eyes finding hers as she shuffled her feet around.

“Can i sleep in here please?” Y/n whispered but Tomoe heard clear as day, his ear twitching as he nodded, his eyes raking along her half naked body as she scampered into the futon and turned her back to him.

Tomoe grinned as he leant close to her neck, his hand coming to her thigh as he placed a kiss on her neck, his canines gently pressing into her skin.

"Thank you for looking after me Mistress. I owe you." Tomoe purred out, his tail coming to caress her legs as she closed her eyes, his nails now gently running up and down her thigh as he nuzzled her neck. Y/n let out a quiet moan as she rubbed her legs together, Tomoe preening at her bodies response to him until Y/n's eyes opened and she slammed a hand over her mouth. Tomoe let out a laugh as she rolled onto her stomach and away from his ministrations.

"You're so mean." Y/n mumbled into the pillow as Tomoe stared at her, how the moonlight lit up her skin and each freckle and curve was his to take in, including her cute frilled underwear which made his mind go feral. Forcing himself to control himself he laid down on his back, one arm over his eyes as the other ran through her hair.

"Goodnight Y/n." Y/n turned her head to see him relaxed, moving to lay her head on his arm and cuddle into his side as she whispered goodnight back and settled into sleep.

Y/n laughed with Ami and Kei as they walked home, Kei was going on about her amazing boyfriend and teasing Ami as she blushed whenever Kei implied more.

"Oh come on Ami, you're telling me you've never wanted to kiss a guy? I mean Y/n back me up here you think about kissing Tomoe all the time right?" Y/n went red as her mouth opened and closed in panic at Kei's words, Kei let out a laugh as Ami rushed to poke Y/n.

"Come on you're so obvious Y/n." Kei joked as Y/n closed her mouth and began shaking her head.

"I don't think about kissing Tomoe! I just..." Y/n went silent as she realised how much she thought about Tomoe, sometimes it was kissing which she could admit to her friends but she couldn't admit all the other dirty thoughts and feelings she had. The worst part was most of the thoughts were based on things Tomoe had done to her, his act so innocent and caring and here she was being perverted towards him.

"It's normal to think about it Ami, don't let Kei scare you." Y/n finally spoke as she reached over and flicked Kei's forehead making the girl yelp and a friendly argument begin.

Y/n walked into the Shrine, her thoughts away from her as she noticed Tomoe sat with a mirror, his nails raking through his now short hair as Y/n's jaw dropped. Tomoe turned with a smirk to look at Y/n before his face dropped to one of a confused at her face.

"Is something wrong?" Y/n wanted to cry as she got closer and ran her hands through his hair, thinking about all the things she hadn't been able to do with his glorious long hair.

"You cut it." Y/n whispered with a pout as she imagined brushing his hair, braiding it, washing it. Tomoe scowled as he stood up, looking down at Y/n as she continued to pout.

"Are you upset i cut my hair?" Y/n nodded before she looked away and sighed then smiled at Tomoe.

"I'm only a little sad because you have gorgeous hair and i was hoping to brush and braid it but i understand it's your hair so you can do as you wish. It looks lovely short as well so please don't worry." Tomoe smirked as he leant down.

"If you want to brush my hair so bad why didn't say? I still have a tail." The last few words came out as a purr as Y/n gulped and looked at his swaying tail in awe, she really hoped this wasn't some cruel joke as she nodded quickly.

Y/n sat happily as she slowly brushed the fur on Tomoe's tail, his book in his hand as he read, the pair in silence as they enjoyed each other's company.

Y/n sat with Ami and Kei as they talked about their plans for the weekend, Kei had just broken up with her boyfriend and wanted to go to the beach to see all the cute boys and show him she was worth more than him. Y/n smiled as she agreed although she could feel Tomoe's gaze in the back of her head as she explained she didn't have a swimsuit, Kei grinned deeply as she agreed to bring one for her.

Tomoe grumbled as he walked on the sand, Mizuki next to him as Y/n ran towards Ami and Kei, the latter glaring at the boys as she loudly protesting to them being there saying they would deter all the cuties. Y/n laughed it off and said they'd stay out their way, Kei relented with a pout and handed Y/n a bag before shooing her to the dressing rooms. Y/n waved the boys off as Tomoe laid on a sunbed in the shade, a book in his hands as Mizuki commented on all the cute girls.

"What do you think?" Y/n spoke as she twirled before Ami and Kei, Ami gushing over Y/n in the light blue bikini which seemed to fit every curve and notch of her body perfectly.

"Wow, doesn't Y/n look amazing? I see everyone else here thinks the same way as well." Mizuki teased as he leant over and watched Tomoe glaring at the males who openly gawked at his Mistress's body, much the same as Tomoe was doing from behind his book. He could not tear his eyes from her as she pulled the hair band from her hair and splashed in the ocean with the two girls, her breasts bouncing as she jumped around and squealed at the cold water hitting against her body. This was torture to watch her be so carefree, so innocent to men as some boys got closer, Kei happily inviting them over as Y/n climbed out and ran towards Tomoe and Mizuki. Her bikini holding her in as she bounced and stopped before the two men, Mizuki now grinning widely as he stood and placed a hand around her waist whilst Y/n gave Tomoe sparkling eyes.

"Would you like to join us Tomoe? The water is lovely." Y/n grinned, her head tilting as Tomoe pulled the book up higher to hide the dark blush on his face and the irritable glare he was trying to hold in at Mizuki's hand almost touching her bikini bottoms where they tied perfectly on her hips.

"No thank you Y/n." Y/n pouted slightly before shrugging and leaning over Tomoe to pat his head, her hands finding where his ears were concealed to give them a small scratch of appreciation. His eyes now staring at her chest as she bent over him, teasing him with no knowledge of the power she held before she stood straight and waved at him.

"Have fun Tomoe." Mizuki sing songed as he followed Y/n into the water, the fox now overcome with jealousy as he watched Mizuki and the other males flirt and splash with Y/n as she held Ami's hands and spun her in circles in the water. She looked angelic and he wished deeply to pick her up and hold her body against his to show everyone she was his but he could not enter the water. His past self was being cursed as he glared at the water in disgust.

Y/n giggled as she let go of Ami, allowing her to paddle around as she went for a swim, Kei busy flirting with the boys as she ran her hands along one of their abs and winked at him, she was too good at it honestly. Y/n stared up at the sky as she swam backwards, it was so calm and beautiful she could stay in the ocean forever if she could breathe underwater. Closing her eyes she drifted out before she felt the current pick up, forcing her to open her eyes and look around as the waves rolled in, panic setting in as she heard Ami trying to swim closer to the shore. Swimming towards her friend Y/n tried to maintain composure, if she panicked she'd drown, just as she reached Ami she was dragged under, Y/n watched in terror as her hands disappeared into the water and didn't waste a moment before screaming out and diving under to find her friend. Tomoe sat up straight up as he heard Y/n's voice, searchign the ocean as he watched the waves crash harshly against the rocks, Kei and Mizuki now rushing to him as Kei explained Ami had gone under and Y/n was trying to get to her. Tomoe raced towards the water, his feet almost in when Y/n emerged, her head bursting through the water as she coughed and spluttered, spinning around until she locked eyes with Tomoe.

"Tomoe!" Before she could continue her sentence the kitsune was diving into the water, his body disappearing for a minute as Y/n dived under trying to spot either Ami or Tomoe but was forced up by the waves as she swam to shore trying to get the water from her lungs. Kei ran to Y/n trying to help her up as she coughed and clung to her friend both of them staring as the water became calm, it felt like hours passed before Tomoe surfaced, Ami in his arms. Y/n called out to Tomoe and Ami as he carried her to shore, both girls throwing her arms around the pink haired girl as they checked on her. Y/n breaking away and throwing her arms around Tomoe as she thanked him, his hands gingerly coming to hold her waist as she pressed her wet body against his and for a moment he forgot his feet still stayed in the water.

"Hahaha! The Great Tomoe finally has made a fatal mistake." The sky darkened as Y/n and Tomoe turned, his hands clutching at her as they watched a yokai exit the water, half fish with an eyepatch and long hair. Y/n's eyes widened as she turned her head to see all the humans passed out, Tomoe's grip tightening on Y/n as he held her close to him, his eyes glaring at the Dragon King as he laughed.

"Here you are, right before i gave up trying to find you. I have been waiting a lifetime for you enter the waters Tomoe." The man shouted with a deep grin as Y/n scowled.

"Who are you?" Y/n shouted as Tomoe pushed her behind him.

"I thought you'd never ask. I am the Dragon King ruler of the sea! Now if you'll excuse me for just a moment whilst i retrieve a debt from an old friend." Y/n placed her hands on Tomoe's arm as he kept her a distance from him.

"A debt...if i only i knew what that meant." Tomoe's voice smooth and calm before the Dragon King laughed, yokai appearing from the water as their tendrils grabbed Tomoe flying him high in the air.

"Tomoe!"

"I am more than happy to remind you, you ignorant fox! Exactly 526 years 208 days ago at 18 minutes and 41 seconds past 2am a certain yokai fox called Tomoe wiped out 7 dragons, 3 sharks, 5 rays and one sea slug at the north gate of my Palace. He then destroyed the north gate and surrounding buildings and finally he stole my right eye and fled! It is tome for you pay it back!" As he finished his speech he called out the oyster, shoving Tomoe inside with a laugh as Y/n ran towards the sea shouting for Tomoe.

"You will slowly turn into sustenance for the oyster and i shall return in a day or so to a lovely big pearl. Now let us head back for a celebration!"

"Wait hold on!" Y/n shouted as she approached the Dragon King, his eyebrow raising as he looked around.

"Why are you awake?" He questioned as Y/n picked up a rock and threw it at him, the Dragon King easily dodging it as she shouted at him.

"I am Y/n L/N Land God of the Mikage Shrine and Tomoe is my Familiar now release him at once." The Dragon King let out a loud laugh as he bent over clutching his stomach before standing and wiping a fake tear from his eye.

"No can do little girl now run along." Y/n scowled as she saw the oyster begin delving deep, panicking she gripped it with all her might holding her breath as it dragged her under. Y/n recalled how Tomoe had said he couldn't enter the ocean and now because of her he was captured. As she struggled to breathe she tried to push through it until she felt hands grip her body forcing her out the water as she coughed up water.

"Your persistence is obnoxious." Y/n opened her eyes to stare at the Dragon King before he dragged her to a near by rock, placing her down as she coughed more water up, her eyes darting to him as she glared.

"Where is he?" Y/n demanded, now crawling towards the Dragon King as he laid his head against his hand and looked at her in boredom.

"I had the sea slugs relocate him, he's far far away. Yes i did carry you to safety now you owe me." He placed a paper down as Y/n scowled gripping in her hand before she chucked it behind her, the Dragon King rolling his eye before placing another down making Y/n hit her hand on the rock in annoyance.

"Fine! Whatever could you possibly want huh? Just give me Tomoe back!" The Dragon King stared her down as he explained his debt.

"I want my eye returned, that fox stole it years ago and i demand it back. I had defeat carved into my face by that useless yokai." Y/n leaned forward as she stuck out her hand.

"I get your eye and you give me Tomoe yes?" The Dragon King let out a laugh as he put his hand out.

"It won't be that simple, my eye has been gone for 526 years. Do you really think it possible to retrieve my eye after so long?" Y/n nodded as she grabbed his hand, shaking it firmly with a determined look.

"If it's to save Tomoe i will accomplish anything."

"Fine, but i am only holding onto the fox as collateral for two days." Y/n nodded as the Dragon King dove under the water leaving her on the rock as she sighed out.

"Damn you Tomoe, why did you have to be such an idiot 500 years ago." Y/n looked up at the sky as she climbed back into the water and swam to shore. She needed to find Mizuki and fast, she only had 2 days before Tomoe would become a pearl. Y/n ran towards the beach as she found Mizuki and her friends all panicked as they called out to both Y/n and Tomoe.

"I'm here!" The girls ran to Y/n hugging her as she quickly lied that her and Tomoe had been swept ashore further along the coat and Tomoe was on his way to the Shrine. Grabbing Mizuki she hid behind a beach hut pressing him against the wood as she looked up at him.

"The Dragon King has Tomoe, i need to find his eye that Tomoe stole 526 years ago. I have 2 days before he turns Tomoe into a pearl!" Y/n whisper shouted as Mizuki pulled her into a hug, a smile on his face as he almost jumped with joy at the idea of the fox being gone allowing him to move in on Y/n.

"Oh that is so awful Lady Y/n, it is such a shame there is nothing we can do to save him." Y/n pulled out his arms and hit his chest as she scowled at him.

"I know you have that time travel thing. I need it to go back in time and find him." Mizuki was shocked as he nodded quickly, turned on and a little fearful of Y/n's determination as she pulled him towards the lodge.

"Come on."

Y/n sat across from Mizuki as she explained what had happened as well as the debt Tomoe owed. Mizuki scowled as he sighed.

"I have to ask you a question. Do you love Tomoe?" Y/n's eyes bulged out her head as she stood quickly, her face bright red as she shook her hands.

"What! Whe-where did get that idea from?" Mizuki let a small laugh out as he looked down.

"One of your friends told me. They said you changed a lot after Tomoe came around and i have to admit i am jealous. I feel so much envy of that fox, i do not believe he deserves such a kind and beautiful Mistress. It does not matter to me whether he were to stay in the ocean or be rescued but i will do this for you. To show you my devotion to you and only you." Y/n rubbed her arm as she listened to Mizuki's confession, her cheeks blazing as he collected his items and burnt the sage to begin the adventure to the past.

"I shall accompany you to the past to keep you safe, but i do not think it is wise to anger Tomoe's past self as he was a blood thirsty murderer." Y/n nodded as she inhaled the scent, her eyes slowly drifting closed as Mizuki placed a t shirt over her bikini to cover her in the world over yonder.

Y/n woke up in a dark area, standing up as she looked down at herself, she was all in one piece with a long top covering herself as she began walking around.

"The eye! You have the Dragon King's eye!" Y/n screamed as Yokai grabbed her legs, a lady gripping her tightly as she clawed at her stomach.

"Give me the eye!" Y/n smacked the Yokai as hard as she could, trying to push the lady from her body as she kept screaming about an eye. Y/n fell to the ground as the Lady's clawed hands came towards her stomach with wide eyes and a menacing grin. Y/n panicked as she shoved her foot against the Yokai's face making her fall backwards before a blue flame smashed into the Yokai, the lady screeching as the flame chased her away.

"Stupid wench." A voice spoke.

Suddenly a yokai dropped before her, gasping she froze as the yokai turned, long white hair and white ears perked up as Tomoe grinned at her. Y/n was in shock as she stood from the ground on shaky legs, stepping back as he looked her up and down.

"Well well, what is a young human doing here?" He purred as he walked closer, she had not seen his long hair since he had cut it and was once more mesmerised by his beauty, she stayed frozen as he approached her. Y/n's eyes were wide as his clawed hand came up to her face, her hair twirled around his fingers before he tugged her into him, forcing her to look up at him as she yelped in pain.

"You smell so delicious." Tomoe took a deep breath in as he smelt her hair, something in him recognised the scent but he couldn't pin point it, almost like he was smelling something so familiar it should have been obvious.

"To-Tomoe, can you let go please?" Y/n whispered as she placed her hands on his chest and pushed him back slightly but he didn't move instead he flashed her a sharp grin and tightened his grip.

"So you know who i am puny human? And what pray tell made you search for me hmm?" Y/n could feel her blushing as he brought his face closer running his nose along her cheek as he inhaled her scent once more, it was irritating him that he could not place the smell on her.

"I...i need the Dragon King's eye." Y/n stuttered out as she felt his tail wrap around her legs, reminding her of the night she had spent asleep next to Tomoe, his tail tickling her thighs as he slept. Tomoe's eyes widened as he pulled back and stared at her with a look she couldn't decipher before she felt her hair be yanked hard making her cry out in pain as his other hand gripped her waist, nails digging into the shirt she wore.

"You were sent by the Dragon King to seduce me and steal the eye hmm? Well then, i guess it is time for you to die." Y/n dug her nails into his chest as she pushed him back, trying to get out of the harsh hold he had on her before she freed her hand and managed to grab his ear. Tomoe froze as she tugged on his ear and shouted.

"Bad boy! Don't be so mean!" Y/n chastised as she recalled all the times she had to part Kurama and Tomoe by dragging their ears and how it worked so easily each time. Y/n pulled his head down as he quickly let go, almost compelled by something deep in him as Y/n glared at the fox.

"Say you're sorry!" Y/n shouted as she placed a hand on her waist, the fox yokai's eyes wide as his mouth opened and closed confused.

"Sorry." Tomoe rushed out as he felt another tug on his ear, Y/n huffing as she loosened her grip and rubbed his ear until his cheeks went red with a small smile.

"Good boy Tomoe. Now, can i have the eye please?" Y/n asked sweetly as she now caressed his hair, his eyes still wide and now his whole body seemed to be that of a tamed cat compared to the wild fox that had been stood before her.

"Tomoe!" A deep voice called, Tomoe now standing to full height forcing Y/n to let go of his ear as he pulled her behind him, his tail curled around her.

"I am busy Akura-ou." Tomoe spoke to the unknown yokai, Y/n trying to see as she clutched at his Kimono to try to look receiving a smack on the thighs from Tomoe's tail in warning.

"Too bad. I am ready to move on, this place is boring. I want some fresh blood. The girls in this village did not satiate my urge." Y/n gulped as her eyes closed, she wished she wasn't here but hoped whoever the Yokai was he wouldn't notice her.

"What is that delicious smell? Are you hiding something from me Tomoe? I thought brother's shared everything." Y/n could hear the smirk as Tomoe pulled her around in front of him, her face in a panic as her eyes met the Yokai, his hair red and horns coming out his head whilst he dressed in a long black feathered coat. Y/n squeaked as Tomoe pulled her into his chest, his hands on her waist as he gripped her tightly.

"Not this one, this one is going to be mine. And i plan to force every noise i can out of those pretty lips." Y/n looked at Tomoe in fear as he grinned down at her, his claws pushing into her waist as he pressed her against his front. Akura-ou let out a laugh as he got closer, his hand coming out to hold the same strand of hair Tomoe had, but his claws were longer and painted black, his energy was darker aswell which made Y/n lean back into Tomoe as the yokai smelt her hair.

"You're no fun Tomoe, she looks like she'd burst in your mouth so easily." Y/n blushed red at his insinuation, gulping as he moved his claw to run along her lips before slicing her lower lip, she winced as he ran a finger through the blood and brought it to her mouth. Moaning to himself with eyes closed as she sucked her lip into her mouth tasting the metallic blood on her tongue as his eyes opened.

"Such a shame. Well, i will continue on, i'll try to leave you some fun at the next village if you don't too much time with her." Akura-ou let out a deep laugh as he left, Y/n felt Tomoe's grip loosen allowing her to turn to face him as he lightly held her face inspecting the cut on her lips.

"You owe me for saving your life human." Tomoe swiped his thumb across her lip and placed it in mouth as he walked past her, leaving her stumped as she blinked in confusion.

"Tomoe!" Y/n shouted as she spun but he gone, sighing she ran her hands through her hair.

"Are you okay Y/n? Did you meet Tomoe?" Y/n jumped as Mizuki appeared behind her his eyes full of concern as he rushed to her side, a small drop of blood made it's way from her hip to her thigh as Mizuki fussed over her but Y/n had her mind on other things.

"I found him but i couldn't get the eye." Mizuki nodded as he checked her wound, it was only a small claw mark but he was furious with Tomoe, that damned fox had manhandled Y/n. Standing straight he looked around to see if he could spot him but by now he was long gone and Y/n wasn't sure what to do.

"Which way did he go?" Y/n shrugged as she looked in defeat at the floor, she should have chased after him but he'd made her feel some way inside that she didn't understand. She shouldn't feel so weird hearing him talk about her or touch her that way, her Tomoe had touched her in far more delicate areas, but this wasn't her Tomoe. This was the past and she didn't know what he'd do if she found him again, the way he'd looked at her was now engraved in her mind and some part of her wanted to know how he'd have gotten her make all the noises he wanted to hear from her.

"I've found his tracks come on Y/n." Mizuki pulled the girl out of her thoughts as he ran towards the village, Y/n could hear the screaming and crying of villagers as the flames burned in her eyes, thick smoke coated the air. Coughing Y/n wiped her eyes and searched for Tomoe but he wasn't in sight, letting out an aggravated shout Y/n turned around stomping her foot before she froze. In the slight distance a pale blue flame burned inside a house, but unlike the village that was being torn down the flame appeared to be staying still. Y/n ran towards the light as Mizuki followed, the pair creeping towards the house as Y/n let out a yelp as she heard a door slam. Tomoe stood by the back door, his eyes staring into the forest as he took in the smoke and terror Akura-ou was creating across the way, sighing he shook his head and reentered. Y/n crouched by the window, watching as Tomoe approached a young human girl, her Y/c hair laid against the pale wood and skin looked greyish as she coughed and stared at Tomoe with lidded eyes. Y/n held a hand over her mouth as Tomoe tried to feed the Dragon King's eye to the girl but she refused, Tomoe shook his head explaining it would save her and they could be together forever. Y/n couldn't believe her eyes as Tomoe left to find something to help the eye go down, Mizuki gripping Y/n as he pulled her into the house.

"Tomoe risked his life to save hers?" Y/n whispered as she watched the girl, her eyes now closed and her breath was laboured, the Dragon King's eyes rest in her palm.

"Take the eye Y/n before he comes back." Y/n crouched down holding the eye as she looked between her hand and the poor girl, she didn't know what she would call the feeling in her chest. Maybe Jealousy or Envy, but she couldn't call it that, Tomoe risked his life for her time and time again, he chose to be her Familiar. But would he do it all if she wasn't a God? If she was human like the girl on the ground. Gulping Y/n ignored Mizuki as he tried to rush her, hovering over the girl as she grasped her lips and placed the Dragon King's eye in her mouth. Mizuki watched in disgust as Y/n threw away her chance of saving Tomoe to save the life of the pitiful human, Y/n was too human, she had too many morals and loyalty to those she didn't know. It sickened him that she could not be selfish like he could, like Tomoe could, they were here because of Tomoe's selfish behaviour.

Y/n huffed as she sat in the beach house, rubbing her head as she tried to come up with ways to get the Eye in the present day, she'd had enough lectures from Mizuki for a life time and now she just wanted to hit the Dragon King over the head and demand Tomoe back to save the headache. She recounted the events in the past back to Mizuki before she froze, her eyes lighting up and she stood quickly and grabbed his hands.

"That Yokai! She said i had the eye! She said i had it and kept trying to take it off of me!" Y/n starting pointing at her stomach where finger bruises had formed from the lady's grip. Mizuki stared confused as Y/n babbled on about the lady, trying to explain exactly what she looked like.

"I know who you're talking about." Y/n let out a cheer as she pushed Mizuki out the door demanding he take her to her yokai.

"You have not changed in 500 years." Mizuki spoke as Y/n rounded the corner, the yokai who attacked her now drenched from head to toe in her bikini top and long skirt looked angry.

"And who the hell are you?" The lady screamed before her eyes made contact with Y/n and she froze, a grin coming on her face as she stood.

"You're the one with the eye. My my you look good for a human after 500 years, that stupid fox isn't with you i presume? Damn Yokai burnt my cloak." Mizuki repressed the eye roll as Y/n moved towards the Yokai.

"I want to make a deal with you. You get the eye from wherever it is, without killing me, and i'll give you anything you want within reason." The yokai grasped her chin examining Y/n's body before a malicious grin came over her face.

"In that case, i want 30 years of your life. Take or leave it sweetheart." Y/n stared at the Yokai as Mizuki stepped forward with a scowl.

"You're being ripped off Y/n! That eye is not worth 30 years of your life." Y/n ignored Mizuki's words as the yokai turned to Mizuki with a scowl.

"And how do you suppose she gets it out then? Both my eyes have second sight, without me you can kiss that eye goodbye. Stay out of this you pathetic snake boy." Mizuki's face dropped as Y/n grabbed the Yokai's arm and turned her around.

"Okay you can have 30 years of my life." The yokai grinned as she stuck out her hand, Y/n lifted her hand.

"Hmm there's a girl who knows how to bargain."

"Y/n don't, don't do it!" Mizuki grabbed her hand, standing between Y/n and the Yokai with a terrified look. Y/n let out a small laugh and ruffled Mizuki's hair.

"Don't worry about me Mizuki, 30 years of my life won't kill me and Tomoe only has one day so i can give up 30 years so he can live." Y/n walked past Mizuki as she shook the Yokai's hand, not noticing Mizuki walking away as the Yokai assisted her to lay down. Y/n let out a small whine as the Yokai placed a hand on her sternum, Y/n's eyes closing as she felt something begin exiting her sternum, the energy depleting from her body as she passed out. The Yokai laughed as she held the gold glowing flame in her hand.

"Well it seems you have something much for valuable than years Land God! I've got the Dragon King's eye and a Land God's soul! What a lucky day for me!" She twirled as she stared at the soul, she had succeeded.

"I tried to warn you this might happen. Why can't you just listen and trust me to protect you. You are too kind, too moral and Tomoe does not deserve such a wonderful person to love him. To take on his debt, you're relentless and nothing would have stopped you. I cannot stop myself from needing to serve you, i'm like a moth to a flame." Mizuki bent down, placing his hand on her pale face as he pushed his lips against hers, savouring how she felt as the contract sealed. He felt freed, an odd feeling after being sealed into a contract but his heart fluttered as he pulled away and turned to the yokai.

"You just...but why?" She questioned, confusion on her face as he approached her, water suddenly exploding on her as she dropped Y/n's soul, allowing Mizuki to collect it and place it back into Y/n.

Y/n felt like the air was returned to her lungs once more as she yawned, her eyes opening slowly before she sat up, placing her hand on her head as she looked around to find Mizuki kneeled before her.

"Good evening Mistress, do you feel better? Today is the first day that i, Mizuki, serve as your familiar! I'll be so amazing you'll forget all about Tomoe." Y/n's jaw dropped as she watched Mizuki almost floating on air, his face one of pure happiness as he stared at her.

"What?" Y/n shouted as Mizuki blushed, a sheepish grin on his face.

"Good new right?" Mizuki's happiness was stopped as he used his snake to grab the yokai as she attempted to crawl away, his aura turning dark as he placed her in front of Y/n.

"How dare you try to deceive my Mistress, i suppose i have no other option than to end your life." His smile was sickening as he raced forward to slash her, Y/n's eyes widening as she panicked.

"Stop Mizuki do not touch her!" His whole body freezing as he took in the sacred word binding, feeling the sweet pinch of her command forcing his body to stop and obey her. It was euphoric, sweet paralysis, a true pleasure to be held in Y/n's power. Turning to her he went bright red as he fell to his knees and begged.

"Do it again, please give me commands and tie me up with your sacred command!" Y/n cringed as she stared at Mizuki, his whole body wiggling in pleasure as he stared at her waiting for a command.

"Don't be a pervert Mizuki. I already have to deal with Tomoe and now you." Rubbing her forehead she closed her eyes before standing, Mizuki rushing to her side before she pushed his hands away.

"You truly are a beautiful Goddess Mistress." Y/n glared at him as she placed her hands on her hips.

"You kissed me in my sleep against my will! If we don't get Tomoe back i'm going to feed you to the spirits!" Y/n shouted as Mizuki wiggled at the threat making Y/n scrunch her nose up before slapping him across the face as he blushed.

"Stop being a pervert!" Mizuki held his face as he held in his excitement, his new Mistress was so fierce, it made his whole body tingle.

"I'm so glad you're adapting to the new changes." Mizuki whispered.

"This is the Dragon King's eye." Y/n deadpanned as she stared at the pearl in her hand feeling defeated as she laid on the sand and let out a small scream.

"Why is everything so difficult!" Mizuki held in his giggle as he watched her temper tantrum before he crouched beside her.

"We still have the eye, that was the deal wasn't it?" Y/n nodded, her nose in the sand before she sat up and shook her head, staring at the pearl in thought. Mizuki pulled the tickets the yokai had given him, a thanks for not murdering her, which he couldn't have done even if he wanted to with the sacred command in place. Thinking about it he repressed a wiggle of pleasure at the thought of being held against his will once more.

"I still think you should have let me punish her. Instead we only got these." Mizuki spoke as Y/n scowled at him and grabbed the tickets, flicking sand at him.

"Don't be so silly, i just wanted her out of here before you tried to kill her." Mizuki looked down at Y/n as she stood, brushing off her shirt as she looked over the tickets, atleast they had a way to the Dragon King's palace now.

"I assure you a familiar will never kill in front of their God, surely Tomoe was the same right? He would never want you to see his dirty work. It might have angered you." Y/n raised an eyebrow as she thought about Tomoe but pushed it out her head and hurried Mizuki to the ocean.

"My Dragon King someone is coming right at us!" The Dragon King ignored his subordinate before the sea slug opened the door in panic. The King looking up bored from his calculations.

"It's the oyster with the fox!" The Dragon King's eyebrow raised as he hurried up shouting Tomoe's name as he flung open the doors to the banquet room. There stood Tomoe, the oyster now ripped open from the inside and the fox gave him a dangerous look as he spoke.

"Good grief. The sensation of being wrapped up in flesh brought back such fond memories. It has been a long time Dragon King. However showing yourself in front of my Mistress Lady Y/n, well that is unacceptable. You knew i would not conduct such bloody business in front of her. You had such a nerve to believe you had one, but now we have changed venues and she will not see the mess i am to make of you as i did 500 years ago. Well, the fun is to begin." The Dragon King's eye went wide as fire began to grow from Tomoe's hand.

Y/n fiddled with her shirt as she sat across from a Lady, her dress beautiful as she explained the item in her hands before the Lady asked what a Land God was doing in the Dragon Kingdom.

"My friend is being held as collateral so i'm venturing there to return the item her stole and bring him home." Y/n smiled as the Lady smiled back and spoke of her husband, her voice smooth and body language full of poise and pride. Y/n felt herself be chucked against the wide of the cart as the Turtle rolled, the half coat flying out the window as the Lady's eyes widened. Y/n rushed to the window before Mizuki caught her, pulling her back as the Lady asked her to sit.

"It is okay, it has been swept away by the current and i fear it will be long gone by now. I imagine that tremor came from the palace. I can always make another half coat, let us carry on our journey." Y/n reached over taking the Lady's hands in hers as she sympathised with her.

"I am so sorry, it was a beautiful garment and i am sure your Husband would have adored it." The Lady smiled back before Y/n sat back, the three of them relaxing as they waited for the journey to finish.

Y/n's eyes were wide as she looked at the Palace, the Lady behind her looking around with distain as sea slugs got closer.

"This is beautiful." The ground shook once more almost knocking Y/n off her feet as the slugs spoke to the beautiful Lady.

"The King is trying to put the fox down." Was all she needed to hear as she began running towards the banquet hall, following the sounds of crashes and the blue flames coming from the room.

The Dragon King fell to the ground under the rubble as he grinned at Tomoe and stood, Tomoe encased in Blue flames as they stared each other down.

"You look far more beastly now than you did on the beach. Even a thousand year love would cool if someone saw you like this." Tomoe raised an eyebrow as he took in the King's words.

"So you know Y/n?" The Dragon King laughed as he stared at the fox in defiance.

"She came pestering me to bring you back, she offered to get my Right eye in exchange for you." Tomoe's fire diminished as she leaned against the wall with a small pout.

"That stupid girl, she is the only Land God who is so incapable of doing such a thing." The Dragon King deadpanned as his jaw dropped.

"That crazy girl is a Land God! I thought she was your lover! Why were you holding her so damn close!" Tomoe threw a fish at the Dragon King as he stood and placed a hand on his hip.

"She may not look the part but she is still the God of Mikage's Shrine! She is not some woman to be touched so carelessly with sullied hands." Tomoe glared at the Dragon King before the door flew open revealing Y/n as she panted, Tomoe's eyes widening as he took in her appearance. The shirt she wore barely covered her bikini, small rips in the waist and hips that resembled claw marks as she pushed her hair back and stormed in. Tomoe felt panic rush through his veins as she stormed towards him, throwing his body into the oyster and slamming it closed. Y/n stared in disbelief as the oyster rocked back and forth from the sudden movement, her jaw open before she clenched her jaw and slammed her hands against the oyster.

"Get out here right now you stupid fox! What do you think you're doing in there after almost destroying this palace huh? And speaking of this palace 500 years ago you were just as stupid as you are now so come out here right now and deal with your punishment or i swear i will pry to you out of there!" Tomoe stayed silent as he felt her hit against the oyster, his hand on his heart as he thought about her, caring for him, coming to save him. It was so admirable and now he felt too embarrassed to face her. Y/n huffed before she pointed at the Dragon King making him jump as she walked over and poked his chest.

"You! Take your stupid eye and get him out of there so i can take him back already! I have had a hell of a day and quite frankly i want a hot bath and to go to bed. You're grown yokai for goodness sake!" The Dragon King nodded in fear as he tried to force the oyster open but Tomoe gripped it from the inside as Y/n face palmed, she had two idiots fighting each other. Mizuki appeared next to Y/n with a grin as he placed an arm around her shoulder.

"If he is causing so much trouble Mistress shall we return to the Shrine and i will run you a bath and massage your body?" He almost hissed in her ear, Y/n looking at him in disgust ready to shout at him before the oyster flew open and Tomoe launched at Mizuki. Tomoe held Mizuki's kimono in his hands as he glared down at him.

"Mistress? What did you do you pathetic little snake!" Tomoe froze as he realised he was out the oyster, turning his head to where Y/n was almost breathing fire as she grabbed his ear and forced him to kneel before her as she scolded him.

"You came out the damn oyster to shout at Mizuki!" Tomoe could feel her nails dig into his ear as he inhaled, he could smell himself all over Y/n as he always could, he made it as habit of scenting her, reminding every Yokai she was his. But now, now he could smell that disgusting snake on her, tainting her. Pouting he crossed his arms listening to his lecture before Y/n sighed and let go of his ear, falling forward as he caught her in his arms, a content smile on her face as she looked at him.

"I'm so happy you're okay! Y'know, i went into the past and you weren't as scary as everyone says." Y/n let out a laugh as Tomoe froze, staring at her deeply before bowing down and placing a kiss on her lips, shocking Y/n as he pulled away a second later. Licking his lips as he tasted the faint hint of her blood, the taste familiar as Y/n blinked in confusion.

"I had to get that snake off you." Y/n nodded slowly as Tomoe stood, Y/n carried in his arms as he glared at Mizuki before departing.

Y/n seemed to be in this position too much with Tomoe as she sat with her arms crossed, pouting as he lectured her on letting her guard down, his hand pointing to Mizuki as he yelled animated.

"Don't even get me started on agreeing to 30 years of your life in exchange for that stupid eye!" Y/n shot a glare at Mizuki as he blanched and hid behind Tomoe who quickly kicked him away shouting at him for allowing her to make such a stupid decision.

"And then to come to the Dragon Kingdom with him? What would you have done if he attacked you and i was inside that oyster!" Y/n went to argue back but Tomoe continued his rant.

"Do you think this snake can protect you like i can? I swear you enjoy making my blood pressure go up!" Y/n pouted again as she looked away, she felt like a child being scolded by her parent. Tomoe sighed as he reached down and placed his hand on her chin, bring her face up to look at him as he tilted his head and spoke calmly.

"Do not put your life in danger for me again." Y/n nodded, she could feel his breath on her mouth, could smell his scent and recalled how his past self had been so similar yet so different it made her mind spin.

"Good, now." Tomoe moved away and turned to Mizuki with a dark aura.

"You are going to be punished for kissing Y/n." Y/n blushed as she watched Tomoe throw Mizuki outside shouting at him to clean and stop slacking but she kept replaying his words. He was being punished for kissing her, not for tricking her into being her familiar, but for kissing her.

Y/n sighed as she brushed her hair, she had 30 minutes before she had to meet Kei and Ami for the mixer. Tomoe stood behind Y/n with his arms in his kimono as he watched her, his chest constricting as she bent over to put her brush away, her skirt riding up and showing the frills on her underwear making him blush. He thought about how foolish humans were, Y/n had no idea her skirt was so short or that when she bent over she could flash anyone which made him agitated as moved to stand right behind her.

"Change." Y/n jolted as she looked over her shoulder at Tomoe, confused as she stood and looked in the mirror, she thought she'd picked a nice outfit. Nothing too fancy or flirty, just a simply black skirt and jumper.

"Why? I think it looks nice." Y/n shrugged off his demand as she tried to decide how to style her hair, Tomoe scowled as he looked down at her. He hated the feeling that over came him at the idea of any other man seeing her like that, to see her legs or to feel them the way he had, it burnt him like fire deep in soul to imagine it.

"That skirt is far too short and i will not have you parading around in something so indecent." Y/n'e eyes widened as she turned and looked at Tomoe, his face serious as she looked down at her outfit and back at him. Placing a hand on her hip she raised an eye in defiance and shook her head.

"No." Y/n grinned to herself as she saw Tomoe's ear twitch at her resistance, although it was short lived when she felt herself be hoisted over his shoulder as she yelped in shock.

"Tomoe! Put me down!" Tomoe let out a chuckle as he walked towards the wardrobe, one hand holding her over his shoulder as he looked through her clothes, trying to find something that would hide her body from others.

"Tomoe!" Y/n whined hitting his back as she felt his hands grip the back of her thigh, she could feel her stomach growing hot at his touch. Embarrassment was now flooding her veins as she wiggled in his hold causing him to readjust her on his shoulder, his hand now holding her inner thigh to keep her still as she sucked in a breath. He hadn't touched her thighs since he'd had to change her bandages and now her skin pricked up at the warmth of his palms on her soft inner thighs.

"Stop squirming or i will spank you." Y/n froze, she hadn't been meaning to rub her thighs together, directly on him either but she had been lost in her thoughts and was sure if Tomoe stood in front of a mirror there would be a wet patch on her baby blue underwear. His threat was still hanging in the air as she tried not to think about it but it was like a bee to honey as she imagined him slapping her gently before massaging it better as he punished her. She was now certain if his hands moved higher he would be able to feel how wet she was, this was a whole new level of embarrassment, she'd never be able to look at him again.

"This should do." Tomoe spoke, trying to keep his voice steady as he smelt her arousal, directly next to his nose, it was too much and he hadn't expected her to react in such a way so quickly. It was making him insatiable, the need to throw her down and take her, to hear her moan out his name instead of going to this stupid mixer. He'd already tried to convince her she had Godly duties but it had fallen on deaf ears. Placing her down he handed her a baby blue dress, the sweetheart neckline was not the most modest choice but it was the same colour as his kimono and his flame, he couldn't have made it more clear she was his. Y/n looked at the dress, her face flushed red as she agreed and hurried him out the room, sighing when she was alone as she looked at the ceiling. Tomoe was going to be the death of her if she couldn't get this attraction under control.

Ami and Y/n sat beside Kei as she flirted with one of the boys across from them, Y/n wasn't the least interested in them but Kei was still trying to get back at her ex and Ami was too cute to say no to. Y/n's eye twitched as one of the boys said they had a girlfriend, she was sat across from him as he stuck his tongue out.

"So Fox, stalking Y/n whilst she's on a date?" Tomoe's ear twitched as Kurama dropped onto the branch next to him with a smirk. Tomoe ignored him until Kurama whistled.

"Wow she really dolled up for this huh?" Tomoe preened as he looked at Y/n, the blue complimented her well and the length almost touched her knees compared to the little black skirt from before.

"Yes, i dressed her beautifully, the colour suits her well does it not?" Tomoe flicked his fan, covering his face as Kurama looked closer before deadpanning and looking at Tomoe.

"Sly fox." Tomoe smirked as he fanned himself, proud that his message had been received loud and clear by the tengu. Kurama smirked again as he leaned on his hand and teased Tomoe.

"You're taking this well, Y/n on a date, anything could happen and as her familiar you can't stop her from wanting more...human relations." Tomoe's hand froze as he listened to Kurama, his eyes turning to slits as he looked at him. Kurama now grinned widely as he continued to torture Tomoe.

"She is an 18 year old girl, she'd bound to want more in life than just being a Land God, most humans want children...or atleast to try to make them." Kurama let out a laugh as Tomoe broke his fan. Kurama let out a screech as Tomoe threw fire at him making him fall out the tree.

"So what are you girls into?" One of the boys asked, Kei instantly answering as Y/n took a sip of her drink and looked up, finding the reddish pink hair coloured boy looking at her. Going red she looked back down as she heard him chuckle, his foot coming to touch her leg as she jumped and looked at him in shock, his eyes not even on her as he engaged in conversation with his friends. Y/n was sure she had imagined it before she felt his foot rub up and down her leg again, his eyes now full of mischief as she moved her leg away making him stick out his tongue. Y/n didn't want to ruin this mixer for Kei but the guy across from her was getting on her nerves as he suggested Kei and him swap seats so Kei could get to know his friend more.

Tomoe glared at the back of the boys head as he scooted next to Y/n, watching her sit up straight as she moved further away, Tomoe praising her in his head for not letting the boy sit too close until he threw his arm behind Y/n's seat and leaned against her whispering in her ear.

"So, what do you like Y/n?" His voice grated her as his other hand landed on her clothed thigh and she was now thankful Tomoe had made her change or it would have been her naked skin he touched. Scooting closer to Ami she gave him a friendly smile.

"Oh uhh, i like cooking, i especially like cooking soup." Y/n scratched her neck anxiously as she thought of Tomoe, recalling how much she enjoyed cooking for him and when he would teach her new things. The guy laughed as he twirled a piece of Y/n's hair around his finger.

"Really? I think it's so cute when a girl loves to cook." Y/n let out an awkward laugh as she moved her head away watching her hair fall put his hand as he let it drop next to her head.

"That's cool, does your girlfriend like cooking?" Y/n put emphasis on girlfriend hoping he would get the hint or atleast act as though he wasn't single but he only laughed and shook his head.

"No, she likes being a pampered princess. But i think it's nice to be the one who's pampered, especially by someone as pretty as you." Y/n cringed inside before she suddenly half stood and looked at the boy.

"I need to some fresh air. I'll be back soon." The boy's eyes were wide as she scooted past, scurrying out the restaurants door and away from the awkward tension. Sitting down Y/n put her head in her hands as she tried to calm her heart, she didn't understand why that guy was acting like that when he had a girlfriend.

"I'll keep you company." Y/n jumped as a hand landed on her shoulder and she held in a groan as he sat next to her, a smirk on his face as he looked her up and down, almost enjoying how she tried to hide her face from him. Moving forward he placed a hand under her chin to pull her face out her arms, making her look at him as Y/n frowned at him.

"Come on, smile for me atleast. You were the prettiest girl in there and i know you were loving the attention i gave you." Y/n scowled as she pulled her face free from his hand.

"I don't want your attention, i'm not that type of girl thanks." Y/n went to stand, feeling his hand on hers as he pulled her back down making her fall into his lap as he held her waist. Her eyes now wide as she pushed against his check, his eyes dark.

"Then what kind of girl are you huh? I think if me and you got out of here i'd see how freaky you really-" Y/n yelped as her arm was tugged, the guy suddenly flying off the fountain as Tomoe stood behind him, his hand on Y/n's arm and foot raised from where he'd kicked him.

"Finish that sentence and you die." Tomoe threatened as he pulled Y/n against his chest, his eyes staying on the guy as he scampered up with fear in his eyes.

"I didn't know she had a boyfriend!" He stuttered out before running back into the restaurant. Tomoe turned to Y/n, his hand on her chin as he looked her over, he could see the slight tears in her eyes.

"Thank you." Y/n whispered, she felt silly, she'd dealt with Yokai trying to kill her, being kidnapped, losing her home and the first thing to make her cry was a human boy. Tomoe's eyes softened as he ran a finger under her eyes, catching the tear that almost fell making her eyes close as he held her gently against him.

"You do not need thank me. I will always keep you safe." Y/n nodded before opening her eyes with a sad smile.

"Can we go home now?" Tomoe nodded, his urge to chase after the human and enjoy some bbq was replaced by the need to see Y/n smile with joy.

Y/n stared at the wall, steam filling the room as she lay with half her face in the warm water, the scent of citrus filling the air as she bathed.

"Are you almost done in there Y/n?" Y/n squealed as she sat up, Mizuki's voice scaring her as she heard the door begin to open, seeing his face with a wide smile on it as she screamed and covered her chest.

"Mizuki!" Said yokai only laughed as he held up a towel with an innocent smile, Y/n ducked into the water as she stared in horror at her familiar coming closer.

"There is no need to be shy Lady Y/n, i am only here to assist you." Before he could get any closer a leaf hit his head causing him to fall face first onto the ground, Tomoe stood behind him glaring at his body.

"Were you trying to look at Y/n in the bath?" His voice was deep and terrifying as Mizuki smiled up at him and waved.

"Of course not i simply wished to help her out and dry her body off, it is only my job as her familiar." Mizuki's voice filled with innocence as Tomoe grabbed his kimono and dragged the snake out, Mizuki waving goodbye to Y/n as she deadpanned at the stupidity of her familiars.

"I'd better get out now to make sure Tomoe doesn't kill him." Y/n sighed to herself as she stood, turning her back to the door as she wrung out her hair.

"Y/n i have taught the snake a lesson, he should know to respect your..." Tomoe's voice stopped as he stared at Y/n, her head turned to him as her face went bright red, hands still holding her hair as her naked body was in his sight. Squealing Y/n covered her chest, luckily her back faced Tomoe as she shouted at him.

"Get out!" Tomoe slammed the door as quick as possible, staring at it as he felt frozen in his spot unable to move. His mind replaying how her body looked, every inch of her free for his eyes to roam, her body covered in a layer of water that made the view even more perverted.

The door opened as Tomoe looked at Y/n, his eyes wide as she bumped into him, his hands catching her as he pulled her wet body against his kimono and held her still. One of her hands pressed against his chest whilst the other clung the towel wrapped around her middle.

"Y/n." Tomoe breathed out, her hand fisting in his kimono as she blushed but could not look away.

"Yes Tomoe." Y/n's voice barely above a whisper as he gulped, his mind overflowing as he looked down at her, her chest pressed together and smushed against his, he could feel the slight dampness under the towel where his hands touched. He couldn't hold back any longer, not when she looked at him with half lidded eyes, not when he could hear her breath hitch as he got closer and especially not when he could feel her cross her legs and squirm.

"I'm sorry." Tomoe whispered as his lips met hers, the kiss feral as he gripped at her, pushing her back into the bathroom and sliding the door closed to be able to press her to it. His entire body on fire as he slotted a leg between hers, a hand beside her head as he devoured her.

Y/n moaned against Tomoe's lips, her hand coming to clutch his neck as his hand pulled her waist to press her into his chest, rubbing her along his thigh as she whined at the feeling. Tomoe's hand clenched around the door, his nails scraping loudly as he groaned as the feeling of her pressed into his thigh, all his senses completely encompassed by Y/n. Pulling away he kissed her jaw, running his canines down onto her neck as she curled her hand in his hair and tugged him further into her. Gripping the towel he yanked it from her hand, throwing it behind him as he moved back to stare at her naked body, loving how her eyes glowed with innocence yet she didn't move to hide herself from his gaze.

"Perfection." Tomoe whispered as he dropped to his knees, Y/n squealing as he ran his hands along her thighs before holding her right leg up and throwing it over his shoulder, his nose nuzzling against her inner thigh as he inhaled.

"You do not understand how hard it is to deny myself this pleasure everytime i smell your arousal, it is constant torture Y/n. To see you squirm, to hear your heart beating so fast i worry you'll faint but worst of all, it's the sweet smell that seems to taunt me. It is divine." Y/n let out a moan as he leant forward, his tongue sweeping across her clit as one of her hands came to grip his hair whilst his other hand held hers beside her waist, forcing her to arch her back and push her pussy into his mouth.

"T-Tomoe." Y/n stuttered out, breathless as she looked down with half lidded eyes, his eyes piercing into hers as he continued to swipe his tongue across her clit, enjoying how her body twitched with each movement of his tongue. He was a man starved, a feral fox and not even the most powerful God could pull him from between her legs in that moment. Y/n's eyes closed as she bit her lip, head bumping the door as she arched further into him, his tongue now finding it's rhythm as she panted at each figure of eight he created. Her nails digging into his head as she squirmed. Tomoe moaned against her clit as he ran a hand along her thigh that rest next to his head, nails scraping the vulnerable flesh as he sucked on her clit enjoying how she jumped and moaned loudly.

"Tomoe." The moan, his name, her taste, God's he was done for. Moving his hand along her thigh he curved it around her thigh under he could glide a clawed finger along her pussy, listening to her gasp at the coolness of his finger tip as he moved his mouth down allowing his fingers to play with her clit as he pushed his tongue in and out her pussy.

"You are being such a good girl for me Y/n." Tomoe moaned out, rubbing his fingers quicker as he matched the pace with his tongue, her hands clenching harder in his hair as she panted out his name. Tomoe wanted so badly to push his fingers into her pussy but his claws would hurt her too much and he never wanted to change the pleasure to pain unless she asked. Y/n whimpered as she threw back her head and moaned his name, barely able to open her eyes as she chased her orgasm, Tomoe lapping at her pussy as he held himself back.

"Tomoe, i..i feel funny." Y/n whispered as her eyes barely cracked open to see Tomoe grinning between her thighs as he removed his finger and sucked harshly on her clit, Y/n crying out as she came hard. Tomoe helping her ride out the orgasm as he continued his torment, his hand now pushing her thighs open to keep his head between them. Y/n tried to push him away as she moaned and cried out, her pussy clenching around nothing as she whimpered his name. It felt so amazing yet she felt like her pussy was going to explode if he didn't stop, Tomoe sucked harshly once more as Y/n yelped out making him grin against her leg as he pulled away and watched her. Her hair stuck to her forehead as she panted, eyes blank as Tomoe placed her leg down, his hands holding her hips as he held her up.

"Y/n." Tomoe spoke softly, bringing her attention to him as she nodded, mouth slightly open as she breathed in and out, chest rising and falling as her nipples grazed his kimono making her sigh out another moan at the stimulation. Eyes closing as she leant against the door, Tomoe looking her over before removing his Kimono, his trousers underneath covering his lower half as he draped it over her, Y/n inhaling his scent as she fell forward into his arms.

"You did so well. Try to get some rest." Y/n nodded as Tomoe picked her up, carrying her to his bedroom as he laid beside her, curling into her body whilst she fell asleep.

Mizuki laid with his face against the floor, tears flowing from his eyes.

"Is Lady Y/n okay? Is Tomoe hurting her?" The spirits asked eyes filled with concern as Mizuki raised his head.

"No...he is not hurting her." Mizuki dropped his head again as he continued to cry.

Hey guys, i'm not properly out of my slump but atleast it's something right?

[thepinkdreamganjaqueen]

Run Rabbit

Homelander x Fem Reader 

Masterlist 🩷

Summary: Homelander spots you assisting first responders helping those less fortunate in a building fire. People he wouldn’t normally bother helping or even caring about. It’s just his job and a mundane and boring one at that. But you caught his eye. You selflessly cared for them, helping them. It disgusts him. HE needs your help! It makes him want to make you dirty, to spoil your spirit, to make you like him, and what the Homelander wants, he takes.

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, oral (m and f receiving), piv, unprotected sex, breeding, gaslighting, coercion, DUBCON, praise, begging, mentions of violence, stalking, swearing, obsession, D/S implications, mentions of death (implied), blood play, choking, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, dacryphilia, mommy issues (brief mention)… It’s homelander… 

A/N: My head Is so full of fuck! I had to get a Homelander fic out in the midst of all these fics I’m grinding on! This man, being of pure perfection, got me in a damn chokehold!! Why do we always tend to go for the guys that are walking red flags? Like, I can fix him! On a more serious note, these characters are all endearing in their own way. Trauma can manifest into some pretty terrible things, and I think we can all relate to that in some way or another. I tried to keep it short... that did not happen you know how it goes. Please, I hope y’all enjoy this one! And as always, I welcome, ideas, comments and criticisms, but please be nice. Cheeers! 

Word Count: 6.3k

Tags: fem!reader, smut, dark content 

RUN RABBIT 

He watched as you helped those around you. He had been for a while now, just out of view of the bustling crowds beginning to form and watch the commotion. He watched as you gave aid to those less fortunate. The vulnerable people you had pledged to help so long ago. It was your job and came naturally to you. He watched as the building continued to burn growing fiercer with each moment that passed. Fire reflected in his eyes with a look of discernment, perhaps even disgust, but all he could seem to focus on was you. He watched as you gave people solace and respite, watched as your hair clung to the sweat on your face from the heat of the flames, how your ample chest rose and fell as you breathed shakily, helping the local paramedics and EMT’s. You gathered supplies and handed out bottled water to those affected. A fire had broken out at the shelter. It was an old building, probably not up to date on fire regulations and things of that nature. It housed approximately 80 people that evening. You rushed about frantically helping in any way you could. A bleeding heart, he thought.  

He felt a mixture of abhorrence and lust. Something about the way you cared for those he considered beneath him. He couldn’t understand, his distaste for humanity growing every day. Yet, something about the way you cared for them, in a loving, and motherly way, so perfect. It stirred his loins and a deep longing simmered within him, a feeling he was quick to extinguish. He often had these troubled thoughts paired with erections. It was nothing new. Trauma manifesting into sexual desires as a coping mechanism. He hastily grabbed at his crotch, shifting his bulge within his suit.  

He was above it all anyway. Humans merely play things for him, entertainment. Like a fox chasing a rabbit, you became his prey. He would make you his new toy and break you. He wanted to make you dirty, to make you like him. He wanted to ruin you. He had to be methodical about this, but still, it would be easy, he thought. Conquests were never a challenge for him. He was handsome, had charm, and could put on a “friendly” demeanor if he needed to. Plus, he was a supe. If he couldn’t get a woman with his A lister status alone, he could simply force her to be with him. He would do what was necessary. He preferred little to no effort, but he couldn’t lie to himself. Sometimes, he liked the chase. Both literally and figuratively. He was like a predator. Cold, calculated. Run little rabbit, he’d think to himself. Seeing lesser beings and their pathetic attempts to escape him was his favorite kind of entertainment and maybe even gave him the feeling of joy. If only for a short time. He often found himself bored, tired of the mundane. Meetings at Vought HQ, Ashley up his ass, saving…. People. His disgust caused a visceral reaction. Tonight, he would find entertainment to chase that elusive high.  

He flew over, hovering then lowering himself as he outstretched his arms, palms down as if to quell the crowd’s murmurs and bestow peace. A façade, he couldn’t care less. He had ulterior motives. “Don’t worry, everyone, everything’s under control” he spoke. Sure, he initially showed up to do what The Homelander does… be a hero. But you caught his eye, something more interesting and surer to be more giving than the appreciation of his adoring fans and the thrill of an applauding crowd. He wanted the pleasure of seeing you beg for him. Soon. He thinks to himself with a mischievous look crossing his lips. He is staring at you as he lands. You thought he looked your way but couldn't be sure. He began that repetitive, mundane, and ever so grueling process of saving these pathetic souls. He darts in and out of the building, grabbing them one by one at a crawling pace ‘for him’. Everyone in the crowds cheered on as you watched this man help people.  

It was no unordinary feat truly. Supes were common, and Homelander was the most well-known. The leader of the seven, Americas hero. Nevertheless, you watched on as he effortlessly helped people get out safely. You caught yourself admiring his physique, he was essentially perfect. No wonder, you thought. It’s as if he was made to be perfect. His charismatic smile, striking blue eyes, chiseled jawline, and athletic build. You found yourself breathing heavier, face flushed, racy thoughts manifesting. You were still in that moment, watching how his suit would singe from the flames that brushed and flicked against him. Embers flew from the fabric and fizzled out, skin remaining untouched but revealed underneath. The glint of the gold eagle shoulder accents on his suit shined in the light of the raging fames that burst through every opening of the building, returning once more.  

The building erupted in what must have been a gas line explosion you thought. Homelander walked out through the flames with the last individual hurled over his shoulders. He sauntered over to your direction where you stood with a few EMTs who were supporting victims in a pop-up tent. Next to you, a bare stretcher. Homelander stopped next to you and dropped the smoking body onto the stretcher, eyes locking with yours as he did. He could hear your heartbeat quicken and your breathing go shallow. You were unsure if it was fear or excitement in this moment, he scared you in a way. You couldn't tell if he was disingenuous. Too many things were happening all at once, it was a state of high emotion and your head was spinning. You felt like you were helpless and had no control. He did though. He behaved as if this was nothing to him, as if he could do this one hundred times over. Of course he could, yet you could sense the arrogance behind his charismatic demeanor. 

You manage to speak in his presence. Something you had tried to do for several unending moments now under his gaze. “Thank you” you manage to mumble in a timid manner. You found it hard to maintain eye contact with him. He was so sure, so confident, and so… beautiful. You had never had the opportunity to be in the presence of a supe, let alone meet one. You had only seen them on TV, in the news, or in movies. Simmering in what you thought to be embarrassment or intimidation, you hastily make you way out of the tent, brushing by him as you passed. He watched over his shoulder as you disappeared behind him, feeling the warmth from you as you passed. He inhaled deeply as you walked away. You were so flustered but didn’t know why… You knew why, truly you did. It just didn’t make sense. You didn’t want it to make sense. You felt attraction to him, and you felt guilty for it for whatever reason. For many reasons. But mainly, you felt bad that in this moment, you felt lust and your attention drawn away from the people that needed your help the most. 

You made it behind the tent and had begun fidgeting with a worry stone you kept in your pocket. Rubbing it furiously when you hear the wet splat of steps behind you. You look down, the grounds wet; the fire fighters must be here, you think. A firm hand grabs your shoulder and spins you around. He looks at you matter of factly with a smirk. “You know, I wanted to tell you back there, thank you, for the work you do and for helping these fine people” he said, hand still on your shoulder. His eyes beaming into yours a deep sapphire. “I also wanted to let you know that there were some folks over there that could really use your help! That is, if you still want to help people.” He watched as shame crossed your face, then guilt and confusion. Easy, he thought. They’re so fucking easy! His smile, perfect white teeth gleaming at you. You recoil at his words, struck by how kind he sounded with the contrast of his delivery. You felt immediately inclined to help, like you didn’t have a choice but to prove it to yourself, and to him, for whatever reason. 

You nod your head in agreement, convinced by him you needed to. You feel a weight take over your entire body, pulling you down. Before you realize you were being flown away from the scene. The Homelander had picked you up and shot towards the sky. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you against his body. Terror filled you, but you were too high up to scream, the force of wind hindering your speech and breathing as it forcefully blew past your face. What did you agree to? You think. Where is he taking me? As quickly as the thoughts came to fruition, you were on your feet once more. He was looking down at you, still clinging tightly to your lower back. His face is indifferent and uncaring, almost empty. The suit he wore felt ridged where flames made contact. Soft in some places where the fabric was still intact and cool, where his skin peeked through. Your arms still grasped his biceps until you became aware you were doing so and let go. You wondered how he felt under the suit. He’s invincible, is his skin like that of a rock, or is he soft and pliable. He caught you gazing at the areas where his suit had melted away. He watched as you admired him. He knew the thoughts running through your head. He could see them cross your face. He was amused. That mixture of lust, exhilaration, and fear. He craved that from you, and you were abundantly insatiable. 

“Just through there.” He gestured kindly toward a door as he let go of your waist. You took a second to observe your surroundings, still fearful of what exactly you were doing and where the hell you were. For an educated girl, you felt like this was a really stupid decision. You were standing on a white tiled balcony about fifty, maybe sixty stories up. The city sprawled out before you. You could see city lights and in the distance a plume of smoke sure to be the fire you just came from. You remarked at how far away you were. Looking towards the door you saw white curtains billowing through the opening leading into a dark room. “This way” he gestures once more. His hand at the small of your back pushing you towards the entrance. 

You step inside, looking for someone, anyone. A large room with a couple connecting hall ways it looked like. Seems to be an apartment. A very nice one. You begin searching the room familiarizing yourself with it, it’s pretty dark except for the light of a modular fire place that hung from the ceiling. There’s a four-post bed with sheer white curtains, lace pillows, and a velvet duvet. Some accents, art, and statues, it looked very high class, very luxurious. Who did it belong to? You thought. It didn't matter though. 

Homelander had stepped behind you watching you roam the apartment you were now essentially trapped in. He stood behind you, shedding off pieces of his torched suit, exposing himself completely. He playfully tugged at his cock, already hard. Pulling it to his abdomen and letting it slap down onto his leg in a spring like motion. SLAP! He was hard watching you at the building fire, the intensity only grew. Especially when he held you close. He watched you search the room, calling out to no one. He snickered to himself. How much is she really willing to help hmm? He thought about you begging for him, praying he would let you come, but only after he tore you to shreds and broke you down mentally. He needed you to crave him, needed you to need him. Appreciate him, respect him, and most of all, obey him! Look at her, stupid enough to go along with this, she’s so sweet. It sickened him and only made his fervent lust grow. 

The realization finally began to hit, and a pit dropped in your stomach. There was no one here to help. In a way, you already knew but held onto some kind of hope, albeit for nothing. You began to spiral in your mind when a loud slap could be heard behind you. You spin around quickly on your heels, already on edge when your eyes are drawn to Homelander. The doors had closed behind him, and there he stood, completely nude in front of you. You stood with your mouth agape when he said “sorry, my suit was burned, practically tarnished, I had to take it off.” He shrugged his shoulders and chuckled with a sly smile. Hs eyes narrowed as he grabbed his cock and pulled it up once more to his abdomen and let it slap down onto his leg. SLAP! He was throbbing, watching your reaction to him so boldly lying to your face and exposing himself to you, jacking off in front of you with zero consequences. He knew he could do anything he wanted- get anything he wanted, and anyone would give it to him, even you. Whether you liked it or not. 

You recoiled in disgust and shock, eyes wide with fear. Although earlier you had thought about him like this maybe even slightly, not like this! “Where are they?!” you tried to say in a tone that was stern yet confident enough to not show fear. He could hear the fear in your voice, the pulse that raced through your veins that told everything in your mind and body to run away. “Who?” he replied teasingly. SLAP! “The people! The people you said needed help!” you shot back, starting to lose your cool. Heat rose to your cheeks and you felt hot, dizzy and angry. The light of the fireplace danced gently over his features illuminating him in an amber glow. Every muscle, every shape and curve on his body, shrouded in firelight.  

He stepped forward, walking briskly towards you. You stammered back, glancing behind you, looking for a place to run but hitting a wall. You tried to look for an exit, but the room was dimly lit, and it was too late. He was already right in front of you. You leaned against the wall and clasped your hands behind your back as he pressed his hand against the wall next to your head, the other hand holding his throbbing length… SLAP!  

“It’s me!” he said in a curt tone, almost annoyed you didn’t know. His eyes traveled, looking you up then down. “I need your help!” he stated. You turned your head sideways as he leaned in, whispering in your ear “My suit was burned, I could have been hurt saving those people, don’t you care?” A brief flicker of red lit up behind each eye, and you felt yourself shrink in his presence. You were scared, unsure of yourself. He’s invincible, you thought. Your head spun; you didn’t understand the weight of the situation. Except that he lied to you to get you here. He grabbed your chin with his free hand and turned your face to his, looking at you behind a furrowed brow. “Don’t you care about me?!” SLAP! His face scrunched, examining your reaction, waiting for a reply. “Y-Yes.. I care about you.” You chimed apprehensively and unconvincingly. He doesn't even know your name, you thought. He doesn't care. 

He let go of your chin. “Show me” he demanded behind a mischievous smile that curled at the ends of his lips. He placed his hands on your shoulders gripping the fabric of your shirt underneath and ripping it off, pulling it apart, you heard the buttons pop off and hit the floor with a ting as it ripped down the center. Your heart leapt into your throat as he devours you with his eyes, reeling in the sight of your ample breasts and the soft fleshy skin beneath your bra. He was all but salivating for you. He wanted to rip your bra off and nuzzle himself between your breasts, to inhale the skin, to feel their warmth. But he wanted you to prove yourself. Did you really care about him? Were you really a good girl? 

At this point, you realize what he brought you here for. But why you? He was a supe. He could literally kill you without a thought, and he would be protected. Your mind was hazy, but you couldn’t stop your own eyes from wandering. He was, in all his glory, vulnerable and bearing himself to you. Part of you thought it irresistable, intimate even. His body against yours felt like fire, and your senses began to tingle and go haywire. SLAP! You found yourself at the will of your hormones as your thoughts and body took over. He pushed his body closer, his hard length now pushing into your abdomen with force. A gasp fell from your lips as he looked into your eyes, a deep blue sea of burning blue ice. Entranced by his physique. Another whisper, more stern this time “I said, show me!”  

He stepped back, and you dropped to your knees in front of him. His hand on top of your head caressed the side of your face and slid to the underside of your chin, forcing you to look up at him, he gave a cursory look, eyebrows raised as if to say ‘I’m waiting’. Not wanting to disappoint him or make him angry, you quickly raise your hands up and rest them on his thighs. Feeling the softness of his skin. Leaning in, you open your mouth and take him in. His hands were immediately in your hair, pulling you in closer. Sticking out your tongue and forcing his length down the back of your throat. Tears begin to stream down your face. He put a finger to your face, catching a tear as it fell and pressing it to his tongue. His throbbing cock twitched in your throat. It was substantially thick and unreasonably big, the force stretching your throat was enough to make you cry.  

He threw his head back, letting out a low groan. Your mouth is so warm, so wet, and so tight. He imagined stretching your pussy, pounding you into oblivion until you either cried and begged for him to stop or climaxed and cried for more. You continued sucking, taking him in as deep as you could each time, hoping to please him and show him you were truly a good person. That you did care about him, you cared about everyone truly...but especially him. He created a feeling in you- you had not had previously, a desire for him. You used your hands to explore his body as you gulped him down, mesmerized by him. Caressing his abdomen, his buttocks and his balls. He had his hands twisted in your hair, rocking with the motion of your mouth. Every once in a while, taking your time to gently circle his tip with your tongue while sucking, ending in a kiss to his tip. Each time your lips pulled from him, a trail of precum would string from your lips.  

You looked up at him, licking your lips clean. “Mmm, that’s a good girl. Show me more.” He growled through his passion as he pulled you to your feet and directed you to get on the bed. He smacked your ass with force as you walked, it rang out with a snap, even against the fabric, it stung. You lurched forward falling into the bed face first. He quickly stood behind you spreading you knees apart on the bed with his legs as he approached. He began tearing your remaining clothes from you in shreds laughing. You felt defeated and ashamed, but you wanted more. Embarrassment filled your face with heat, a bright red hue colored your nose and cheeks.  

Your bra, snapped and torn. Your jeans, off, split in two, your underwear, lacy and white, torn from between your legs. You whimpered as they dug in while being ripped off of your body. Quick and painful. Grabbing your hips, he pulled you closer to the end of the bed where he stood. A cold breeze drifted across your back, buttocks, and exposed legs. He had you right where he wanted you. He liked it when you squirmed, when you whimpered. You thought perhaps you liked it as well. You found yourself helpless, at his mercy, and obeying his every command.  

He smacked you again and again. The sound of your flesh being abused rang out into the empty room, bellowing out and echoing back to you. Your skin again burning from the impact of his open hands leaving red hand prints sprinkled over your flesh. He joyfully continued. His face in a half smirk with eyes narrowed as he reveled in every cry that escaped your mouth. Your skin, now mottled with bruises and scratches. Smack! Again, he slaps your ass and drags his fingers down. Pinching you, squeezing hard, and watching you recoil, helpless to get away. You could feel the wetness spread between your legs. “Who’s my good girl, huh?” he said confidently in a gruff. “I aam” you cried out in a huff, face buried in the blankets. He placed both palms on your cheeks and placed his thumbs close to your crevice, pulling with his thumbs and exposing your most intimate parts to him. The brisk air on the wetness of your cunt sent a shiver up your back and goosebumps peppered your skin. Homelander took notice and began smoothing his hands over the surface of your legs and back as you lay before him, relishing in the work he’s created. An artwork of purple and red now enhanced by the prickling of your skin. 

What a sweet little cunt, he thought to himself. He then pushed against the surface of your opening with a single finger, taunting you, teasing you in a cruel way. You rocked your hips back toward him but couldn’t move, not unless he decided to let you. “what’s wrong bleeding heart? Not so sweet now, are you?” You whined as he toyed with you. Slowly drawing circles around your labia, clit, and opening, spreading your wetness around his fingers and your vulva. “Please, Homelander, please!” you begged him, a muffled plea distorted from the blankets below. You turn your head to look back at him, the only thing you could manage to move. You watched as he brought his face down, placing his tongue along your slit, flat, wide, and slowly licking up towards your entrance. You couldn’t take it anymore; he was teasing you and you were putty in his unforgiving hands. You melted into his touch. Pure bliss and euphoria filled your body as your mind released a load of dopamine to your receptors. Telling you, you wanted him, no- you needed him. Now! 

Slowly, he pushed two fingers in. The sheets below you, clutched within your hands as you lay on top of them. His hand held tightly, gripping your left cheek, holding you open as he explored, pushing in harder and deeper as he went. He could manage his strength sure, but he wanted so badly to fuck you into the bed, and you wanted to feel just a fraction of his strength, you thought you could handle it. In his mind he knew you couldn't. You, a delicate little thing. A rabbit he had caught. But just the same he held back, he needed time to play, to be entertained. 

The room filled with the aches and moans coming from your mouth as he pulled his fingers in and out of you, licking up and down your slit, and fucking you with his tongue. You wanted to move, but he had a hold of you. But you wanted to see his face, to watch him as he pleasured you so lovingly, a stark contrast to how you got here. They way his tongue traveled so freely between your folds and into your core, both tender and firm. There was no escape. You didn't want him to stop, your walls quivered around his fingers. 

He stopped, his fingers sopping, his face covered in your fluid. You feel his arm reach under you and pull you, turning you around. You lay before him on your elbows, knees bent. He pulls your forward, his face stern, as he gazed at your chest. He kneels in front of you and without words opens his mouth and laps at your breast flesh with his tongue. Sucking, licking, biting, lightly flicking your nipple with his tongue. A low hum building in the back of his throat. Your juices now smeared all over your chest as he paws and devours your breasts. You moan in ecstasy, a high-pitched squeal that reverberated in the room. You could feel his lips curl into a smile around your areola as he consumed all of you. Inhaling you in deeply.  

Your hand roamed his body, such a powerful being, and you had the pleasure of taming him. Your hands, rubbing along the muscles on his back, your fingers tracing the veins sticking out on his arms as he cradled your chest. In this moment, you weren't scared of him. You knew his power that he could kill you with his dick if he wanted to. But in this moment, he was vulnerable, weak even. He was the most human right now with you than he had felt in a while. Something about a woman with ample breasts opening up for him, opening everything up for him, filled him with a sense of true belonging. The elusive high he was truly trying to chase but always evaded him so eagerly. It was true compassion, isn't that why he chose you? You, specifically. Not just a beautiful woman, a beautiful woman with a pure heart.  

"You’re being such a good girl," he moaned into your chest. You move your hands from his shoulders to his face, pulling him up. He looks up at you. You observe an innocent, unassuming look in his eyes. He follows where you guide him. Your lips push against his in a heavy kiss. He pushes your shoulders down and pins you to the bed, enveloping you in his own passionate kiss. He swirls his tongue in your mouth and bites your bottom lip hard. You could taste the tinge of blood, like pennies in your mouth. Blood pooled at the corner or your mouth. With a flick of his thumb, he wiped it away and kissed you again. He found the taste of your blood mixed with your essence to be intoxicating, making him drunk with lust. 

 "Are you ready for your reward?" He said nefariously. That smile, no matter how menacing you thought it was, still made you crumble. "Mhmm" was all you could manage. He stood, quickly lifting you from the bed so you were face to face with him once more. He cradled your legs in his arms, holding you to him effortlessly. Slowly, you felt his arms drop you down, his hardness, now piercing your slick wet opening just barely. You groaned, once again trying to motion yourself closer to him, to feel him inside you, but he wouldn't let you move. It was his decision and his alone. With your arms wrapped around him, you began kissing his face and neck. Lightly with delicate pecks.  

Her lips were so soft and moist, he thought to himself as you indulged in him. Leaving traces of saliva trailed down his neck as you pulled your lips from his skin. Soft breaths from your mouth, creating a cool sensation on the surface. He growled deeply and with sudden force, dropped you down, sliding his whole length into you without hesitation or effort. He chuckles as you cry out. His swollen cock, so stiff, so large. It hurt sliding in. You were dripping with him just sticking the tip of his head at your surface, so he entered you easily. But you could feel the pressure inside stretching you from within, a painful yet satisfying fullness. His face was focused on yours as you cried in ecstasy and pain. The pain only amplifying the pleasure of him forcefully ramming you, lifting you up and down, sliding you on and off his cock. He could feel the pressure of your walls closing up and gripping him every time he slid hid length out of you. Then having to forcefully push back in again, opening you up. “So. Fucking. Tight.” He said with each grunt as he proceeded. 

Homelander’s thoughts had ceased at this point. He was enveloped in euphoria, acting on pure instinct but somehow still able to hold back. He concentrated on your face, watched as beads of sweat pooled on your forehead, then dropped down your face and onto your chest, glistening on your breasts. How your eyebrows curled up in the middle as your voice rang out into the room. Your screams only made him more crazed. He pounded you in a frenzy. Meeting each thrust with a grunt as he hit your cervix harder and faster with each push, causing you to cry out in moans of pure passion intermixed with pain. 

He dropped you back on the bed and stood at the end, parting your thighs once more with his legs. You thoughtlessly wrap them around him pulling him closer almost instant as if it was a natural reaction. You were too out of breath to speak; you could only mumble 3 words “I'll be good”. Homelander leans into the bed, a hand placed at either side of your face as he enters you.  

With your legs wrapped around him and his hands not holding you down, you were now free to meet his thrusts with your own, something he did not expect. He stopped for a moment and watched as you had become what he made you. Craving him, only wanting him, and willing to do anything for it. His body was rigid and still as you bucked and rocked underneath him, trying to meet his pelvis with your own thrusts when his right hand reaches over and closes over your throat He enters you. “Fuck!” you whisper in a harsh tone, unable to fully speak. He shoves his throbbing member into your cunt, squeezing your neck tighter with every slam into you, you fuck him back looking into his eyes as you moan his name.  

He sucks in through his teeth and lets out a long sigh, loosening his grip on your neck. “Now be a good girl and finish me off” he says in a deep whisper. You nod your head in agreement, wanting it just as bad as he did. He lightly pecks your lips before releasing his grip and lying next to you. You lift your legs to straddle him on the bed, knees pressed to his hips. His hands wander to your chest, squeezing and pulling the flesh. With your hands placed firmly on his abdomen, you allow yourself to sit down on him, giving yourself he time to adjust to him, which he had not done. He thought this to be tedious. Were you teasing him? He would not allow it. His hands reach out and grip your hips, pushing you onto him. There was nothing you could do; his strength was unimaginable. The power of his cock expanding you within was a testament to this. 

You didn't need him to push you down, you thought. You would happily ride him regardless of the pain. This was worth it, something you didn't know you needed and never thought you wanted. The earlier nights troubles were miles away in your mind, you could only think about him now, pleasing him. You felt a yearning for him brew deeply within your loins, and a longing in your heart. 

You propped yourself up, crouching above him on your feet, still stranding him. Your body had accepted him now, and you were wetter than ever, sopping around his manhood. Each bounce met with a loud exhausted moan from you, and a wet slap could be heard echoing off the walls of the room. Music to Homelanders ears, internalizing you moans. Mesmerizing to hear, indifferent to the pain it may have caused you.  

With your arms outstretched behind you gripping his thighs, you bounced on him, each time taking him in fully, rocking forward, as you did. The brush of his pubic hair against your clit as you grinded into him sent you into hysterics. You began slamming yourself on top of him, breathing heavily. He used his hands to cup your breasts and playfully tug at your nipples as you found your climax. He had never heard someone scream so loud while taking his cock. Your pace slowed as your orgasm took over, your body convulsing with every contraction of your cunt around him. “You’re not done yet!” he growled “How greedy” he chuckled maliciously. His words barely registered in your fucked out brain, still swimming from the intensity of your climax.  

“I said you're not done yet! Keep going!” He said in an insistent and unsympathetic manner, slapping your breasts, leaving a large red hand print that stung. He then grabbed your face, pinching your cheeks in his hand and pulling you down. “Fuck me.” You immediately slink back and do as you are told. His good girl. Taken aback by exhaustion and overstimulated, but not wanting to disappoint this work of perfection, not wanting to disappoint The Homelander, you find the strength to continue on. You use all of your strength incomparable to his, to please him, hoping it was good, that it was enough. You were eager to please him and wanted your reward for it.  

You planted yourself on him, over and over again, easing his tip in and out each time. His hands had reached to your backside, clutching the flesh in each fist, pulling you forward with each fall. Looking into his eyes, those piercing sapphire blue eyes sparkling with adoration. You watched as his lashes futtered and his face scrunched, his lips parting as he looked down watching himself slide in and out of you, hands latched onto you. He lets out a low breathy grunt, and his hands go limp on your cheeks, his eyes roll back. You reveled in the moment, soaking up the feeling of him spasming inside you while bursts of his seed shot deep within you. His cum dripping out and collecting around the base as you continued to slowly fuck him. Each burst causing his body to buck and convulse. You maintained your gaze on him, seeing him in his weakest moments. It was sweet. This man you had feared, turned from a monster into something beautiful to you. He was this anamorphic being you could now see clearly. He wanted to be loved, adored, cared for, appreciated, and feared. You wanted to be that person for him. You didn't want to let go or cease this moment. 

He helped you off of him, and you lay sprawled out on the bed. A mess of exhaustion. Pearls of his essence are still leaking out. He sat calmly next to you, enjoying the last bit of euphoria from this high as his orgasm subsided. A coy smile crossed his lips as he caressed the side of your face with his fingers. With no explanation and no words spoken, he left. Just like that. Out the balcony door and into the cloudy night. Still in a daze, you lay there admiring the bites, bruises, scratches, and hand prints that freckled your body, playfully tracing along all the marks he gifted you. Waiting eagerly for is return.