#the first one will be rough but maybe the next one will be better?

[solrburst]

qz!joel miller x sex worker!reader

joel doesn’t say your name the first few times he comes to you. he doesn’t ask for anything specific, doesn’t even undress fully. just unbuckles his belt and waits in silence. you know what he wants. it’s the same thing they all want, except he looks at the wall the whole time, jaw clenched, like he’s angry at himself for needing it.

he always leaves the ration cards carefully on the nightstand. never throws them. never asks for a discount. it’s quiet respect, even if he won’t admit it.

the first time he brings you something extra—a protein bar, half-smashed—he says it’s leftover. like it means nothing. you thank him anyway. next time, it’s an old t-shirt. then a book. a bottle of antiseptic. you stop keeping track.

he never looks jealous, not exactly, but he gets cold when he sees you talking to other men. not clients—just men. your laugh seems to bother him most. you pretend not to notice when he watches, but you always do. always feel his eyes from across the room like a burn you invited.

you can’t tell when it stopped being a transaction. maybe when he started staying after. maybe when he asked if you were eating. maybe when he patched up your hand after a fight and didn’t say a word—just held it steady in his lap and blew gently on the cut.

joel hates that you’re so young and live like this. he’s never said it, but the guilt is in his silence. it’s in the way he sometimes turns away after sex, ashamed of the softness that slips out when he touches you. it’s in the way he mutters, “you deserve better,” but never leaves.

you make him feel old. tired. alive. like something rotten in him still wants things he shouldn’t. you tease him sometimes, call him “old man” or “cowboy” with a smirk. he never smiles, but his hand always drifts to your thigh when you do.

when he fucks you, it’s never just one thing. sometimes rough, sometimes slow. sometimes like he’s trying to erase the world from your skin. other times like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go too fast. either way, he always stays after. even when you fall asleep. especially when you fall asleep.

you have scars. old ones. he’s never asked about them. just traces them with his fingers like reading a book he’s too scared to open. when you ask about his, he grunts. doesn’t answer. but he lets you touch them. lets you press your lips to the one near his ribs, the one that looks like it should’ve killed him.

you once accused him of thinking he could own you just because he was older and stronger and paid more. he didn’t say anything. just looked at you with that unbearable hurt and left without a word. next time you saw him, there was a bottle of whiskey in his hand and a quiet, gravelly: “can’t own what ain’t mine to begin with.”

the first time you cry in front of him, it’s silent. your back to him. joel doesn’t say anything. doesn’t ask. he just shifts behind you, slides a hand under your shirt, rests it on your stomach. and for a long time, neither of you moves.

he’s never said he loves you. not in words. but when there’s danger, he always finds you first. always puts himself between you and whatever’s coming. and one night, when you ask why he keeps coming back, all he says is, “because you make me feel like i ain’t dead yet.”

[daddydindjarin]

Chapter 4: The Space Between

Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch  x F!Reader  Rating: 18+ Mature Wordcount: 6288 Summary: A good shift doesn’t always mean an easy one. After a long trauma, Robby stays for a double, slipping into the quiet rhythm he and Scout have built over eight years — steady glances, careful silences, and all the things they don’t say. The space between them has never felt closer. Or further. Warnings: Pining, Medical Trauma, PTSD mention, grief mention, general ER Content, child death A/N: As always, please forgive me if I get something medical wrong — hours of Googling and watching Grey’s Anatomy do not replace a medical degree. This is all written with love, too much research, and two emotionally repressed idiots who refuse to communicate. The dividers are by @firefly-graphics!

The door swings shut behind him, and Robby doesn’t move. He just watches it click back into place, listens to the hum of the breakroom lights and the distant thrum of the ER pulsing like a second heartbeat. He takes another sip of his lukewarm, stale coffee. It tastes like burnt grounds and sleepless nights, but it's better than nothing. 

He’d asked her to dinner. He doesn’t know why he phrased it like that- like it was a question. They’ve eaten together a hundred times before. Takeout, game nights, late shifts that bled into early mornings. It’s always been easy, always been comfortable. 

But this time, the way he asked…it wasn’t routine. It was something else, and she felt it.  

Robby sets his coffee down, the sound of the cup against the counter louder than it should be. He scrubs a hand over his face, feels the rough scratch of his beard against his palm. “Stupid…” he mutters under his breath. He hadn’t meant to make it sound like…like something.

He shouldn’t have asked. She’s always been good at brushing him off gently- soft hands, soft voice, her eyes flicking away like she can’t quite meet his gaze. He knows the steps of her retreat like second nature, the way she ducks and weaves. But this felt different, like maybe he’d reached past something he wasn’t supposed to touch. 

Robby breathes out, leans back against the counter, and stares up at the ceiling. The fluorescent lights blink back at him, steady and unflinching. He wonders if she knows he took three of her muffins yesterday. Slipped them into one of her old Tupperware containers and shoved them into the fridge at home like a goddamn thief. He’d even brought the container back, wiped it clean, but left it on the break room counter instead of handing it to her directly. 

He’s been good at hiding it for eight years. Through the transition from intern to resident, and resident to the fellow she is now, he watched her move through each stage with that steady grace that always made him feel both proud and terrified, as if he said the wrong thing, she’d just fold back into herself and disappear. 

He’s dated other people, and he’s gotten close a few times to people he can’t imagine life without, like Janey and Jake. But somehow, it’s always her. Even when he’s with someone else, there’s this lingering thread, this sense that no one quite fits the way she does. 

He’s watched her date, too, brief flings, short-lived relationships with guys who, in his opinion, never deserved her. He never said it out loud, of course, just watched from the periphery, hands clenched in his coat pockets, biting back the urge to say something he shouldn’t. Always been good at pretending. 

And somehow, despite it all, they both always end up here: single, orbiting each other in the kind of rhythm that feels too deliberate to be accidental.  He wonders if she knows that he keeps one of her sticky notes in his wallet, right behind his license. The one that says You’re my favorite, don’t tell anyone, with a crooked little heart next to it. 

He still remembers that first sticky note, the one she left on a trauma chart during her intern year. Scrawled in her handwriting that still slants slightly to the left, paired with a doodle of a cat. She’d slipped it onto the counter at the nurse’s station like it might catch fire if she held it too long. 

He hadn’t meant to keep it, not really, but he found himself tucking it into his coat pocket after rounds, his fingers brushing over the ink and feeling…lighter. Like maybe all the jagged edges of this place had been smoothed over, just a little. 

He’d responded with his doodle, another cat, but with a stethoscope this time, and a short, blocky answer to her question. He still remembers the look on her face when she saw it: surprised, then soft, then something else. Something he didn’t let himself name. 

She never stopped leaving them. He never stopped responding. 

The door creaks open behind him, and Robby turns just in time to catch Langdon’s head poking through. “Hey, you alive in here?”

Robby yawns, shakes off the haze. “For now.” 

Langdon steps in fully, letting the door swing shut behind him. He leans against the counter, hands shoved into his scrub pockets. “You’re staring at the ceiling like you’re waiting for God to answer back.”

Robby snorts, rubbing his eyes. “I think I’d settle for a nap.” 

“Yeah, well. Don’t we all.” Langdon straightens up, glancing at him sideways. “You alright, man?”

“Yeah.” The answer’s too fast, and Robby feels it catch in his throat, sharp and reflexive. He sees it land on Langdon’s face, the hesitation, a flicker of guilt, maybe. Robby doesn’t blame him for it anymore. Not after everything. 

He can still see them standing in the ambulance bay after the chaos of that night, blood drying on their shoes, adrenaline still burning out through their bones. Langdon, back without permission, asking for another chance like he hadn’t stolen drugs out of the supply cabinets under everyone’s noses. Like he hadn’t thrown his entire career-his entire life-off a cliff and dragged Robby down with him in the fallout. 

Robby had offered him a second chance, but not without conditions- inpatient treatment, randomized drug tests, and NA meetings for years. A roadmap to redemption with no shortcuts. Langdon had pushed back, had thrown the worst parts of Robby’s grief in his face. The breakdown after losing Leah, and the trauma of Adamson’s death, only compounded things as he collapsed on the floor in Peds, too hollowed out to move. 

Robby still feels the heat of it sometimes. The shame. The rage. But Langdon had taken the deal quietly and completely. He did the work, is still doing the work. So, Robby shakes his head and forces a grin. “Just tired. Nothing new.” 

Langdon nods slowly, like he’s not sure he believes him, but he’s not going to call him on it, not now. 

 Robby exhales, letting his gaze drift past the break room door. The noise outside is muted, but all he can hear is that night again. PittFest. The blood. The chaos. The grief that hit too close to home. 

Jake's voice in the hallway, and the look on his face when Robby said Leah’s name. He’d never met the girl before that night. But Jake…Jake loved her. He talked about her like she hung the stars. And Robby had promised he’d look out for him, that he’d always show up for him. But they couldn’t save her. 

She was DOA in everything but name. He tried. He and Scout did everything they could: chest tubes, blood transfusions, compressions. Robby called every shot himself, wouldn’t hand it off to anyone else, and Scout was right there, eyes locked on his, her hands steady, heartbreak in her voice when she whispered, “She’s not coming back, Michael.” 

Telling Jake was the worst thing he’s ever done. Standing there in Peds watching a seventeen-year-old crumple, wailing over a girl he thought he’d marry. And Robby cracked. He shoved Jake out of the room before he saw too much and fell apart on the linoleum after. 

He breathes out through his nose, pinches the bridge of it like he can press the memory out. He hasn’t talked about it, not really. But he thinks about it every day. And when he thinks about who held him together afterward, who sat with him when everything else was shattered? 

It’s always her. 

After that night, Scout stayed close enough to feel it without trying to fix it. She didn’t ask questions, didn’t press. She stayed behind after everything- after the paperwork, the press, the politics, and made sure he ate something. Sat beside him in silence, took over his charts when he couldn’t remember how to spell. Checked in on Jake when Robby couldn’t bear to. 

 She made him dinner without asking what he wanted. Brought over muffins and cookies, and something green he never touched. She sat beside him on his couch and didn’t talk unless he did, letting the silence breathe without letting it drown him. She checked on everyone- nurses, techs, med students- and never mentioned that she’d nearly broken herself in the process. She swallowed her own trauma so he wouldn’t have to carry her’s too. 

Langdon clears his throat, breaking the silence and pulling Robby from his thoughts. “Well, we just got a call. MVC, four-car pile-up on Forbes. They’re routing us three with one critical.” 

Robby straightens, the fatigue slipping away. “What’s the plan so far?”

Langdon lifts a shoulder, watching him. “Princess is setting up in Central, McKay's already handling triage. Scout’s been prepping since the call came in. Figured you’d take the lead.”

Robby nods, already moving for the door. “Yeah. I’ve got it.” It’s instinct, years of it. The kind of rhythm that hums in his bones, the calm before the impact. But Langdon’s voice stops him short. 

“Hey, Robby?”

He turns back, one hand still on the door. “Yeah?”

Langdon’s eyes flicker, something careful in his gaze. “You sure you’re good?”

Robby’s mouth tilts into a smile. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Langdon doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway. “Alright. See you out there.” 

The door swings shut behind him again, and he straightens, pushing his shoulders back. There’s no time to get bogged down in his feelings. He moves like he always does, efficient and controlled. The call is live, and the pace is picking up, but he still tracks his surroundings. 

Perlah is already at triage, her voice rising above the hallway noise as she checks in the incoming vitals, and Dana’s got eyes on the monitors near Central. He spots McKay in the hallway, arms crossed, already reading a chart with Mel, and Mohan is ducking into a supply room with gloves half on. Langdon’s peeling off toward South, probably covering the laceration from earlier.

And then he sees her. 

Scout, halfway into her gown, gloving up at the head of the bed in Central 3, jaw set, hair pulled back in a way that always means business. She’s focused, steady. Already in it. 

And the ache hits him square in the chest again. 

Not because of anything she says, she doesn’t even see him yet. 

It’s just the way she moves. The way she knows where to be, and how she always seems to find the heartbeat in the chaos before anyone else can. And somehow, all he can think about again is the way she froze yesterday, for a second, when he asked her to dinner. He can still see her smiling too fast, backing away like the air had shifted and she didn’t know to stand in it anymore, and it knocked the breath out of him more than he wants to admit. 

It shouldn’t bother him. He’s her attending. She’s still a fellow. That’s the boundary; that’s the rule. 

But it doesn’t feel like enough anymore. 

He breathes out and starts walking towards Central 3 again and pushes the thought down where it belongs. They've got incoming. 

The trauma doors burst open, slamming back on their hinges with the familiar sound of chaos arriving too fast. A stretcher barrels through, surrounded by paramedics moving with the hind of urgency that means they’ve already done everything they can. One of them is shouting over the noise- “Male, early thirties, restrained driver, GCS eight on scene, BP dropping en route!”- but Robby’s already halfway to the gurney, pulling on a pair of gloves, eyes scanning for blood, bruising, broken lines under the skin.

“Blunt chest trauma,” the paramedic continues, out of breath but still moving. “Left leg deformity, pelvis unstable. Lost consciousness twice in the rig, pressure was 104 over 62 but dropping.” 

Robby’s voice cuts through it. “Scout, take airway. Dana, I need that trauma panel in now. McKay, binder, and chest x-ray. Perlah- two 16s, fast. Let’s go.” 

The words come automatically, the way they always do, but even as he speaks, his attention sharpens, tightens around Scout, already stepping in, adjusting her gloves with the same measured precision he’s seen a hundred times before. She doesn’t ask questions, her jaw is set, and she’s already sliding the oxygen mask down to check the airway before he can finish barking orders. 

There’s blood under the man’s shirt, a spreading bruise across his lower ribs, and a shallow rise and fall of his chest that tells Robby exactly what he’s dealing with even before he lifts his stethoscope. 

“Decreased breath sounds on the left,” Scout says, not even glancing up. She’s bagging already, smooth and steady, her voice calm in a room that’s starting to crowd with noise.

“Prep for needle decompression,” Robby says, pulling back the man’s shirt. “Central line after chest, binder’s priority. Get X-ray in here now.” 

He feels it, that familiar shift as the room begins to move like a single organism: nurses peeling clothing back, someone pushing a tray of instruments into his orbit, techs sliding pads under the patient’s body while McKay fastens the pelvic binder with firm, practiced hands—the rhythm locks in, controlled chaos, predictable in its unpredictability. 

Scout doesn’t waver. She calls for cricoid pressure with a tilt of her chin, her count steady, every number clear and crisp. When she intubates, it’s smooth and practiced, the blade slipping into place like it belongs there. Her hands don’t shake, and her focus doesn’t drift. She checks the monitor even before the tube is fully secured, nods once, and confirms placement aloud without waiting for anyone else to do it. 

And Robby sees it, the flicker of her eyes in his direction. It’s just a glance, barely a second, but it’s there, that quiet check-in she always gives when it matters. It’s not because she needs his approval- she’s well past that in her career. She told him once it’s because she wants him steady with her, wants to know she’s not alone. It settles in his chest- not loud or obvious, but pressing in a way that only she can make him feel. Like trust. Like history. Like something that hurts and helps in equal measure. 

He leans into the pressure at the chest wall, fingers firm as he guides the needle in. A hiss of air and tension escapes, and the patient jerks slightly, sats up by five, but it’s not enough to call him stable. 

“Vitals holding, Dana calls. “BP’s ninety and climbing, good response.” 

“Good,” Robby says, more to himself than anyone else. “Let’s get trauma labs running and prep for CT.” 

Scout’s hands are already on the tube, steadying it as she hands it off to respiratory. Her gloves are streaked with blood, and he knows she’s been here since 7 am- maybe longer- running on caffeine and a stubborn streak that doesn’t let her leave until he’s rung herself dry. 

She doesn’t look tired. She looks alive. God help him, she looks like she was built for this storm. The memory of her freezing yesterday slams back into him. He doesn’t let it show, doesn’t let it touch his hands, but it’s still there. 

The vitals stabilize, but just barely. Numbers inch upwards like they’re negotiating, and he doesn’t like the deep bruising curling over the patient's lower abdomen, thinking it’s too dark, too fast. McKay mutters something about guarding and a rigid belly, and Robby doesn’t wait. 

“Get CT ready, we’re not waiting on labs. Trauma alert them we’re on the way.” 

Perlah peels off, already on the call, while Dana adjusts the line and McKay shifts for transport. Scout is still at his side, standing just behind his shoulder now, hands steady and breath even. He doesn’t have to look; he knows her rhythm like he knows his own. 

“You good?” he asks, low and just for her to hear.

She nods once, barely turning. “Yeah. You?”

“Getting there.” 

She doesn’t ask for more, and he knows that she won’t, not here. She hasn’t noticed, but there’s blood drying on her forearm, a smear across her scrub collar where she brushed her sleeve too fast. He wants to reach out and wipe it away, and the thought of that, of touching her when he doesn’t have to, hits him harder than it should. 

The stretcher rattles as the wheel the patient out, and it feels like they can exhale for a moment. The tech calls vitals again, and they’re better now. Not great, but better. Robby gives Scout one last glance before they roll the patient out, just enough to register the way she squares her shoulders, the way she follows just far enough to make sure they’ve got it handled. The way she always, always stays. 

She turns to him once it’s done, hands at her hips, gloves peeled halfway off, and he knows the words are on her tongue, because they’re on his too. Something about dinner, about last night, about how she looked at him like she didn’t know how to answer.

But she doesn’t say it, and neither does he. 

Because now’s not the time. Because they’re still in scrubs and bleeding adrenaline out through their pores. Because that line- she’s still a fellow, still 19 years younger- wraps around his throat every time he thinks about crossing it. 

Instead, he nods towards the sinks. “Go clean up. I’ll write it up.” 

She gives him a look that says she doesn’t need a break, but she’ll take one if only because he asked. “Thanks,” she says, and her voice is quieter than usual, like she’s holding onto something unfinished. And then she’s gone. 

Robby watches the spot where she stood for just a second longer than he should. Then he turns back into the ER, towards where Mohan and Santos are working on other people from the crash, breathing through the tightness still curling under his ribs. 

The shift doesn’t stop, not for trauma, not for blood, not for a breath. He moves through the department with the quiet precision that’s become second nature, less a man than a pressure system, keeping everything just below boiling point.  This is how he always is- shoulders squared, sleeves pushed up, gloves snapped on tight enough to bite at his wrists. From trauma to triage, back to trauma, every hallway echo and vitals call routes through him. 

He checks on McKay in South 7, glancing over the older woman’s shoulder as she jots down notes with her usual clipped efficiency, then swings through North 4, where Mohan’s trying to calm down a tearful mother whose toddler spiked a fever and a febrile seizure on daycare pickup. Robby crouches next to the kid, murmurs something warm and slow, and lets his steadiness do the talking. On paper, he’s not the one treating the child. In practice, he always is. 

He loops past Langdon, who’s working Central 2 with more focus than Robby’s seen in a while, and just raises an eyebrow in silent approval. Langdon nods back, almost sheepish, and turns back to show Javadi a new technique that she’s watching with wide eyes. There’s trust rebuilding there, brick by careful brick. 

And Scout is somewhere in his periphery. 

He doesn’t have to look for her; he just knows. In the same way you know your own pulse. That instinctive tug of attention when she walks by with her tablet tucked under one arm and a banana from the nurses’ station half-eaten in her hand. The way she smiles at patients, passes out stickers to kids, like that’s her sole purpose in life. The way she melts into corners when she’s not actively needed, but lights up like floodlights the second someone calls her name. 

He sees her now, through the glass of North 6, kneeling to comfort a little boy with a dislocated shoulder. She’s got the kind of voice for this- low and calm and textured like soft flannel. The boy’s crying eases while she talks. She’s explaining the sedation meds to his dad without condescension, letting him hold his son’s other hand the whole time. It’s grace in motion. It’s competence so innate that she doesn’t even know she’s commanding the room. Robby watches, his heart tight. Of course, she doesn’t know. Of course, she wouldn’t believe it if he told her.

He keeps walking, but slower now. 

Dana finds him eventually- she usually does. Leans on the edge of the nurse’s station like she’s just resting, like her eagle-eyed scan of the floor isn’t strategic, like she hasn’t been watching him watch Scout for ten goddamn minutes. 

“You know what’s going on with her?” she asks, low enough not to carry. 

Robby lifts a brow. “Scout?”

“Who else?” Dana’s voice isn’t sharp. It’s something much gentler, a mother’s tone. A woman who’s been working this job since beepers were cutting-edge technology. “She’s been on doubles for two weeks straight. I asked her why. Said she was fine. You buying that?”

Robby’s jaw shifts. “She said she was okay.” 

Dana tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “You know she still sends money to that sister of hers, right? Lily. Pretty sure that’s what all these extra shifts are about.” 

That lands heavy and familiar. 

He sighs. “Yeah, I know.” 

"She’s not gonna say it,” Dana continues, watching Whitaker fumble with a supply cart. “But it’s wearing on her. She’s tired, Robby. Not just from the hours. From…carrying everything. Everyone. I just thought maybe you-” 

Robby cuts her off with a shake of his head. Not like a no, but like a not yet.

“I’ll check in.”

Dana snorts. “You mean you’ll just stare at her across the ER until she catches you and then lie about how you were just passing by?” 

He huffs something like a laugh. “Maybe.” 

“Sad boy,” Dana mutters, already walking away.

He doesn’t argue, because she’s not wrong. Not about Scout. And not about him either. 

He moves again, rounding the corner, but his rhythm’s off now. His heart is tripping over the fact that Dana noticed. That other people are noticing. That this thing inside him isn’t as invisible as he thought. And worse, maybe Scout noticed it too. That maybe it’s the reason she ducked his dinner question like it had expectations. 

He breathes out slow, schooling his features back into neutral, and dives into the next hallway, already scanning the boards for incoming updates. The shift isn’t over yet. He can still find her before it ends, even if he doesn’t say what he wants to. Even if all he can do is be there, just close enough to catch her if she stumbles, but just far enough not to make her run. 

The breakroom hums with the low mechanical whir of the refrigerator as Robby steps in to escape for just a second. The lights in here are always a touch too bright, buzzing faintly overhead like they’re as overtired as the rest of them. He flips the switch on the coffee machine and lets the hiss and drip fill the silence, reaching blindly for a paper cup. His fingers drum against the counter, restless, and the moment the coffee starts to pour, so does the memory. 

She was an intern, barely a week into her rotation, and it was chaos- blood and glass and a small boy who came in blue and never came back. She didn’t speak the entire code, just followed orders, eyes wide, face pale, hands moving on instinct. He remembers thinking she wasn’t going to last. But after they called it, after the room emptied and the mother collapsed screaming into Dana’s arms- Scout didn’t leave. 

He found her in Trauma 2, sleeves rolled up, hair falling out of her bun, gently cleaning the boy’s body. She didn’t cry, didn’t shake, she just moved with the slow, reverent precision of someone who hadn’t figured out how to grieve out loud. She was scrubbing the child’s hands when Robby stepped in, her own hands raw beneath the gloves, her breath catching in the back of her throat. 

She wouldn’t meet his eyes, even when he said her name. So, he didn’t ask her to. He just walked to the sink beside her, grabbed another pair of gloves, and started cleaning alongside her. Afterward, she stayed. Folded a blanket over the child’s chest, brushed the hair back from his face. When she turned to leave, he followed her to the staff sink where she scrubbed her hands over and over and over. Water too hot, soap too harsh, skin turning pink and then red. 

“You stayed,” he said, quietly, just above the sound of water and grief. “That matters.” 

She didn’t answer, not right away. But she nodded once, and that was enough. 

Robby swallows against the lump in his throat as the coffee finishes dripping. He presses the cup to his lips, burns his tongue, and breathes out through his nose. 

It was the first time he really saw her, not just another intern in a black scrub top, not just a name on the board. But someone who would carry a grief that wasn’t hers just to make it a little easier on someone else. Someone who hurt quietly, who held everything inside until it bled through her fingers in kindness. Since then, she’s been the one he looks for in the chaos. The one who sees what he doesn’t say. Who shows up, not loudly, but completely. 

And he thinks about that night every time he catches her hands shaking after a hard case. Every time she tucks a sticky note into his locker with a doodle or a quiet joke, like she’s still trying to make sure he stays. Like they’ve been holding each other up ever since and never said it out loud. 

He stares into his coffee now, letting the bitterness settle. Wonders, not for the first time, if she knows he’s still holding that moment. If she realizes how often he thinks about it. If she remembers the way he stood behind her, aching to reach out, but didn’t, because even back then, she was his intern. Because even now, she’s still his fellow. 

Because even after eight years, he still hasn’t figured out how to tell her that she’s not just someone he looks out for. She’s the reason he still looks- for steadiness in the chaos, for the heartbeat in the noise, for a reason to stay grounded when everything else is slipping. She’s the thing he’s always searching for in the static. 

He tosses the rest of his coffee and pulls open the door. The pit floods back in, sharper, louder, alive. Somewhere out here, Scout is already moving through it, steady and brave and pretending she’s fine. He knows better. And maybe tonight, maybe after the next call, maybe after everything settles…maybe he’ll stay a little longer. Just to be sure she knows she’s not alone either. 

The afternoon bleeds into evening without the usual screech of chaos, and Robby’s not sure whether to be grateful or suspicious. They’ve all been waiting for the other shoe to drop since the last trauma came in, but the board’s finally cleared, the department isn’t on fire, and the buzz in the pit is low, content. Like a held breath finally let go. 

He should have signed out. Should’ve handed the board to Jack, walked out into the Pittsburgh night, and let someone else take it for a while. But Scout’s name was still sitting under active, scheduled for a double, and somewhere between the trauma bay and the nurses’ station, Robby made the decision without fully acknowledging it: he wasn’t leaving. 

He doesn’t announce that he’s staying; he just doesn’t clock out. Technically, he doesn’t need a reason. He’s the Senior Attending, the lead, the final stop before anything burns too long. But tonight, he watches the board blink from day to night shift, watches Jack’s name hover in gray beside his own, and doesn’t sign off. 

He taps into the group message Dana insists on maintaining for “night shift morale” and fires off a simple text: 

Ordering food. Usual?

Ten seconds later, Dana replies: 

Pizza. And Breadsticks. Don’t cheap out on us.

So, he orders enough pizza to feed everyone twice over. He tells himself it's for morale- he’s done it before, after long shifts, holidays, brutal codes- but this time, it’s also about her. She hadn’t said yes to dinner, hadn’t said no, either, but he knows her silences well. So, he ordered for everyone. No pressure. No spotlight. Just space. A way to sit across from her for a few minutes, maybe hear her laugh. 

He makes his rounds first. Checks on Shen and Parker as they arrive, handing off a few lingering patients. Parker’s got her usual no-nonsense stride, which is completely overwrought by her easy smile as she has Santos fill her in on a patient’s plan of care. Shen jokes with Jesse at the nurses’ station, sipping from a giant thermos that smells like melted licorice and regret. 

Jack’s already in Central when Robby finds him, flipping through a chart with his brow furrowed like it owes him money. He looks up, registers Robby with a tired smirk. 

“You bringing peace offerings or checking my homework?”

“Both,” Robby says, tossing a wrapped breadstick his way. “Don’t say I never give you anything.”

Jack snorts but catches it one-handed. “You trying to bribe me before Gloria finds you?”

“Gloria can find me in hell,” Robby mutters, and Jack hums his agreement as they share a look, the kind of wordless exchange built on years of shared shifts, rough cases, and the kind of quiet loyalty neither of them ever names. 

From there, the pattern clicks in. He checks in on Mel, who’s finishing up a difficult IV on a combative toddler with Whitaker hovering nearby, worried and awkward and trying not to knock anything over. Mateo is managing triage, and Donnie is reorganizing the incoming labs like he’s running air traffic control. Dana’s floating like a ghost, somehow present in every corner without ever standing still, and he makes a point to tell her to go home, to which she smirks, saying, “You first.” 

He finally finds Scout again leaning against the nurses’ station, balancing a plate with two slices of Hawaiian pizza and a breadstick hanging precariously off the side. Her hair is slipping loose from where she tied it back too fast between calls. There’s a smudge of pen ink on her knuckle. She’s laughing at something Parker says, head tilted, eyes warm. 

He smiles to himself, watching her laugh, watching her let go of some of the tension he knows is still burning just under the surface. She doesn’t let it drop often, not fully. But tonight, for now, she does. 

And suddenly, it’s a good shift. 

The lull holds longer than it should. The pit hums around them, monitors beeping soft and steady, the occasional page overhead, but nothing urgent or life-threatening. Just bodies moving through a department that, for once, doesn’t feel like it’s seconds from cracking open. 

Scout is at the far corner of the breakroom, back half-curled into her chair beneath the buzzing fluorescent lights, her tablet propped against a half-empty plate of cold pizza. She’s scrolling through charts, fingers tapping the screen in practiced ease. He watches for a second before easing down across from her, dropping his own tablet onto the table with a quiet thud. 

“You’re supposed to pretend you’re caught up when the board’s this clean,” he says, reaching automatically for her abandoned breadstick.

She glances up, narrowing her eyes as he takes a bite like it was always his. “That was mine.” 

“You snooze, you lose.” 

“I was reviewing labs.” 

“Semantics.” 

Her mouth tilts up, just barely, but it’s enough. That small, effortless tug of her lips that always feels like it lands heavier than she means it to. 

“Whitaker got his first central line in tonight solo,” she offers, leaning back against her chair. “Didn’t throw up. Almost passed out, but not quite.” 

“Progress.” Robby grins, chewing. “And Santos?”

“Still believes she knows more than God. But at least she’s not saying it out loud as much.” 

He snorts, shaking his head. “Small victories.” 

He watches her carefully, the way she speaks about the residents, interns, and medical students- the ones he’s heard her call ‘baby birds’- like pieces of a machine she was always adjusting, protecting, fine-tuning. 

An errant thought crosses his mind. Adamson saw it in her even back when she was new blood under the bright lights of the ER. The way she shouldered things that she never needed to, the way she looked after everyone but herself. He had told Robby to keep an eye on her, and Robby feels his throat tighten just a bit at the thought that even now, even after everything, Adamson is still finding ways to be right. 

They settle into the kind of quiet that only comes after enough years of standing shoulder to shoulder in every version of hell this department has to offer. It’s easy with her like this, when the adrenaline is gone, when the air isn’t electric, when they can just sit here and pretend for a few minutes that they aren’t walking a line neither one of them knows how to cross. 

Scout shifts slightly, tucking a leg underneath her, curling into herself. Exhaustion creeps into her face, but she’s still sharp. She’s run herself into the ground before letting it show fully. 

“You could’ve gone home, you know,” she says after a moment. It’s quiet, not accusing or demanding of an explanation. Just…there. 

“Could’ve,” he agrees, watching her. He didn’t have anyone waiting at home tonight anyway. He rarely did. Nights like this- the ER, the noise, the people- these were the closest thing to company he kept, unless Scout was on his couch, but even then, she never stayed long enough to pretend it was anything but takeout and hockey. 

“You didn’t have to stay.” 

He smiles, something small and automatic. “Didn’t feel like leaving.” 

She doesn’t answer that, just lowers her gaze back to the tablet, but he sees it. The faint flush at her cheeks, the way her throat works as she swallows whatever instinct tells her to respond. 

“Dana left you in charge of me again?” she tries, her voice light and teasing. 

“I gotta do some work around here.” 

Her eyes flick up again, a spark of challenge behind them. “I’m not that bad.”

“You’re worse than Abbott some nights.”

“That’s slander.” 

He chuckles under his breath and lets his head tip back against the wall for a moment, breathing into the rare quiet. She mirrors him without thinking, both of them sitting there for a beat longer than necessary, like neither of them really wants to break the spell. 

“I’m glad you stayed,” she says softly, barely audible. 

He doesn’t answer right away, afraid that if he does, it’ll come out wrong, or worse, come out honest. Instead, he just meets her eyes and nods.

“You know I always do.” 

There’s a moment of quiet that should feel heavy, but it doesn’t. Not with her. He lets his gaze drift down to her tablet, scanning the labs she’s reviewing even though he doesn’t need to. “You’ve been picking up a lot of doubles lately.”

Scout’s hands pause for half a second over the screen, then keep scrolling nonchalantly. “Just covering the gaps.”

“Scout.” 

Her eyes lift, a soft warning in them- don’t push.

He softens his voice. “Are you taking care of yourself at all?”

“I’m fine,” she says gently, almost sounding rehearsed. “You know me.” 

He does, which is why he doesn’t believe her. But he also knows the limits of the conversation she’s willing to have right now. He crosses his arms over his chest, watching her for a long moment. “Lily’s okay?” he asks lightly, like it’s casual, like it doesn’t mean anything deeper.

Her smile twitches at the corner, something too tight to be real. “Yeah. She’s…you know. Figuring things out. Always dramatic, never dull.” 

It’s the kind of line she tosses out when she doesn’t want to go deeper. He knows the shape of it by now, the quick humor, the misdirection. She glances down at her tablet like it’s something pressing. 

“She still behind on rent?” he asks gently, not pushing, just asking.

She doesn’t look up. “I sent some money. She didn’t ask, but…she never really has to.”

And that’s all she says. That’s all she’ll say. He doesn’t press, just nods and reaches for her crust, stealing the last bite. 

“Again, that was mine,” she says, but there’s no heat behind it. 

“Hazard pay.” 

She huffs softly, head tilting in mock annoyance. “You always do that.” 

He grins, lets the easy feeling settle between them again. Whatever that moment was, when she let everything she carries slip just long enough for him to glimpse it- the exhaustion, the pressure, the way she keeps trying to hold everyone else together while never asking for help herself- it’s gone now. Folded away like it always is. 

She buried it fast, but not before he felt the weight of it. And even if she won’t ask for help, he’ll keep staying right where she can find him, because she’s always been worth staying for.

<- Previous | Next ->

[sugardollcurse]

HII idk if this is too niche but could u do beatles (or george) having a ftm boyfriend?

𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑓𝑡𝑚 𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑

𐙚 note ; absolutely not too niche!! i hope this is ok!! enjoy <3

𓆩🕊️ john 𓆪

“I liked you before you said it, and I liked you after. so, there y’go.”

You met John through mutual weirdos. A mutual friend of a friend from the art scene, maybe you were helping with a zine, maybe you were just there to pass a message, but he noticed you.

Not with flirtation or some flowery attention, just a head-tilt, that curious way he picked people apart in his head like a chessboard.

It wasn’t until the third or fourth time you ran into each other that he started opening up, half-cut on red wine in someone’s garden, and you actually made him laugh, really laugh, that whole lopsided grin cracking out of him like a wound.

After that, he started dragging you along to things. Didn’t even ask. Just elbowed you and muttered, “C’mon then,” like you’d been mates for years.

Things were changing between you and you knew it. And when it came time to tell him, you weren't sure how to feel!

You didn’t plan it. It wasn’t some perfect lead-in. It was late, one of those nights you stayed talking about death or fame or God, and something in you broke open. Told him you were trans.

Finally, he just said, “Right. Alright then,” and lit a cigarette. He didn’t look at you. You weren’t sure if that was good or bad.

The next morning, he came by with toast and a smirk. “So, are we shaggin’ or what?”

He had questions, of course. Some of them too blunt, too John, “So d’you get hard?”, but not malicious. He was crude, but not cruel.

What he did struggle with was how to fit the relationship into his already chaotic world. Being with a man was a secret already. Being with you? A trans man in the bloody 60s? No way he could just walk around with you holding hands! But he wanted to.

If you were stealth, he’d get real defensive of your right to live in peace. If you were out, he’d want to understand.

Absolutely steals your clothes and calls it “levelling the field.”

John is constantly observing. He knows when your body language shifts. He watches your hands a lot. When they clench, when they shake, when they relax around him. That’s how he reads you.

You expect him to be rough around the edges, and he is, but he’s also incredibly tender when it’s just you two. He’ll press his forehead to yours and whisper things.

He trusts you in ways he doesn’t trust anyone else. There’s something about how you hold your truth that makes him want to be better.

If you bind, He doesn’t say anything at first, but he adjusts how he hugs you. Avoids pressing too hard, slides his arm low instead of over your chest. If it’s bothering you one day, he’ll say, “Take it off if it’s hurting. I don’t care. You still look like a geezer. Nobody’s clocking anything.”

𓆩🕊️ paul 𓆪

"You don’t make it easy, y’know."

Paul met you through music circles. You weren’t in a band, but you knew sound. Worked with engineers, helped set up recording sessions, had clever ideas about mic placement and tone before it was trendy.

Paul noticed you because you didn’t notice him. You built rapport slowly. You gave him space to be silly and normal without fawning, and he found himself lingering near you even when he didn’t have to.

When you told him, after weeks of mounting closeness, something like a low burn in both of you, you made sure to keep it clinical. Just the facts. You told him you were transgender.

He was... complicated. Went quiet. His brow furrowed and he nodded, like he was trying to compute it.

“Right. Right,” he kept saying. Then, after a pause: “You still like me, though?”

The first few days after, he was weird. Not mean. Not distant. Just... recalibrating. You could see him working through all the ideas he’d been taught about what makes a man. What makes a relationship. What he was allowed to want.

But Paul was also deeply romantic. He didn’t want to care about what other people thought, even though he did. He wanted you more.

When he came back around, really came back around, he said it with a kiss.

You had to teach him a lot. Not about being trans, but about you. He was still kind of lost.

He fucked up sometimes. Said things he thought were affirming and they weren’t. But he always apologized. Always corrected himself.

He was hyper-aware of optics. Never held your hand in public, not even drunk. Never said your name around journalists. But in private, he loved you like it was a religion.

Paul was always the “let’s settle down” guy. He’d talk about what kind of dog you two would get, or joke about a little cottage in Scotland, “I could do that, y’know. Just bugger off with you somewhere quiet.”

He’s thoughtful in a way that sneaks up on you. You say something once, like hating a certain cut of shirt, and a week later he’s bought you a better one.

He just adjusts. You realize he’s stopped referring to certain things in public, that he reroutes conversations effortlessly to protect your privacy without making it obvious.

He’s hyper-aware of reporters, managers, loose-lipped groupies. He’s constantly shielding you from scrutiny.

If you like music, he tries to sneak you into studio sessions. Claims you’re “helping with lyrics.” He just wants you around.

If you bind and sleep over and leave it on, he’ll murmur, “Love, take it off. S’not good for you.” Not like he’s nagging, he’s just concerned. He’ll help you out of it without making a thing of it. Then just pull you against him and carry on like nothing changed.

𓆩🕊️ george 𓆪

“I don’t need to understand everything about you to know I want you near me.”

You met in a music shop. You were trying to play a 12-string, just for fun. He stopped to listen. Said “you’ve got a good grip for it,” and you smirked. Said, “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that.” jokingly. He smiled.

George was quiet. Polite. He followed you around like a stray cat. Took weeks to ask for your number, and then months to make a move.

You get used to sharing cigarettes, being the guy in the room who isn’t loudly performing, who catches George’s eye across a conversation when someone says something idiotic.

There's an undertone between you. Not sexual tension, not yet. More like the world’s starting to tilt. George offers you his lighter and holds your eyes too long. He starts asking where you’ll be next week. Starts remembering things you said.

You catch it early and put your foot down. You ask to talk. He’s startled, cautious, but he listens.

And you tell him. Plain. No qualifiers. You say it slow, because this is the 60s and the word transgender is barely a whisper in England.

George goes quiet. Very quiet. He smokes his cigarette down to the filter and says nothing. Then he nods once, like he's doing math in his head.

Your relationship starts as an open-ended closeness. He won’t say boyfriend. He won’t say not.

You being trans isn't the reason he keeps things quiet. The world’s too volatile for two men to be openly together at all.

He hates that it makes it harder for you. He knows it does. Knows there’s a double weight on your back.

George learns. You don’t teach him, exactly, but he learns.

Assumptions. He asks the wrong questions sometimes. Wants to know “what was it like before?” and you tell him once, then draw a line, and he respects it.

When it’s just the two of you, he pulls you into him like you belong there. Kisses the back of your neck. He’s not showy. He’s just home.

He likes having someone to talk to about the weird, existential parts of fame. He thinks you get it more than most people because you’ve also had to remake yourself in some way.

Quietly brags about you to people who don’t know you. “He’s got style. Smarter than he lets on.” Stuff like that.

If you bind, he would never tell you what to do with your body. But he notices when you’re short of breath or shifting uncomfortably, and quietly offers to carry things or walk slower. He’d buy you a scarf or a looser jumper and act like it’s just fashion, but he knows it’ll help hide lines or make you more comfortable.

𓆩🕊️ ringo 𓆪

“I didn’t pick you 'cause you were easy. So don’t give me that ‘should’ve known’ shite.”

You worked somewhere casual. Maybe the coat check at a venue, or helping out at a pub near Abbey Road. Someplace where the band floats through but doesn't take much notice.

Except Ringo notices you.

He’s weirdly observant for someone who’s half-drunk most of the time. You make a face at a joke someone tells, he sees. You laugh at something under your breath, he hears. He starts drifting toward your orbit for no reason except that it feels good there.

He doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t even try. Just asks your name and uses it too often.

You don’t expect to get close. He's charming, sure, but you assume it's just pub banter, rich guy charisma.

Then he starts waiting around after hours. Then he starts bringing you sweets, then he remembers your favorite bands, then he’s writing your name on scraps of setlists like a child.

It’s sweet. It’s too sweet. You have to tell him before it turns into something more.

One night, you sit beside him outside the pub and say, “Look, I need to tell you something.” and then you do.

He blinks. Once. Then again. Then he just nods.

He just takes your word like it’s the weather.

He’s the one who pushes forward, not in a gross way but in the “I like you, and I want to keep seeing you” way.

He doesn’t let your nerves stop the momentum. He doesn’t let his inexperience scare him off. He just sticks close and keeps saying it plain.

“I like you.”

“I want to be with you.”

“Let’s try, yeah?”

Ringo is tactile. He’s always touching your arm, squeezing your shoulder, brushing your hair out of your eyes.

He calls the relationship a “gentleman’s arrangement” when people ask. Because no one questions it. You’re “just mates.” It becomes your public face: the quiet, steady guy always at Ringo’s side.

People joke about how inseparable you are. You smile and nod and laugh along.

The world would never get it. The papers would flay you both. But Ringo’s never asked to own you in public.

He just wants to know you’re safe enough to wake up beside him again tomorrow.

Ringo was known for being emotionally intelligent and pretty chill about most things.

He wouldn’t necessarily understand the terminology, but he’d understand you, and that would be enough for him.

The public would eventually find out about you two, and Ringo has no patience for people trying to quiz him on it. He’s not going to learn a glossary to prove he loves you.

He thinks you’re hot and won’t shut up about it. “Look at you, you’d steal my fans if they found out.”

If you bind, “Looks like it hurts, that.” He’s not judgy, just concerned. “You don’t have to put yourself through it, y’know. But I get it.” Offers to massage your back after long days. He understands bodily discomfort more than you’d expect.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee, @alanangels, @wisepainterprince, @emz2092

[chokiipng]

inactive for 2 years only to come back because i started watching one piece and i really like Law.

this idea has been bouncing around my head, let me know if i should finish it

A law draft (no title yet)

law x strawhat! reader

word count: 582

you're kinda like the second mechanic on the crew, Franky was the one to recruit you rather than Luffy though this doesn't really come up in the story. takes place during Saobody and you (surprise) go with the Heart Pirates. no (y/n) mentioned

For someone who was usually used to working in the hull of the ship that is basically the temperature of a refrigerator to keep the cola powering almost everything cool, the chill of a submarine was completely different.

Sailing the Grand Line had caused her to build something of a resistance to drastic changes in climate, but for some reason she could feel her goosebumps raise while the ship was submerging. Perhaps coupled with the fact that she could no longer rely on the warmth of the crew she had come to know and love made her feel even colder.

She had two years to get stronger, but after only a few hours she came to realize that she had some unspoken attachment issues her captain may have failed to realize. Granted, it was Luffy but just maybe a buddy system should have also been implied in that fake tattoo he showed the world. 

How did she even get inside the Polar Tang? She wasn’t even really sure, it was all a blur.

At one point she was hiding behind Franky, her self-proclaimed older brother and teacher, the next she was basically crawling away from a disproportionately huge bear(?) man. Despite the initial cuteness of the paws he attained due to his devil fruit, the awe quickly turned into fear as she watched him basically lightly pat her crewmate Zoro into the stratosphere. It would’ve been comical how fast he was flung into the air if he wasn’t close to death. 

What was a little humorous was her destination of his terrifying high five. As soon as she felt the jellybeans of his hand slightly graze her head she was screaming her head off, only to realize that she was only shooting off directly over Saobody. After a few minutes when the Marines had retreated into the city and Kizaru’s reign of holy light was over, she was released from…whatever was holding her in the air. 

You can imagine what a karate chopping polar bear’s reaction would be to an injured woman falling from the sky in front of him. Or not, it sounds a lot more far fetched than it really is. While she wasn’t as beaten as Zoro, fighting a few Pacifistas and a man made of light would get you past reasonably roughed up. The fall apparently made it worse, a little more than a few ribs were probably shattered and breathing was suddenly the hardest thing she had ever done. 

The last thing she saw before her vision went dark was a very lanky man with an equally lanky sword wearing an oddly fluffy hat. His eyebags stared at her first before his eyes caught up. She vaguely remembered him flipping someone off and having shrimp-like posture from the Auction House.

As he reached out to her to check her pulse she weakly pushed his hands away.

“Don’t touch me, Nerd,” were her last words.

His hand stopped its approach, as if the very nails on his fingers were insulted.

Law could have very well left her there, and honestly, he didn’t know why he didn’t. Here he is out of the goodness of his heart, helping out a (probably) dying woman, only to be pushed away and called a name. 

As the rest of his crew caught up to him and Bepo, he hovered around her limp (almost) corpse not making an effort to support her after being pushed away. He stiffly snapped his head to his first mate.

“I don’t look like a nerd, do I?”

“Sorry Captain.”

Law didn’t know if it was, “Sorry Captain, you do look like a nerd.” or, “Sorry that she said that about you,” but he supposed that it was better not to know. 

…

[nosnexus]

Hello, painting is hard and I don’t know what I’m doing, but at least there’s paint on a canvas lol

[l0stw00d]

hey. i dunno if anyone else needs the reminder, but check in with yourself. sometimes things can feel Really bleak, and that's a reasonable reaction, but like. Optimism and hope is what keeps me alive, even when it feels ridiculous. Maybe take some time to make sure you're looking after yourselves and feeling okay - or as okay as you can be, with everything going on. you're worth taking care of.

[mylordshesacactus]

on endlings, and despair

Hey, y'all. It's...been a rough couple of weeks. So, I thought--better to light a single candle, right?

If you're familiar with wildlife conservation success stories, then you're likely also familiar with their exact polar opposite. The Northern White Rhino. Conservation's poster child for despair. Our greatest and most high-profile utter failure. We slaughtered them for wealth and status, and applied the brakes too slow. Changed course too late.

We poured everything we had into trying to save them, and we failed.

We lost them. They died. The last surviving male was named Sudan. He died in 2018, elderly and sick. His genetic material is preserved, along with frozen semen from other long-dead males, but only as an exercise in futility. Only two females survive--a mother and daughter, Najin and Fatu.

Both of them are infertile. They still live; but the Northern White Rhinoceros is extinct. Gone forever.

In 2023, an experimental procedure was attempted, a hail-mary desperation play to extract healthy eggs from the surviving females.

It worked.

The extracted eggs were flown to a genetics lab, and artificially fertilized using the sperm of lost Northern males. The frozen semen that we kept, all this time, even after we knew that the only living females were incapable of becoming pregnant.

It worked.

Thirty northern white rhino embryos were created and cryogenically preserved, but with no ability to do anything with them, it was a thin hope at best. In 2024, for the first time, an extremely experimental IVF treatment was attempted on a SOUTHERN white rhino--a related subspecies.

It worked.

The embryo transplanted as part of the experiment had no northern blood--but the pregnancy took. The surgery was safe for the mother. The fetus was healthy. The procedure is viable. Surrogate Southern candidates have already been identified to carry the Northern embryos. Rhinoceros pregnancies are sixteen months long, and the implantation hasn't happened yet. It will take time, before we know. Despair is fast and loud. Hope is slower, softer. Stronger, in the end.

The first round may not take. We'll learn from it. It's what we do. We'll try again. Do better, the next time. Fail again, maybe. Learn more. Try harder.

This will not save the species. Not overnight. The numbers will be very low, with no genetic diversity to speak of. It's a holding action, nothing more.

Nothing less.

One generation won't save a species. But even a single calf will buy us time. Not quite gone, not yet. One more generation. One more endling. One more chance. And if we seize it, we might just get another after that. We're getting damn good at gene editing. At stem-cell research. In the length of a single rhino lifetime, we'll get even better.

For decades, we have been in a holding action with no hope in sight. Researchers, geneticists, environmentalists, wildlife rehabbers. Dedicated and heroic Kenyan rangers have kept the last surviving NWRs under 24/7 armed guard, line-of-sight, eyes-on, never resting, never relaxing their guard. Knowing, all the while, that their vigilance was for nothing. Would save nothing. This is a dead species--an elderly male, two females so closely related that their offspring couldn't interbreed even if they could produce any--and they can't.

Northern white rhino conservation was the most devastatingly hopeless cause in the world.

Two years from now, that dead species may welcome a whole new generation.

It's a holding action, just a holding action, but not "just". There is a monument, at the Ol Pejeta Conservancy, where the last white rhinos have lived and will die. It was created at the point where we knew--not believed, knew--that the species was past all hope. It memorializes, by name there were so few, the last of the northern white rhinos. Most of the markers have brief descriptions--where the endling rhino lived, how it was rescued, how it died.

One marker bears only these words: SUDAN | Last male Northern White Rhino.

If even a single surrogate someday bears a son, we have erased the writing on that plaque forever.

All we can manage is a holding action? Then we hold. We hold hard and fast and long, use our fingernails if we have to. But hold. Even and perhaps especially when we are past all hope.

We never know what miracle we might be buying time for.

[snekdood]

bitches prolly out here psychoanalyzing my old art on behalf of my abuser to cushion their belief that im a Horrible Person but then dont see the irony when I point out the shitty things my abuser has drawn and how I see it as clear evidence of their mindset and beliefs (of what's okay to do and how to treat people) descending and pairing that along with everything else they've done and it paints a clear picture of how this person got to the point of thinking it was okay to abuse me the way they did and then the people looking for reasons to hate me through my art will act like "they're just drawings !!!" about their art. which one is it. does someones art say something about them or not? or does it only say something about them if you hate them?

[yanderedrabbles]

I'm thinking about a huge ex-warrior of a yandere. Big and bulky and all too familiar with bloodshed. You'd think years in the king's army would have hardened him, made him callous and cruel. But that's not true at all.

An ex-warrior yandere who cares so much about preserving life because he knows exactly how fragile and easy it is to take. A huge, scarred, mountain of a man who gets soaked to the waist in the dead of winter to save a drowning kitten. Who holds the shivering, mewling, runt of the litter in his hands with a gentleness you've seldom seen.

An ex-warrior yandere who doesn't even eat meat anymore. Who doesn't accept work slaughtering and butchering pigs when the holiday season comes around, even though folk offer him good money for his strength.

A good man, despite it all. Too good for you.

War is a terrible thing and you end up a prisoner almost entirely on accident. Said to be a spy though you're nothing more than an unlucky commoner who angered the wrong people.

He ends up a prisoner too, hauled off the battlefield when he's too injured to put up a fight. Just another prisoner of war, a dime a dozen. He's thrown into the duke's lockup and forgotten.

Whatever fate had in mind, you end up in the same dungeon. Cells next to each other, with nothing to do but tell stories and shiver.

It's miserable there. The gaolers are cruel for the sake of it. The meals are scant, the drinking water not much better. It's the sort of place where dying is considered the lucky option. And maybe you'd have given in, the both of you. Just closed your eyes and let your bodies waste away.

But unlike so many others, you have each other.

You can't see him and he can't see you. All either of you have is a voice in the dark. And somehow, that's enough.

Maybe you manage to escape together or maybe the Duke is defeated and his prisoners liberated. Whatever the case, he's right by your side when you step into the sun again.

How many years has it been? When was the last time you saw the sky?

You were sweet once. Kind, gentle. But years in the lord's prison have changed you. You're sharp and prickly now, slow to trust and even slower to forgive.

An ex-warrior yandere who sees the hurt under all your layers of indifference. Who decides right then and there, that first moment in the sun, that his one goal in life is to keep you safe.

An ex-warrior yandere who says he'll be your guard until you reach your destination, wherever it may be. You're weak, you're unfamiliar with the changes in the world. Anyone can come along and take advantage of you.

An ex-warrior yandere who follows you with a sort of quiet, implacable devotion. It doesn't matter if you're prickly or sharp tongued or so ruined that you fear your heart is forever frozen over. He'll always be there - two steps behind you to guard your back.

You try to send him away. Try to tell him you didn't need a guard dog. He just looks at you and says he's not going anywhere. Not forceful, but gentle and firm. He isn't leaving you, not when you're so scarred from the war that most days you don't speak more than five words to anyone.

It's baffling. Why does he care about forgotten detritus like you? What good will it do? He's still strong, still handsome despite the scars. He can still have a normal life.

But no. He chooses you.

Chooses to walk with you from one village to the next. Chooses to sleep rough even though folk offer him work. Chooses to endure the rain and the cold and the long nights spent sleeping on hard ground. 

"Why?" you ask him time and again. "Why follow me? Why make me your purpose?"

He looks at you over the fire, a small, slanted smile on his face.

"Why do you think?"

You can't quite manage to puzzle it out, though anyone who sees him at your side can almost immediately tell.

Eventually, you settle down. A broken down old cottage at the edge of the woods. A place the villagers are all too glad to hand over. Better you than the vines, even if your eyes do frighten them.

An ex-warrior yandere who fixes the cottage for you, brick by brick. Who cleans out the overgrown garden and trades his labour to buy you seeds. Violets and lilacs and daffodils. Mint and thyme. All the plants you told him you missed the most when you were locked away.

An ex-warrior yandere who spends his evenings sitting next to you at the hearth, not speaking much, just resting his head on your knees and carving wood. Thinking how lucky he is to have this bit of quiet. That all the years of war and captivity were well worth the price if it means having you.

An ex-warrior yandere who slowly heals the broken parts inside you. Who teaches you to watch the sky and the path of the birds. Who teaches you to breathe deep when the nightmares come. Who sits awake with you when you're too afraid of your past to sleep.

An ex-warrior yandere who tells people in the village that you're his wife, even though you've never even kissed. When you ask him about it, he just shrugs his massive shoulders and says it's safer that way. And it's only the trees that know the truth - he calls you his wife because he likes the way it sounds.

For a while, things are good. You tend your herbs and make your tinctures. For a while, he believes he's put his sword behind him for good.

But your past follows you. The angry lover who called you a spy, maybe. Or a lord who isn't satisfied that his secrets are safe with you still around. Whatever the case, they come at night. Watch you, wait for their chance.

You don't notice them, too focused on your brews and potions.

But he does.

When evening comes, he picks up his wood ax and tells you he wants to bring back a few more branches for the night.

"But we've got plenty. And it's dark."

He smiles then, warmed by your concern.

"I won't be gone long, dove. Just a short walk. Keep the food warm for me."

And it is indeed a short walk. He catches them by surprise, awfully quiet for such a big man. They don't even have time to scream or grab their swords before he's cut them all down.

An ex-warrior yandere who wipes the blood off his face and inspects the blade of his ax.

"Ruined," he sighs. "She'll give me hell for it, I hope you know that."

The cooling corpses have no reply.

An ex-warrior yandere who returns home with a stack of firewood and a bunch of wildflowers.

You take them from him and breathe in their perfume.

"Lovely. Thank you."

That makes him smile again. Look at you, saying thank you. Accepting his gifts. It's been a long road to get here. If he closes his eyes he can still see you on that first day, too bitter and angry to even say please.

The flowers fill your whole cottage with their wild mountain smell, and you don't notice the faint trace of blood underneath the perfume. And if he has his way, you never will.

An ex-warrior yandere who swears off his old life. Who swears off violence and death and blood. Unless it comes to you.

He'll burn villages to ash for you. Cut so many throats he can drink the blood like water. He's a good man, but for you he'll throw it all away.

And those who are stupid enough to try it? To hurt the only good thing he's ever had?

Well, they find out awfully quickly exactly what happened to the Butcher of Brostick. They learn awfully fast that a man can change his name, but it's a much harder thing to change his nature.

An ex-warrior yandere who is the kindest, sweetest man you've ever met. Who doesn't raise his voice or pick fights. Who's always at your side when you need a place to lay your head. Who loves you with the deep, immovable devotion of an oak reaching for the sun.

An ex-warrior yandere who always washes the blood off before he comes home.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

AITA for telling my boyfriend’s coworkers that he’s lying about his body count?

I (35f) have been dating my boyfriend (32m) for four years. It’s honestly been the best relationship until last Friday when it all went down. I feel like I’m in the right, but now I’m wondering if I overstepped.

For context, my boyfriend has been a professional Slasher for about eight months now. He’s always really admired Cryptids, Monsters, and Nightmares so when his application was finally accepted, he was over the moon even if he was starting in a lower position than he initially applied for.

At his company, being a Slasher requires a lot of travel which we knew when he accepted the position. The end goal is for him to get a promotion to at least regional Nightmare (he wants Cryptid, but that position doesn’t have a lot of turnover) but to get that he needs to be in role for at least 12 months OR meet his goals for three months in a row. Once he promotes, we plan to relocate to his new region and “start talking about our future.”

(Side note: no this isn’t about him not popping the question yet. We are both in agreement that marriage comes after financial stability. I run a small business doing scare consults and, while it’s been growing, I wouldn’t call it stable yet. So neither of us are ready.)

I told him it’s completely normal for it to take a whole year before he’s ready to promote and he really should focus on adjusting to the company before thinking about next steps. I used to work for a competitor (I’ve been retired for five years now) and I know it can be hard to go from only taking the occasional human life to having to take over half a dozen a week. It’s not a light workload, no matter how easy it looks in the movies. One of my best friends Slashes part-time and she still only averages about five lives a week despite having done it for years. Especially these days, it can be really hard to meet quota. Humans are getting smarter, no matter what the Council wants us to think.

Anyway, boyfriend didn’t do as well as he thought he would in his first couple months. Totally understandable, of course, which I told him. I suggested he ask his boss if he could be put on a couple team assignments or even a duo until he got the hang of it. That was our first real fight. He thought I was doubting his ability to kill. He brought up how I told him it would take over a year to promote and how I said that this job wasn’t for everyone (His first assignment ended with a 0% kill rate, but that’s a different story). He said it felt like I didn’t believe in him and he said that if that was the case then maybe we shouldn’t be thinking about marriage so soon.

It got pretty messy after that. I felt like he was forgetting that I’d worked in the same field and, arguably, had a lot more experience (not to brag, but I averaged a 98% kill rate). Also, four years is NOT too soon to talk about marriage. He said I didn’t understand how he needed to focus on his career right now. I told him I thought he was taking Slasher too lightly just because it wasn’t Cryptid. He accused me of not respecting him and then things spiraled from there.

We both said a lot of things we didn’t mean and I’m embarrassed that it turned into a bit of a fang measuring contest. I ended up sleeping under the bed for a few nights until he coaxed me out to apologize.

It was a rough patch, but we talked it out. We agreed that, going forward, I wouldn’t offer advice unless he asked and he would try not to take so much of his frustration home with him. He took a weekend off and we went on a recreational haunting trip in the Montana woods.

Things did get better after that. I tried not to give him consults every time he came back from a work trip. He started bringing me souvenirs like roses and cursed puzzle boxes his work said he could have. It became easier just to hang out with each other and it felt like we were back to normal.

But then, four months ago, he came home super pissed because his boss put him on a PIP. (A performance improvement plan.) Apparently, boyfriend had not been doing better at work, he had just stopped telling me when he had a bad assignment. I saw the paperwork he got (he left it in the dungeon under the house, I didn’t go through his stuff) and he’s been missing quota by a LOT. As a junior Slasher, he was supposed to be executing at least 6 people a week, but he’d been lucky to be maiming half that.

Obviously, I had to talk to him about that. We rent our house and, even though I could have afforded the rent on my own, I didn’t want to jeopardize the investments I was making in my business (I was in the process of hiring an assistant to handle my scheduling). Plus, we agreed from day one that we would be 50/50 on rent and I would take care of the rest of the bills because I earned more. I felt that if his financial situation was in jeopardy, he needed to talk to me about it.

I tried to approach him a bit differently than last time. I asked him if there was anything I could do to help. I told him about my slasher friend and how maybe she could give him advice if he didn’t want any from me. But he said he needed to figure stuff out on his own and that if he couldn’t get himself off the PIP then he would go back to work for his dad’s janitorial company.

I let it go. I was worried but I didn’t want to fight again just after patching the holes from the last blow out. It really bugged me that he thought I didn’t believe in him so I committed to giving him the benefit of the doubt. I said okay and asked him if he needed me to meal prep for both of us that week. He offered me grocery money, but I said it was fine since I’d had to deal with a lot of humans breaking in lately and I still had some leftover in the dungeon.

Fast forward a month. Boyfriend got off the PIP super fast. He worked his way off of it over Spring Break and started taking on a lot of extra assignments. In just four weeks he went to Miami Beach twice, New York City twice, and to three separate summer camps. I missed him and it was hard not having him around but I remembered how he said he needed to focus on his career and I tried not to nag.

It was hard not to nag though. With him gone, all the housework fell on me. We rent a 19th century manor, and its upkeep really does need two people. Doing all the chores plus running my business started to really drain me. Even when he was home, he forgot to banish the ghosts (my chore is to kill all invading humans, and his chore is to banish their ghosts) and he never took out the trash. I think he cleaned blood off the dungeon walls once, but then I had to basically redo it because he missed a lot of spots.

But still, I didn’t say anything because he was doing really well at work and I didn’t want to ruin that for him. Even when Humans started breaking in every week, I didn’t complain even though it interrupted my work day.

Last month though, I did ask him if we could move somewhere that needed less maintenance. There were just way too many Humans breaking in and I didn’t have the time to deal with them anymore. Even if I don’t do all the theatrics I used to as a Cryptid, killing humans through fear still takes a lot of time. He asked me if I didn’t appreciate the free meat, and I said I would appreciate it more if I wasn’t the only butchering it.

He said he didn’t want to move because he was really close to getting promoted to regional Nightmare and he didn’t want to take time off work to move. I was so surprised that I couldn’t hide how surprised I was. He saw and got offended. He asked if I still didn’t believe in him. I said that I did, but it was a huge jump to go from an 8% kill rate to getting promoted.

He got even more mad at me for bringing up his stats and he said that he had nearly 80% kill rate since being put on the PIP. I asked how many humans a week he was slashing and he told me I was being too nosy and that was proof that I didn’t believe in him.

I asked him if we could at least hire a ghoul then to keep the humans out of my office and he said he didn’t want to waste the money that we should be saving for our new house. I asked him what he wanted me to do then? I had to take phone calls for my consulting business and it was really hard to stalk humans all around the house while trying to sound like a professional to my clients.

He asked me to be patient for one more month. He said if he met quota for one more month, his boss said he’d get promoted. So I said fine and let it go.

Fast forward to now, almost a full month later.

Last Friday, I attended the Eldritch Conference. For those not in the scare field, the Eldritch Conference is the most prestigious event in our industry. It’s invitation only and is a chance to network with all the big players in the field. Mothman, the Jersey Devil, Bloody Mary and Bigfoot all spoke this year and both my former company, Grudge Industries, and my boyfriend’s current company, Forgotten Summer Solutions, were invited.

I was surprised to get an invite as a solo contributor to the field. However, my consulting firm has really been doing well and I did land a seasonal contract with the Yeti Co-op which I guess is how they heard about me. Plus, I’ve been a speaker before so I think the organizers knew I would behave myself.

I was planning on telling my boyfriend that I was going, but he was out of town on a co-ed sleepover assignment. He usually doesn’t have his phone on during his assignments, so I didn’t bother calling him. I just figured it’d be nice if we ran into each other at the conference if he made it back in time.

Which brings me to what actually happened (apologies for the long post).

So everything went great for my part of the day. I got to network with a lot of individual businesses and even got to reconnect with Blood Mary who I knew back in my Cryptid days. I told her I was dating a Slasher from Forgotten Summer Solutions and invited her to come with me to check out their booth. I thought it would be fun to grab dinner with her after since I assumed if my boyfriend was there, he’d be going out with coworkers which he often does. Plus, I admit, I was showing off a little. I don’t often get the chance to brag about my Cryptid days.

She agreed and we went over to see if my boyfriend was there.

I introduced myself to the people manning the booth. My boyfriend wasn’t there, but a few Slashers recognized my name and greeted me. They were definitely in awe of Bloody Mary (she came in full uniform) and invited us to look at their displays. They had portfolios for each Slasher on the desk as a sort of preview of what their services looked like.

While Bloody Mary looked through the portfolios, I chatted with my boyfriend’s coworkers. They said they were thrilled to work with him and that, even though he had a really rough start, it was impressive how quickly he started meeting his goals. Something about how they talked about his work kind of didn’t make sense. They were talking like he was killing a dozen humans a week, but he’d told me that he was at 80% on his assignments which typically only offer about ten humans each.

I asked them about it and they said that he’d been Slashing during After Hours which is a new goal supplement program his company launched a few months ago. Basically, anyone can sign up for After Hours and the company counts human kills done in uniform as part of their quota. I asked them if this was available to them while they were on assignment and they said no, it had to be done when they had down time. I asked them how my boyfriend was part of that when he was traveling all the time and they looked confused. One of them said that my boyfriend is still getting one assignment per week and is then supplementing his kill rate with After Hours.

At that point, I was even more confused. It sounded like my boyfriend had been lying to me then, because he told me that he was getting at least two assignments a week. If he was only getting one, then where was he going when he said he was traveling?

Bloody Mary interrupted before I could say anything and asked how their Slashers did their kills. They said that every Slasher at their company is required to use a standard issue weapon (like a machete or axe) for their kills to count. They said their company doesn’t count accidents as part of their quota (like falling or heart attacks).

Bloody Mary pulled me aside and showed me the portfolio she was holding. She said that she was going to give me a chance to explain without them overhearing and showed me the book. She said that a bunch of kills in it looked Cryptid kills. And she said, specifically, it looked like the kills I made when I was a Cryptid. I took the book from her and flipped through it and she was right, they really did look like Cryptid kills. Worse, I recognized a few of the Humans from the past few weeks. They were actually my kills!

Kill stealing is a major taboo in our industry.

I told her I didn’t know anything about this. She looked really relieved at that and said that even though I wasn’t a Cryptid anymore, it would look really bad for me if I was caught helping a Slasher cheat at their job. It could affect my business which she’d only heard good things about.

I’m embarrassed to say that I tried to defend him. He’s new to our industry so I thought it might be a mistake. He might not be trying to cheat, this could be a misunderstanding.

She said she didn’t think so because a mistake would be one or two of my kills mixed in with his, not the entire book.

I counted up how many photos were in the book and, all told, of the 146 kills, at least 100 were mine. I couldn’t really say it was a mistake at that point and I was just staring at his portfolio like an idiot. Bloody Mary asked me what I was going to do because, mistake or not, this looked really bad and could damage my reputation if it got out.

At that moment, another man walked up to booth and asked us if there was a problem. I knew that if I said anything, I would be jeopardizing my boyfriend’s job, but if I didn’t say something, I was jeopardizing my business.

I told my boyfriend’s coworkers that he was lying about his body count. I said I didn’t think that they knew he was doing it, but over half of the kills in his portfolio weren’t his and I suggested they remove it from their display before another Cryptid came by and realized it.

The other man thanked me for bringing this to his attention and asked how we knew. Bloody Mary said that she knew another Cryptid’s kills and I had to tell them that I was that Cryptid, though I was retired now. He asked me if I knew my boyfriend was doing this, and I told him no.

I told him I really didn’t want to get my boyfriend in trouble and suggested that maybe he didn’t know those kills didn’t belong to him because they happened in our house. I was grasping at straws and Blood Mary even looked sad for me. His coworkers looked skeptical but tentatively agreed. The man – who turned out to my boyfriend’s boss – said that they would investigate this thoroughly and apologized personally for his employee’s misconduct.

I was spiraling at that point so I thanked him and said I wasn’t mad, I was just looking out for both of our reputations. He promised to keep it between us and I agreed.

Then I apologized to Bloody Mary because I didn’t feel like eating dinner anymore. She said she understood and wished me well.

I went home and did a quick perimeter search of the property. Sure enough, there were human summoning stones ALL OVER the yard. Which means my boyfriend was intentionally luring humans to our house to get me to kill them so he could take credit. It wasn’t a mistake at all.

My boyfriend came home later that night in his work clothes. As soon he got inside he started yelling. He said he was suspended without pay and that all his hard work was for nothing.

I said I knew he’d been stealing my kills and he almost ruined my reputation. He said they still counted as his kills because he did all the work of luring the humans to our house.

I told him that wasn’t how it worked and he knew it. He said it was the same as setting a trap and I was taking this too seriously. I told him that, as a Slasher, he has to use a weapon to get his kills, not me. He said I was basically the same thing since I had such a high kill rate. I asked him if he was calling me an object.

(My parents exploited me by selling me as a haunted doll through a lot of my childhood and he knows I’m sensitive to being called an object.)

He backpedaled at that point and asked if I didn’t want to buy a house together. He said he was doing it for us and I should’ve understood and not said anything. I told him that when I was a Cryptid I had my pride and would’ve never done this.

He said I needed to tell his boss that he was the one who made all those kills. I said it wasn’t me who recognized them as Cryptid kills and now his boss knew too. He accused me of thinking I’m better than him because I have telekinetic powers and can move through shadows and can possess people, while he’s basically a human himself. I told him of course not and that I worked hard for those powers unlike him.

He got really mad at that and actually charged at me with his machete raised. I don’t think he was going to actually hit me, but I reacted like he was. It was all instinct. I disarmed him and I swear I heard a crack when I grabbed his wrist. I shoved him into the wall.

 He crumpled to the floor and started crying. He said sorry and sort of curled up around his wrist. He said he didn’t ever feel like he was enough for me and he didn’t even know why I was still with him. He called himself a bunch of names and said I would be better off without him.

I sort of awkwardly stood there for a minute. On one hand I wanted to assure him that he was enough and that I loved him, but, on the other, I wasn’t sure I could forgive him. He nearly ruined my reputation, and he embarrassed me in front of Bloody Mary. Plus, I still didn't know where he’d been going all those times he said he was on a business trip and apparently wasn’t.

So I ended up not saying anything. I went to our room and started packing a bag. He followed me. He was still crying as he begged me not to go. He said he would own up to his kill steals at work and he would make it right. He pleaded for me not to leave him and that he would give up slashing.

I told him I needed space to think. He tried to grab me, but I shadow walked out of the house. I heard him screaming from outside and I hurriedly drove away.

Now I’m at my friend’s house and I told her everything. She agreed I did the right thing walking away from him, but when I asked her what I should do she hesitated. She said that my boyfriend wasn’t right to kill steal but, as a fellow Slasher, she understood what he was going through. She said I wouldn’t understand the pressure to meet quota because I was always surpassing mine when I was in the field. She said that a Cryptid could never understand a Slasher.

She also said that nobody would have found out about his kills if I hadn’t brought them to his boss’ attention. She said the only time kills are on display like that is at the Eldritch Conference and by the next one, he’d have had kills of his own. She thinks that if I’d just confronted him at home, he wouldn’t be on suspension.

So now I’m worried that I overreacted when I told my boyfriend’s coworkers that he was lying about his body count.

AITA?

----

Thanks for reading! Several amazing supernatural citizens (aka my Patrons) gave great advice to our poor OP over on my Patreon! Please go check them out here (X)

(I will definitely be posting some of them here in the near future!)

My next supernatural AITA is already up to my patrons!

It's called "AITA for divorcing my vampire husband because he lied about his human job?"

Patrons get to see many of my stories a week ahead! If that interests you please check me out here (X)!

[rissouu]

nerdy!choso who was sick of letting you walk around, doing whatever you pleased. the day you asked him to be your tutor was when his whole world flipped upside down. him? tutor the most popular girl in school??

it was okay at first, but somewhere along the line your saturday study sessions turned into saturday fuck sessions. you were his first and it didn’t surprise you much.. choso was the school’s number one nerd, and sure he was hot but no girl dared to associate with him, let alone fuck him.

but you were different in so many ways, you treated him like fragile glass that you knew better than to break. you liked to test him sometimes though, just to see if he’d drop the innocent boy act. usually your schemes never worked.. but this time? oh he’d had enough.

“this what you wanted fuckin’ stuck up brat?” choso chuckled darkly, anger radiating off him in waves. large hands struck down, bruising the skin of your ass for the 10th time.

he had you bent over his lap counting every spank and if you missed even a single one, he’d get a belt.

one look at him had your body quivering, his head was tilted and hair messy as his eyes pierced yours. “thought it was cute to stop sharing your location wimme’ huh mama?”

you shook your head which earned nothing but a chuckle from him. rough fingers danced around your clit, flicking it back and forth despite your overstimulation.

a sharp pain had you whimpering, it was only then you realized what was going on. choso sunk his teeth into your cheek with no intentions of stopping until the mark of his teeth was visible.

“how about i start spanking this pretty pussy next?” he smiled when you waved your ass around in anticipation, his greedy greedy girl. “nah.. think ‘m gonna fill her up instead. maybe then you’ll stop fuckin’ playing with me,”

no way this was your same nerdy!choso from before…

©rissouu 2024 (pls i need a choso in my life)..

[madamechrissy]

Do I wanna know?

Pairings: Yandere Gojo x Fem reader

Summary: Satoru Gojo knows as soon as he sees you, he'll do anything to have you, but first? He needs you to need him. Ignoring his friendly offer to let you stay with him to save up for a better place, you soon find yourself kicked out by your landlord, and moving in with Satoru. Every thing seems like it's bringing you to need Satoru more and more... yet he doesn't make a move on you, and soon you start putting things together... is Satoru a stalker?? 9k word count

CW - There are SO MANY lol here we go- gaslighting, manipulation, possessive behavior, stalking, Satoru is so Yandere, teasing and tension, explicit sex, rough sex, face smacking, choking, breed kink, videoing without consent, oral sex (both receiving) trying to baby trap mentions of cum, dirty talk (he calls you a slut a lott lol) and misogyny. SATORU BEING PSYCHO but sexy. It's toxic- Based on this drabble

Comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoy this one! Thank you for 4k followers omg!!!

You’re not sure how you came to be so close to Satoru Gojo so quickly.

It was as if everywhere you were, he popped up in some way, at first you all met at your work, you were a bartender for a pretty elite club, and Satoru came in along with a few of his CEO friends for drinks once. He had tipped you insanely well, this gorgeous man with shocking white hair, and the most intense blue eyes you’ve seen, you couldn’t even describe the color they were.

Satoru Gojo was rich, handsome, friendly, funny, you couldn’t understand why he even asked for your number. You’re a beautiful girl, but he seemed like the kind of man that had women come to him, but not just that, he’s humble and sweet. He messaged you that night even, hoping you got home safe after your shift, and then asking if you’d like to hang out.

When you pictured hanging out, you honestly pictured maybe a date, or something intimate, but it was just coffee the first time, and he asked real questions about you. The next time you all went to a concert he had tickets for, and you had invited him into your apartment when he’d dropped you off, offering a drink to him.

That’s when Satoru saw your shitty little apartment.

He scoffed, walking around while you went to grab two beers, earning a view of your ass that had him shifting himself in his pants, but he was so upset then, he knew where you lived from the outside, he’d watched you plenty, but this? It’s a teeny one bedroom nothing, surely he could treat you much better than that, you deserved a penthouse, his penthouse.

He’d been watching you since that night weeks ago, he could not get his eyes off you, you took his breath away when his eyes had shifted up your body in that slutty bartending outfit. God he can’t wait until you’re not allowed to wear that anywhere, until you’re all his, and oh he knows you want him, he sees the desire in your dilated eyes, how your lips part when you look at him.

But not just yet.

Satoru can’t just fuck you, no you need to be his and you need to stay his, never, ever leaving him, and to do that he needs you begging for him. He needs there to be no other ideas in that pretty head of yours, so he decides to be your ‘friend’. Even when you step a little closer, lowering your lashes, eyes drinking him in when you take a sip from your bottle.

Beer? You should have top shelf champagne.

Satoru can do that for you.

“Thank you so much for tonight, Satoru.” You say softly, a hand trailing up his chest then, he tilts his head, blue eyes assessing you hungrily.

“Why live here?”

You blink now. “Well, it’s cheap and safe?”

“Don’t you make good money?”

“Um… yeah but I have student loans out the ass for my failed creative writing degree.” You roll your eyes and sigh, earning his chuckle.

“Failed? Didn’t pass?”

“No, I did but it’s useless I guess now. I should’ve gone into medical and been a little smarter, but I didn’t listen.”

“Is it your passion?” You nod then, with a little smile.

Satoru can make it happen, surely.

“You could always stay with me.” You cough then, you all barely know each other. “I have a huge place, I wouldn’t mind.”

“I could never impose like that. Don’t feel so sorry, Satoru, I swear I’m good here.” You lean in now, Satoru leans down, big hand caressing your face, tilting your chin up, his look so intense you can’t breathe. Breaths come in quick pants as your gaze hits his plush, glossy lips, imagining them everywhere.

“It’s an open offer, if anything happens. I’ll be…” He smirks a bit, leaning even closer, so close you taste the sweetness of his cool breath. “All gentlemanly and everything.”

“Would you be?” He chuckles now, lips just an inch from yours, your chest is rising and falling, heart thudding at just what his touch does. “What if I don’t want you to be one right now?”

“What’re you asking, sweets?”

“I…” The phone rings now, you clear your throat, realizing you were about to beg this almost stranger to fuck you.

What’s wrong with you!?

“I am sorry, let me see who it is.” Satoru smiles good naturedly, but you don’t see the glare from behind you, as he scowls at the phone, seeing another man’s name. You text him that you’re busy quickly, earning a little relief for him.

“Boyfriend?” You whirl around now, eyes narrowing a bit.

“No, um… ex boyfriend. We were together for years though, even in college, so we keep in touch sometimes.”

Satoru’s jaw sets, and something… changes then, confusing you a bit, as he sets his drink down. “Who broke up with who?”

“Um, he did.” Your cheeks heat up now under his scrutiny. “I’m sure you don’t wanna talk about my ex though.”

Oh, he does.

He wants your attention all on him, and not a bit of that should be for your ex, who didn’t even want you!? How could anyone not want you? Your gorgeous face that fucks his dreams up, your perfect body like you’re built just for him, how sweet you are, and those damn eyes of yours. He can’t wait to see them fucked out, to see you drooling.

Can’t wait to make sure you never text this man again.

“Is something wrong?” You ask now, he smirks, brightening his face so you don’t figure out all his thoughts.

“Nah, sweets, just curious who’d break up with you.” His casual words hit hard, as he brushes your hair back now, leaning in again and you think maybe he’ll kiss you finally, but he just stares at you, holding your face with strong hands.

So strong he could really crush you if he wants, you feel so small in his presence, so overwhelming. Then he brushes his lips up and against your cheek, your eyes flutter shut, your body throbbing with need, but he pulls away after the little kiss on your face, those blue eyes glittering now, he grins all bright and beautiful, casually putting his hands in his pockets.

“Well, I’m off now, enjoy your night, huh?” You blink a bit at that, wondering then, is something not to his liking about you? You’re studying yourself in the mirror after he left, picking yourself apart.

Your makeup is perfect still, your outfit is sexy, you look really good, and you’d damn near been begging for him silently. Maybe he wasn’t interested? Then why did he look at you like that? You sigh now, washing your face and getting down to just your bra and panties, picking back up the phone and finally writing your ex back, then seeing a text from Satoru.

Satoru: Had fun, sweets. Good night.

You: I had fun too… you didn’t have to leave so early.

Satoru smirks, still in his car, watching your silhouette from behind your curtains, gently walking back and forth, he glares when he realizes you are likely naked or damn close to it. He is going to have to teach you some lessons, it seems, because you are already trying to show the world what’s his.

Or will be.

Satoru: It was getting late, did you want me to stay?

You: Maybe I did. Thank you for tonight though.

Satoru: No problem, love.

Love… that does something to you, Satoru does something to you, when your head hits the bed and you’re staring up at the ceiling. Your ex texts you again, but this time you ignore it, thoughts whirling, you still feel the touch to your cheek, having fucked you up more than even being intimate with someone.

Satoru Gojo, who was he really?

*****

“Hey, hey… what’s wrong?” Satoru knows what’s wrong, he is all sweet hugs and rubbing your back though when you are at his place the next week, sobbing against his chest.

“I’m so sorry… I… My landlord just kicked me out!? And I did nothing wrong, she said she’s renting it for triple to someone? I was past my lease, but shit.” Satoru smiles, but you don’t see it, buried against his strong chest as he strokes your hair softly, pleased that you came to him.

You’re such a good girl.

“Oh, sweetheart, it's okay. Shh.” He’s consoling you so sweetly, you pull back, seeing his concerned gaze as you blink away tears, swiping at your cheeks.

“I can’t afford three times the rent? Satoru I… I make decent enough money, if I could just pay you for a room until I find somewhere? I-”

“Nonsense.” He cuts you off, and your stomach flutters when he’s brushing a hand across your back, palm pressing into the fabric of your dress, like it’s burning you with a touch. “You stay here for free, save up money, yeah?”

“I can’t do that, I have to pay you something. It’s already a huge imposition-”

“Have you seen this place? It’s not shit to have you here, won’t cost me anything anyway.” You have seen it, his insane penthouse with a view that’s fucking ridiculous. It’s spotless, only the finest everything all over, you know Satoru’s very wealthy as a CEO but he screams old money too.

“I would feel terrible. Could I cook, pick up?”

“I have cleaners. Cooking though… yeah, you good at it?”

You smile tremulously, wiping your eyes again. “I’m so good! I also could give the best neck massages after work?”

“Now that sounds perfect. It’s a deal then, stay as long as you need, but cook yummy things. As for a massage, we’ll see if you’re good as you say.”

“Swear, they’re magic! Oh goodness, I have to get to my shift soon, ugh… is there a way you could help me get my things? I’ll just leave the furniture, it’s old, I can buy new shit.”

“Absolutely.”

You hug him tightly, kissing his cheek then, he tenses at it, at the brush of your lips, at the curves of your body against him. Fuck he can’t wait to make you his.

“Satoru Gojo, you're amazing.” He chuckles then.

“I know.”

*****

Living with Satoru Gojo, who walks around shirtless is… difficult. Your tummy clenches, mouth gulping the first time you see him, his chiseled perfect body, all dewy after a shower. Towel slung across his neck, sauntering over to you with that smirk of his, so casual as you’re in the kitchen chopping up veggies, he brushes his fingertips across your back, driving you insane.

Shivers slink down your spine when he leans over you, breath against your neck, you damn near arch back into him as he murmurs in your ear. “Looks yummy.”

Fuck.

You take a shaky breath, hands trembling as you then nick yourself with the knife, you wince then. “Ow, shit!”

“Lemme see.” He takes your hand gently, peering at the drop of crimson that pushes out in droplets then, the way he takes your hand even is too much.

Weeks of living together, walking around in arguably almost nothing in front of him, and he hasn’t hit on you, despite his eyes devouring you, like they’re touching you. No he’d smile and lazily trail his gaze, maybe brush against you in the kitchen, give you a hug after work, you’d rub his neck just so and he’d grip your wrists, smiling up at you, to the point you’re losing control.

All you can think of is him.

Satoru loves it that way, too, he loves hearing you murmur his name in your sleep, he’s got cameras all over, especially in your room, and he can even hear you on them. Your little whines of pleasure, he’d see how your hands would move under your blankets, as you stayed as quiet as can be, but he heard your whimpers, your sweet little moans.

He strokes his cock every night watching you, listening, waiting.

He needs you to really need him.

“Just a little nick, I’m fine.” You assure him, then your mouth drops as he takes your finger, sucking it into his mouth.

He’s sucking on your damn finger, hot wet mouth and the lewd images destroying the fragile hold you have on your sanity, snowy lashes lowered as he presses his tongue up on your fingertip, putting pressure. You stand there quiet, but then there’s a little sound that escapes your throat, a little whine, and when he pulls back he smiles knowingly.

He licks his lips, a drop of blood on them, tilting his head as he releases your finger now. “Better?”

“Um… y-yes. Thank you, Satoru.” You manage to speak somehow, your voice hoarse, you clear your throat then. “Clumsy.”

“Mind somewhere?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

Another week goes by, Satoru watches you every chance he gets, when he’s at work he watches you on his phone, he’s got a tracker in yours, for your safety you know, when something concerns him. Your daily trips were work, maybe the store, and a couple times a week the gym. But you’re somewhere he’s never seen you at, and it concerns him then.

Where are you?

He zooms in on the location.

Someone’s house?

Satoru’s jaw tightens then, and when you’re home that night, you notice he’s not friendly, or sweet, or talkative. He barely responds as you try to engage with him, and when you go to rub his neck, he stops your hands with an icy glare. “What’s… did I upset you?”

“How could you upset me?” He stands up, looming so tall, you shrink back just a bit, the backs of your legs hitting the fancy grey couch, until you’re sitting in it, and Satoru’s arms are on either side of you. “How could you, sweets, hmm?”

“I… I don’t know? Um…” Your mouth goes dry when he gets on his knees, spreading your thighs, your breaths coming quicker, pussy throbbing around nothing, thinking of him, feeling his long slender fingers on your skin. “Satoru?”

“You’re a perfect girl, aren’t you? A good girl?” Your hips shift, his eyes dart down, smiling as he peeks under your skirt now, a wet spot forming on your panties, he can’t wait to finally taste you, when you’re good of course.

“Good girl? I… don’t know.” Your hands are at your side, his face is right against yours again, your thighs on either side of his body, pressing into him.

“What’d you get up to today?” He asks, all casual like he doesn’t know, as he assesses your body for marks, bites, hickeys. Your body belongs to him, even if you don’t know it just yet. He finds none, making him just a little less furious, but now he feels the plush of your thighs in his grip, picturing shoving them against your chest.

You’d look so sexy in a mating press, wouldn’t you?

“I um… went to grab dinner, then I gave some shit to my ex that I had left from the apartment.” Satoru exhales in relief.

“Oh yeah? I could’ve helped you, love.”

“No, it’s awkward. I was holding onto it, I decided to just let it go, he didn’t choose me, you know?”

“Who wouldn’t choose you?” You lean forward, his eyes dart to your breasts, as a strap slips over your shoulder.

“Satoru, you're too good to me, and why? How have I come to deserve you in my life?” He exhales, adjusting the strap with two fingers, brushing your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps, he watches your nipples perk up under your tank top, furious that anyone has ever seen them.

“Is that all? You gave him his shit?” He tries to hide his anger, his jealousy.

“That’s all.” You answer, and he stands again, leaving you wanting and empty when he’s not touching you.

“Should have asked me to help. I’m calling it a night, yeah?” You manage a little nod, he tilts your chin up as he stands over you, your body reacting so violently you’re shaking damn near, unable to stop the reaction. He smiles knowingly, leaving you then, and you glare at his strong, perfect back as he walks off, giving you a little look before going to his room.

Satoru knew you saw him somehow? You can swear it. Are you freaking out for no reason? Surely he didn’t care what you did, he maybe just wanted to make sure you were okay, maybe he could sense you were stressed somehow?

Then why is there this gnawing feeling?

*****

The next day you’re trying to get to work, and your car won’t turn over. You curse it out, it’s old sure but it’s strong and has a good engine. Satoru had already offered to give you one of his cars, saying you could pay him back later, as if you could ever afford a Mercedes Benz. You’d turned him down of course, and now he’s standing in his insanely huge parking garage, right out the side of your window.

You open the door, sighing as you get out of the car. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it, ugh!”

“It’s an ancient relic?”

“Hey!” You playfully shove him, laughing then. “It is, I guess. But I don’t know why it won’t start?”

“I’ll have my mechanic check it, he’ll love this archeology.”

“Satoru!” You’re laughing so hard then, god he always makes you laugh, you wish he’d make you moan but you throw those thoughts far back.

“I’m kidding, sweets, kinda.” He narrows those blue eyes, his jaw tensing just a bit then as he assesses your car.

Couldn’t be because he took out your catalytic converter.

“Hmm, maybe a dead battery or alternator went out?” Satoru looks at you amusedly, you’re cute, knowing something about cars. But he needs you to stop worrying about things like that.

“For now, I’ll take you to work, yeah?” You exhale, nodding then.

“Thank you so much, Satoru, you’re so sweet to me.” You say later, as he drops you off at work, top down, grinning with those Gucci shades hiding those baby blues, some of the girls from the bar are out front, they start giggling when they see the two of you.

“He’s so hot!?” One of your friends loudly whispers.

“Shh, I know!” Gojo hears you though, grinning as he swipes a hand through his snowy locks.

“Hello, ladies.” He says, getting out then to come open your door, earning the swoons of everyone. You smile gratefully at him.

“Thank you, Gojo.”

“No worries, tell me when to pick you up, mmkay?” You nod then, he gives you a little kiss on the head, and your friends make no secret of how fine they think he is.

“Is he your man?” Your other friend asks, you shake your head then, while Satoru gets back in the car. “Bitch, why?”

“Is he single?” Your other friend asks.

Something makes you sick then, thinking of seeing Satoru with other women, and surely it would happen soon, yeah? He’s gorgeous and can get who he wants, and he hasn’t yet shown he wants you. You peek back at him as he is starting back up his car, looking at your friend again.

“He’s single.” Satoru wants to laugh at you. He’s not single, you’re his already,  you just haven’t gotten where he needs you.

“Why not date him?”

“He’s not interested. Drop it.” You hiss, waving at Satoru, he tilts his glasses down then, the unreal eyes behind the snowy lashes drinking you in.

“Have a good day, sweets.” He leaves a bunch of giggling, whispering friends and heat on your cheeks when he drives off, grin glinting in the setting sun, because now he knows just where you are.

*****

After two more weeks of living with Satoru, you’re at about a month with him, and despite the endless little brushes against your skin, the little touches while you cook, the hugs and pecks on your cheeks, he never makes a move. You moan just a little louder at night thinking of him, wondering then when you’d see him in the morning why he looked so tired.

You’re wondering about lots of things.

“Satoru, do you date?” You ask one day, and he looks at you lazily, trailing up and down your body the way he does, the way that makes you ache with longing.

“Do I date? I haven’t in a while, why?”

“You’re so… you?” He snorts then.

“What’s that mean?”

“Like, gorgeous? Smart and sweet? Rich? How do you not date?”

“When I get with someone it’ll be permanent, there won’t be any dating or fucking around, so I guess I’m kind of picky about it. Why? Would it make you jealous if I brought a girl over?”

Yes, yes it would.

“Oh, no, I’m cool with whatever. It’s your place, I just live here.” Satoru leans you against the counter then, barring you with strong arms, his thigh brushing between yours, he feels it then, the heat that builds as you shift your hips just a bit, eyes darting up to his.

“Wouldn’t mind if I fucked someone right here? Ya sure?”

“It’s your place.” You manage weakly again, watching thin nostrils flare, his pupils blown out as you shift again, and he feels your hot pussy against his thigh, your hands slipping up his shirt slowly. “You like to fuck, Satoru?”

He blinks now, shifting his thigh, tilting his head as he studies you. “You’re asking if I like to fuck?” You nod, just barely, and one of his hands slips down your side, his cock throbbing under his jeans, thinking about devouring your pussy right on the kitchen counter. He already has tasted you off those panties he stole, he imagines it’s even sweeter from the source. “Do you?”

Your cheeks flush, eyes lowering nervously, Satoru tilts your chin up, making you look right at him. “I didn’t like it much, no, but… I like to…”

“Play with your pussy?” You bite your lower lip, rolling your hips once more, waiting for him to break, but he acts casual as he’s ruining what’s left of your addled mind. “You brought it up, don’t be shy.”

“Yes, I like to. Do you… play with…”

“Slutty questions.” He smirks now, backing up, you look in horror as you realize you’ve left a damn wet spot on his thigh, but he brushes it with his thumb leisurely, lapping it off his tongue, leaving you with your mouth open. “Mmm. Have a good night, pretty.”

You’re shaking when you get to your room, literally dying over him, knowing he’s in the next room but won’t come near you is torture, but for him it’s fun. He’s watching you pace around your room avidly, damn near chuckling when you strip off your clothes so quickly, flopping on the bed and covering your face with your hands, pressing your knees together.

He’ll make you feel better soon, don’t worry.

But then, you pick up your phone, earning his glare that of course you can’t see, he picks up his other phone now, the one that shows him every message and call you make. Some guy has been trying to ask you out for a couple weeks, but you’d ignored him, like a good girl. Now, however… you’re texting him back!?

That just won’t do.

He’s so absorbed in staring at your messages, as you smile just a bit, wondering if there was a way to get under Gojo’s cool exterior.

Maybe a date with someone?

******

You’re dressed in some slinky outfit, it hugs your body just right, hitting about mid thigh, a black lacy little number. You step out of your room, his mouth drops open when he sees you, too much of your smooth skin revealed, your breasts on display for everyone who would see, you smile up at him all pretty and do a little spin as he grips his hands into fists.

He wants to rip that dress the fuck off you, bury his cock inside your pretty little cunt and fuck you hard, fuck you so hard you sob those eyelashes off, so hard your perfect hair is a tangled goddamn mess. Teach you that you’re his and only his, that you belong to him, have you cum so hard you can’t form anymore thoughts of ever leaving in your pretty head.

He can’t even speak when you nervously ask, “How do I look?”

How do you look? You look like you need your ass beat, your clit overstimulated to the point you beg him to stop, look like you need to get that pretty neck choked out by his big hands. And that little smile on your face, like you know just what you’re doing to him? Satoru’s teeth click together, jaw tensing now while he sits there on the desk chair looking at you.

“You look gorgeous. But then you always do.” You blush at that, lashes lowering at the praise. “But why so dressed up? Going out with… friends?”

You know he knows.

You hear it in his voice, in how tense it gets. You smile then, shaking your head, lacing your fingers together in front of you as you feel those blue eyes touching your skin. “No, I’m going on a date.”

Satoru’s little facade breaks for just a moment, he can’t keep it up just now, and it’s like you know, you’re being this little brat and not his sweet little thing right now. He can’t wait to fuck the attitude out of you, as hard as it’s making him. “Oh? A date, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s been a while you know.” You step up to him just a bit, smiling so pretty, devious little brat. “A while.”

“A while.” He repeats, voice hoarse, before realizing you’re trying to play him, aren’t you? “Since?”

“Since anything. This guy seems super nice, maybe he’ll… think I’m hot, you know? Be attracted too? We’ll see.”

“Who wouldn’t want you? That’s stupid.” He huffs.

“Oh, is it? Well I’m not everyone’s type, you know?” You blink those damn lashes at him, he raises a brow. “So we’ll see. But don’t wait up for me, hmm?”

“Don’t you need a ride?” He asks, as you head towards the door, grabbing your little purse now.

“Oh no, he’s going to come get me, don’t worry.” Satoru’s hand stops yours on the knob, hard body pressed against your back, your breath catches, quickening now, watching the veins raise on his hand, as it covers yours completely. “Something wrong, Satoru?”

“Just wanna make sure you’re safe, you should let me take you.”

“Don’t even impose yourself, I’ll be fine.” You turn and look up at him, his plush lips just a breath from yours. “Everything okay?”

“Of course it is, you can text me if you need me to get you though, okay?” You exhale now, slightly dejected.

You want him to say he doesn’t want you to go, fuck you want him to grab you and keep you here, he makes you feel so fucking toxic, the insane thoughts making your mind whirl, your tummy coil with desire. One of his hands grips your hip, and you feel his length against your back, your eyes shut as you grip the door knob so hard it hurts.

“I asked you something, sweets.” His grip tightens, you open your eyes again, looking up at him.

“Of course, Satoru.”

“Have fun then.” He is back to being a bright, happy Gojo, blue eyes glittering, letting you go when you ache for him to drag you against him. “Be safe, yeah? Creeps everywhere, stalkers even.”

He’s following you in his car as soon as you take off in this asshole’s car, he tracks your location and finds you’re at some restaurant, he sees you then, up front at a table shivering a bit in your slutty dress. Part of him thinks, that’s just what you get, but another part thinks, fuck this dude for not giving you his jacket, Satoru sizes him up with a flick of his eyes, fists clenching the steering wheel.

You keep peering at your phone, you don’t look like you’re really having fun, what are you playing at? Are you trying to make him insane, trying to make him more jealous than he already was? He was jealous anyone even fucking saw you altogether, he thinks how good it would be to breed you constantly, to keep you knocked up with his babies, stay at home for only his eyes to see.

The thoughts drive him insane, as does seeing this dude’s hand on your bare thigh now, thighs for him to touch, he is so furious he almost blows his cover, taking several breaths as he prepares to rip this dude’s hands off. How dare anyone touch you!? And then he gets it, your text.

Satoru, I’m so sorry, but are you busy?

Satoru exhales in relief, leaning his head back on the driver’s seat, brushing his hand across his face.

Having fun on your date?

Satoru is being petty but he can’t help it, he sees your cute little glare as you poke on your phone, and his hand slips higher up your leg.

Not really. I’ll be fine though, sorry.

Satoru panics now.

What’s wrong?

He watches as you type.

I feel really uncomfortable, could you please come get me? I’m so sorry to put you out like this…

Satoru comes right out of the car, walking across the street now, and your eyes widen in shock, lips parting as he saunters up, grinning and holding out a hand. “Hey pretty, wanna get out of here?”

“Excuse me!?” The man sputters, but you giggle, Satoru wonders if you’re the crazy one here, him or you?

“I’d love to.” You put your little hand in his, following him to his car then, when Satoru slides in however he cups your face, grip tight on you, his eyes glaring and fucking furious. “How’d you get here in ten seconds? Instant transmission like Goku?”

“You’re such a brat.” He mutters, glaring now as you grin, one hand in your hair, pulling, making you cry out, a sound that makes Satoru’s cock leak precum, just from the sound of you. “You did this it piss me off, hmm?”

“Why would you be mad, Toru?” You put a hand on his thigh now, leaning forward, showing more and more of your breasts. “You don’t even want me like that, haven’t you made it clear?”

He starts laughing now, he’s feral, manic in his insane laugh, pulling your hair even harder. “I don’t huh? Then tell me what the fuck this is?”

Satoru takes your hand putting it over his clothed cock now, you whimper feeling him for the first time, hard for you, his breaths coming faster and faster as you go to stroke him, earning his own throaty moan. “Are you jealous?”

“No, because he’s not shit, and you’re mine anyway.”

“How am I yours!? Don’t even kiss me. Don’t even-”

Satoru yanks you to him, slamming his lips on yours then, devouring your mouth, tongue swiping in every inch of it, swirling as he loses his fragile sense of control. You taste so good, you feel so good, he’s wanted you for so long, he’s brutal with his lips, with his teeth, with how he grips your chin so fucking tight. You’re falling apart for him, then, when he yanks back.

His breath is hot on your lips, his hand slipping between your thighs then, you can’t stop the cry that escapes your lips, when he finds you over your panties, soaking wet for him. “This for me, or for him?”

“Stupid- ah!” Satoru pulls your hair so hard tears prick your eyes, stroking you over your sticky panties.

“Watch that mouth, and that attitude before I fuck it out of you.” His whisper and his touch makes you drip down his fingers, you’re arching your hips as he touches you, pressing on your clothed clit now. “So you get this wet for me?”

“You get that hard from me?” You counter, he laughs again, shaking his head at your audacity, slipping his finger under your panties now, finding your bare cunt.

“Stupid fucking soaked, huh? From a kiss?”

“Just touch me, please…” You’re begging him now, leaning closer, lips pressing against his, drinking his moans when he shoves two fingers in your eager hole, stretching you and making you gasp. “Satoru…”

“Do you deserve to cum, after acting this way?” He demands, curling his fingers up in your slick walls, pressing that spot that has your eyes rolling back, entire body reacting to him, dripping down his sleeves, his watch you’re so wet. “Answer me.”

The first slap on your cheek shocks you with the sting that throbs, you glare at him, slapping him back on his pretty face, earning him gripping your wrist brutal as his fingers fuck into you. The car is heating up right in the middle of the damn street, you hear your pussy squishing, hear your cries and gasps.

“Asked you a question, sweets. Seeing your ex, going on a date, showing off this body to everyone? Ya think you’re a good girl?” You shake your head then, and he groans, kissing you messy, tongues drooling saliva, thumb finding your clit now, and you’re close, so close, clinging to him.

“N-no but… please…” He laughs as he pushes you to the edge, sucking you off his fingers then, groaning, cheeks hollowing.

“Fuck you taste even better than your panties.”

“My what!?”

“C’mere, ya wanna be a good girl for me?” You blink rapidly, nodding then, and he revs up the car, pulling out, you are jostled as he begins to drive like a maniac, you’re grasping him, half thrown on his lap.

“Where are we going?”

“Home. You’re gonna make it up to me, being so slutty, huh?”

“Slutty?”

“Slutty mouth.” Satoru unzips his pants then, and you gulp when you see him for the first time, thick and long, veiny cock so pretty, the tip pink, drooling drops of precum already. You stare at it, he feels it as he drives, peeking at you now, grabbing the back of your hair again. “Put it to use, and I’ll let you cum.”

“Fuck…” You have never done something like this, but you find yourself bent over him then, taking your tongue and lapping at the precum on his tip, while he drives with one hand, his other, entangling against the nape of your neck.

“Gonna be my perfect little slut, no one else's, huh?” You nod eagerly, you’re stupid, this man literally stalked you on your date, he’s acting possessive and psychotic, but your pussy is clenching around nothing. “Say it.”

“Your perfect little slut.” You whisper, he moans then, husky and guttural as you suck him in your mouth now, hot and wet, swirling your tongue around the ridge of his tip, earning his hips bucking, cock twitching.

“That’s it, I knew you could behave. There you go, good girl.” You’re trembling, sucking him deep in your throat, over and over as your cunt is drooling, dripping down the panties that are becoming soppy wet and pathetic like you. “Feel that slutty mouth, never gonna suck anyone again, are you baby?”

“Mmm…” You’re moaning eagerly, sucking his cock as deep as you can, he’s shoving your head fully down to where you’re slobbering all over him, tears pricking your eyes, you’re shaking while he uses your throat, your mouth, as your taste his salty precum, shoving it in your throat deeper and deeper.

“F-fuck… you’re finally being good, huh? Bet you wanna cum, bet your pussy is soaked, yeah?”

He knows you can’t answer, he’s loving the choked out sounds you’re making as you suck him down more and more, until he finally pulls up to his house, he pulls you off him, cock glittering with your saliva. He moans, kissing you again, teeth sinking into your lip, tasting himself off your tongue, you’re whining, trembling, he chuckles just a bit then.

“Look at you, sucked it that good? Should I fucking be mad?” He demands then, you gasp at his touch on your pussy again.

“It’s been a long time for me, okay?” You whisper, he exhales now.

“No one will touch you again when I’m done, yeah? No one.” You nod weakly, Satoru smiles now. “Good, you’re so good f’me.”

Satoru’s got you in his penthouse so quickly you’re disoriented, and as soon as the door is closed behind you, he grabs you, slams you against the wall, and kisses you again, hard and desperate. His hands slips down to your ass, squeezing it roughly in his big palms, long fingers pressing in as he takes over everything, making you moan into his mouth.

You can feel his cock pressing against your tummy now, thick and insistent, on your tummy, half put up, his pants unzipped, and you can’t help but arch into him, rubbing against him, tip toeing to get close. He’s so rough with you, so demanding, and it’s making you wetter, making your body respond in ways it never has before, it’s insane what he’s doing to you.

He shoves a hand back up your dress, twisting your panties to the side again, rubbing in teasing circles, as tears fall out of your eyes, looking at them and moaning. “You’re crying?”

You manage a sniffle, fuck you looks so perfect like this, in tears for him, it only makes Satoru’s cock spurt more precum, so hard it hurts, he can’t wait to bury it so deep in you, he’s picturing it as he slides his fingers into your soaked cunt. You moan loudly, you’re tiny hands clinging to him, leg around his hip, letting his fingers fuck you deeper.

“Hear it? You’re so loud, so messy, huh?” He’s whispering, all you can do is nod, pupils so blown out your eyes are dark. “Look at you, fucked out from my fingers? That won’t do, baby.”

You barely register his fingers sliding out of your pussy again, you whine at the emptiness, but then he’s on his knees, shoving your dress up over your hips, yanking your panties off you. He’s throwing one of your legs over his shoulders, bright blue eyes staring up under his snowy lashes, you’re clinging to his hair, chest rising and falling as he places a kiss on your pussy.

“You were so good, I’ll treat you so good, hmm? Make you feel s’good?” You just nod, earning a smack on your pussy, making you gasp. “What do we say, little slut?”

“Please.” Satoru Gojo then his face buried between your legs, his tongue sliding along your slit, tasting your arousal that starts pouring down his mouth. You gasp as he nibbles on your clit, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, sending bolts of pleasure through your body.

He’s eating you out like he’s starved, slutty moans from both of your throats, your head slamming against the wall. His stupidly long  tongue is moving in circles around your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you, and you can’t believe how good it feels. You’ve never been with a man who’s so hungry for you, who devours you like this, his fingers making your squelching wetness even louder.

Your hands entangle in those silky white locks as he fingers and licks like he’s always known how to, but it comes so natural, flicking his tongue against your little twitchy clit over and over. Your cunt is so wet his fingers slip, before shoving back in, pressing your spongy spot inside your little hole, all while you’re a pathetic mess, sniffling and hiccuping.

He can’t wait to make you stupid for him, beyond this, beyond anything, can’t wait to own you, possess you in every fucking way. As he sucks your tiny clit in his hungry mouth, he moans against it, looking up and watching you shatter for him. You’re so close to cumming, you can feel it building.

“Gonna cum, please, please-” You whine out, gasping, thighs shaking as you’re too weak to stand, but then he stops, leaving you gasping for breath, your body on the edge, pulsating all over through every vein..

“Beg for it.” He orders, sadistic smirk on a face half soaked with you, as he licks his lower lip, glossy.

“Please, Satoru, please make me cum.” You whisper, your voice shaking, and he groans, shocking you when he yanks you down, you slam onto the ground wincing and gasping as you hit the floor, and he starts palming at your dress, until he’s ripped it completely off you. “Satoru!? What!?”

Your dress is in pieces now, much to his pleasure, all you have now is what’s left of it under you, and you’re naked aside from heels and a bra. “You’ll never wear that fucking dress again, got me? Showing off what’s mine when I wasn’t even with you? Do you hear me?”

You nod then, you should be terrified, but fuck you want him too much, as he shoves your thighs up high, then dives back in, his tongue swirling around your clit, his teeth grazing it again as he bites it. You scream out at the pain, he shoves those fingers back in, three this time.

“Too much, too much!” You’re sobbing out, and he laughs now.

“No baby, your slutty pussy can take it, huh? Lemme hear you scream my name.” He shoves his fingers in so deep and his tongue is drinking you as your orgasm hits you, your body convulsing against his mouth, your juices flowing onto his face, everywhere.

You can hear him, lapping you up, drinking every bit, all while the best orgasm of your existence makes you blind, you’re floating, the only thing that tethers you is when he looks down at you, fingers still buried. He slams his lips back on yours, you taste your pussy on his lips, whimpering and clinging to him desperately, bare as he’s fully dressed.

“You’re made for me, only me to taste, just me.” You just nod, and he chuckles, shaking his head. “Can’t talk baby?”

“You, jus’ you… Toru…” He’s picked you up to stand, before he’s pulling you up against him, holding your naked frame against him, carrying you to your bed now, lips not coming up for air until he’s tossed you on your bed.

“Bra off, now.” He orders, you do as he says, tossing it and then peeking at the camera you know is there, smiling before you look back at him. He’s glaring, unbuttoning his dress shirt now. “Looking at something?”

“Oh, nothing. Do you record? Will you stroke yourself to this later?” He slips off his shirt, leaving you speechless until he’s laying on top of you again, eyeing your perfect tits and little smile.

“You knew?” You tilt your head now, leaning up on your elbows, a hand stroking his cheek.

“Did you like how I played with my pussy in front of it? How I moaned your name?” Satoru’s ended now, scowling at you.

“You liked it, being watched? By me?” You nod again, swallowing as he slides off his pants, yanking off your heels, kissing along the tops of your feet before lapping at your ankles. “You did it knowing?”

“You wouldn’t come to me.”

Satoru’s eyes are on you, you’re his entire world now, his obsession, his fixation. He’s going to claim you, fuck you until you forget every other man who ever existed. He’s going to ruin you, and you’re going to love it, he can already tell when his cock is hot and heavy against your inner thigh, when your hips are rolling up, and you’re dripping down the bed.

“You get off on it, me being fucking obsessed, huh?” You nod weakly, and Satoru has your thighs spread and pressed up, his tip drooling precum against your aching hole. “Then let me be clear, you'll never see or date anyone again, got it?”

Satoru grins sadistically as you weakly nod, whispering a-  “Yes, Satoru.” He moans then, filling your tight hole in one stroke of his huge cock, stuffing you so full you scream out, pussy gripping him like a vise, drooling down his veiny cock to his balls, pooling under you both as his own eyes roll back.

“Feel her, made f’me, just me? Mine, mine, mine.” He’s whispering it like some insane mantra as he begins to move, fucking into your soppy cunt over and over, you’re pulsing and fluttering around him as he pounds your cunt, nasty words spilling from his pouty lips. “My little slut, hmm? Mine.”

“Ngh…” Is all you manage, when he slams your cervix with his drooly tip, leaning up to grip the headboard and pressing a thigh higher, railing your cunt so much it hurts, but you’re dying, drool pooling out of the side of your lips, eyes fluttering, trying to stay open.

“That’s it, oh look at you, fucked stupid already? I’m just starting with you, baby, gonna fuck your pretty mind up till it’s all me.” He leans down, rolling his hips and grinning with his eyes lit up, so dark they look black for just a moment. “That’s it, cum all over my cock, can’t help yourself huh?”

You do then, you’re cumming all over him, muscles contracting around his cock so hard she tries to push him out with the force, so much wetness dripping it’s streaming across his cock, earning his breathy moan. He’s fucking you through your orgasm, your thighs shaking, you are stupid, you can’t form one thought in your pathetic brain as your orgasm waves over your body.

“Aw, fucked dumb? Poor stupid baby. I’ll keep fucking all those thoughts out of your head, hmm? Till it’s just me.”

“Satoru… jus’ you… s’good I…” You can’t talk anymore, not when his cock’s strokes are hitting just right, not when his tip drags against your gspot before bruising your cervix. You’re clinging to him, nails pressing into his strong back, as pulls back, watching your tummy bulge.

“Fucking up your guts, fucking up your brain. S’all me, huh?” You can’t answer, you’re too fucked out, but his slap brings you too, he smacks both cheeks, gripping your thighs brutal, leaving bruises. “Focus, baby, focus.”

“S’all you…” You answer, you’re so obedient, you’re so good for him.

“You’re such a good girl, perfect pussy, perfect body. Perfect face. Haunting my every fucking thought, torturing me.” He shoves your thighs high, pressing them against your breasts, folding you in half and bottoming out, you scream at it, hands gripping the sheets beneath you as you’re stretched and filled so much. “You’re so good you deserve all my cum, all these babies in you.”

You can’t register concern, he’s pounding you while gripping your face so tightly, you feel so tiny as he works his long, muscular body, as he breaks your body and mind with his cock, slamming harder and harder. You hear the sounds of it, the smack smack smack of his skin, as his balls slap your asshole, covered in slick from your cunt that’s drooling down his length.

“That’s it, milk my cock, so fuckin good, you want it, me to fill you, make you drip me for days.” You just weakly cry out, sniffling, tears pouring down your cheeks. “So beautiful like this, crying f’me? Oh baby, you’re perfect like this.”

Satoru loves your tears, your trembling lips, as you grip him so good, he feels it, you’re going to cum again, eager pussy sucking him in loudly, as he fucks you so hard the headboard slams the wall, you’re barely hanging on, sobbing and mumbling. You’re so fucked out it’s cute, opening and closing your mouth, unable to speak.

“It’s all me in there, yeah? Gonna be all me, gonna fill you so good, baby just wait, f-fuck!” Satoru slows then, pumping your cunt full, hot gooey cum sticking to your walls and making you cum right with him as he fucks it further, deeper.

“Satoru!” You’re mumbling his name, gasping for breath as he fills you, all of you, so hot and deep, until he finally lowers your legs, laughing softly.

“Oh I’m gonna have so much fun with you, you’re never leaving me, are you? Aw, can’t talk baby?”

He’s got you flipped on your trembling knees next, burying his face in your pussy, cleaning all his cum out and groaning. “Too much, too much!”

“Taste us together, fuck. Made for me, just me.” He’s on top of you next, prone over you, fucking out his first load and prepping you for another, all while he’s choking your neck squeezing so hard you almost faint. He’s whispering in your ear, breath tickling, hands over your sensitive skin. “Love it, hands around this neck, beg me to cum in you, fill you.”

“P-please… please fill me- ah!” You’re fading as he chokes you harder, spitting and drooling in your mouth, cock wrecking you as he fills you again, his sweat dripping from his skin as he works you. He groans then, hand pressing on your tummy.

“So full of me, but you need more, need no question in your pretty head who you belong to.”

After another load you’re weak, and he’s still going. When you finally wake in the morning, after several loads pumped in your pussy, you’re a mess, wobbling weakly as you step out of your room, thinking of facing him. Would things be different now, was it all passion, in the moment? Was it just sex? Was it more…

You smell something sweet then, inhaling as you slip on one of his dress shirts, you’d gone from fucking in your room to the bathroom, all the way to his room. At some point he had you bent over the couch, at another he had you pressed against the shower wall. It’s like little fragments, your pussy is aching, your experience has never prepared you for his size or stamina.

But you feel deliciously fucked out.

You catch his eye then, he looks at you, exhaling at how beautiful you are, your eyes are a little puffy from crying, you have bruises and marks littering your neck, you’re wearing his expensive dress shirt and nothing else. He feels himself hard just looking at you like this, remembering all the cum he’d pumped you full, wondering if it was still dripping out?

“Good morning, sweets. Get some shut eye?” He teases, winking at you as he flips his spatula, finishing the stack of pancakes he’s made.

“You cook, Satoru?” You ask, throat hoarse from your moans, from slobbering all over his cock and having him choke you. You clear it nervously, earning his smirk.

“Cute.” He murmurs, pulling out a chair for you. “Of course I cook, I just enjoy you cooking for me, so sexy watching you, barefoot in the kitchen you know.” 

“That sounds so…”

“Sit down, you need that energy baby. Last night I know I took it easy…’

“What!?” You blink then, sitting as he plates your breakfast, wincing at how sore your entire body is.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, look at my girl.” The words ruin you, when he leans down, cupping your face and his thumb brushes along your jaw. “Covered in bruises.”

“I am?” You look down and see your thighs, your chest, in hickeys and bruises, red and purple all over. “Oh…”

“Don’t worry you’re not going anywhere today anyway. You should take a break from work, you know.” He chuckles and kisses you. “Fuck I’ve waited so long for you, for you to be mine.”

You are kissed by him then, you eagerly meet his lips, before he pulls back, taking a breath. You frown when you see your phone is over by his coffee. “Is that my phone?”

“Oh, mmhmm. Needed to block any guys, you know, also that period tracker said you’re ovulating today.” You blink again as you sip the orange juice he gives you, nearly choking on it, his blue eyes have gotten even brighter, his grin huge as he watches your expressions.

“Satoru…”

“I threw out your birth control, cancelled your prescription.”

“Satoru!”

“What baby?” He sits you up on the table, between your thighs, your body violently reacts when he grabs you under your chin, his other hand slipping down your breasts. “I know, I should have breakfast first, is that what you want?”

“I… you…”

“Gonna look so fucking sexy full of me.” He lifts your thighs, sliding up the shirt you wear as he sits right on the seat, sliding it up to get a full view of your abused, puffy cunt. “Oooh, fucked her up. Do you hurt, baby?”

“Y-yes… I- ah!” Satoru’s lapped at your pussy now, from your hole to your clit, chuckling as he pulled the lips apart. “T-Toru…”

“Look at her, she’s ready for more, she’s so greedy.” He’s buried his face against you again, and you’re cumming so quickly, he laughs at it. “So easy, too. Ah we’re gonna fill her up more, don’t worry, gotta knock you the fuck up.”

You’re going to protest then, this is insane, he’s crazy, but when you’re getting bent over the kitchen table and fucked again, you soon forget your protests, as Satoru grips your tits and pinches your sensitive nipples, pounding your hole, all you can do is cry out and arch your back. Satoru smiles against your neck as you fall apart, as he pictures breeding you.

He’s got you right where he wants.

And you both know you’re never leaving.

Ahahah this was INSANE, none of this is cool unless it's Gojo, stay safe out here lol. Hope you all enjoyed! (yes all my stories are Arctic Monkeys or Chase Atlantic lyrics loll)

Taglist: @silvarys @strychnynegirl @indiewritesxoxo @alygator77 @moonlitwitchdaisy @cuntphoric @aldebrana @levislug @haruhatake @ninikrumbs @xixflower @star2112 @nanasukii28 @sukuxna0 @naammiii @uhnosav @victoria1676 @thequeenofcurses @targaryenluvs @jinjen @yesdere @shokosmokes @aishi-toru  @labelt-san @chiyokoemilia @makingtimemine @seeing-stars-alt @bunheadusa @alt--er--love @1satoruu @thikcems @plimplimmeiododoi @watermelonslut

[bunnis-monsters]

Sacrificial Heifer

Bull Hybrids x Cow Hybrid!Reader

Commissioned by: @yuriohoe04

WC: 1k

A/N: Only 2 more slots for my commissions rn! Make sure to get them while you can. Once my comms are closed I won’t be opening them again until all my comms are finished ^^

Warnings: dubcon, breeding, lactation, pregnancy, gangbang

🥛 🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛

It had been a week since the farmer announced that you and your barn mates were ready to be bred for the first time.

At first, the lot of you were excited, some even ovulating and ready to breed. One of your friends had her tail lifted up, and it swayed softly as she sighed.

“Can’t you imagine it, being bred by a handsome bull? Do you think they’d want to settle and become mates?”

You rolled your eyes, swatting her thigh with your tail. “Not likely. Most bulls are just looking for a heifer to breed and toss aside for the next one. You’ll be lucky if they give you more than a few minutes of your time.”

An older cow had warned you many times that bulls liked to play with young heifers’ hearts, and that if you wanted to live a peaceful life on the farm, then you’d just breed and go about your day.

That’s what you told yourself out of fear of getting your heart broken… until the day finally came to breed.

All the other heifers were filling themselves up, brushing out their hair and tidying themselves up. The pheromones wafting through the barn were thick, almost stifling.

This all changed when the bulls walked in. They were big, bulky, and honestly? Terrifying.

They walked in with confidence, eyeing the new heifers with keen, sharp eyes that told you they were more than experienced when it came to breeding.

“Alright, who’s first?”

All the heifers shivered at the authoritative tone of voice. They had never been spoken to in such a way. The farmers they’ve had in the past had always been gentle, giving their bottoms hearty slaps as they herded them into the barn.

These bulls didn’t look like they even knew what the word gentle meant. They knew how to work with an inexperienced heifer, how to breed them into submission and stuff them full of cum.

You looked on with a mix of nervousness and curiosity. The bulls were definitely handsome, and despite their rough way of speaking, the way they tried their best to look a bit smaller told you that maybe they weren’t as bad as you had been told.

Before you could retreat to observe them from the back of the stall, you were shoved out into an open space, landing in the arms of one of the bulls.

“A volunteer. Cute one too.”

You yelped as your ass was groped, the bull squeezing it lightly before inspecting your face. “Little heifer, no need to be nervous. Gonna put a calf in you, alright?”

“Quite small, ain’t she?”

Another bull approached you from behind, lifting up your tail to get a better look at your fat ass. “Perfectly plump too. Got them child bearing hips… mmm…”

The feeling of a cock rubbing against your panties made your body freeze up. They both cooed at you, already able to sense your pheromones spiking. “Someone’s begging to be fucked silly, huh?”

One of the bulls traced circles over your clothed clit, laughing as you blubbered our half hearted pleas for them to let you go. “Hush, heifer. You’re soaking my hand, gotta breed that fat cunt of yours.”

Before long you were being hoisted up, a big fat cock pushing against your pussy. It was huge, and you were sure it would tear your body in two!

“Sure this little thing can take it?” another bull asked, this one playing with your clit as the other two bulls prepped your hole. “Smallest heifer in the herd I’ve seen so far…”

“She’ll take it.”

And with that, he rutted into you, stretching your fat pussy out as he bounced you on his cock. It was painful at first, tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, but your body was built for this. You were made to be bred by bulls, to get pregnant and produce milk and calves.

You felt your pussy gush as he fucked into you, biting into your shoulder. “That’s it, baby. Cream on my cock, lemme hear you cry out for me.”

You were passed around by the bulls, feeling so full and happy. As you were bent over and groped by another bull, you let out the prettiest of moans.

“God, that’s it, that’s a good heifer. Take my load, fuck…”

A bull took one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling as another mounted and bred you thoroughly. Before you were a virgin, and now you were being fucked by so many different cocks that you could barely think.

They rolled you onto your tummy, lifting your ass into the air and eating the cum out of your pussy, wanting to give you a nice and fresh creampie and hoping their’s would be the load to impregnate your fertile womb.

All the other heifer’s watched in awe and jealousy as the bulls kept their attention on you, unable to spare a second glance to the others. You were so cute, a small, chubby little heifer that was perfect for beating calves. How the hell were they supposed to breed anyone else when you were bouncing on their cocks?

By the end of the breeding session, your belly was distended, stuffed full of cum. None of the other heifers were bred because the bulls were way too busy doting on you after they all got a turn.

Now, as your belly began to swell with a calf and your tits got heavy and full, the bulls couldn’t help but cum all over and in you. Your pretty mouth and pussy was always keeping someone’s cock nice and warm.

Drinking milk from your fat and heavy tits was the best part of their day. They had to test your milk to make sure it was high quality… and they also just wanted to suck on your nipples.

After all, you were their perfect little breeding cow. None of the other heifers compared to you, none as sweet and soft and pretty. If anyone had a problem, they could take it up with the bulls.

You sat on your bed, being fed strawberries as your belly was massaged.

Maybe that older cow was wrong, because these bulls adored you with their entire heart… and you were excited to be thoroughly bred again once you gave birth.

You were a cow hybrid after all, and needed to produce lots of milk and calves. Being a breeding cow was your job…

And you were damn good at it.

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @buckoothecow @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143

[rosiereveries]

professor!John who teaches history at university. You finally have classes with him and since the beginning of the year, all the girls in your year talk about how hot he is. He is something over 40 and he won the secret dilf competition that you made with your friends.

You take extra good time preparing for his classes, not just you learn the materials for the lesson, you also make sure that your outfit looks nice, that your hair is perfectly styled, and your makeup looks flawless. You always wear short skirts and cute tops to his classes, and you are 100% sure that when you wear knee high socks, he looks at you more that on the other girls.

John noticed you the very first time you came to his class. You sat in the first row like the good girl you are, and you raised your hand every time he asked questions. There were so many girls in his classes who tried to seduce him, but none of them were as smart as you were. You always had perfect score on your test, and he knew that you wanted to make him proud. It was just a bonus that when you crossed your legs on the chair you were sitting, he could sometimes see your panties.

He tried to wait until the end of the year, to approach you, so he wouldn’t be your professor anymore when he would fuck you. But you gave him no choice with your flirty remarks and your outfits.

That’s why he called you into his office after your lesson ended. He wanted to speak with you about the paper you were working on, and he wanted you to tell him how it was going.

When you get into his office you start to talk about your paper. You hoped that he called you there for other reasons, but he is patiently listening while you ramble about the sources and literature you found. After a while he asks you if you would mind if he smoke, he tells you that he needs a little bit of relaxation before his next class.

You watched him as he lights up a cigarette and offers you one. You decline and watch him blow out the smoke. “You sure you don’t want one?” he asks and when you tell him that you never really smoked, he pats his thigh and tells you to come closer.

“You know, this time of the year everything is so hectic” he says, “maybe you could help me with some pent-up stress, you know. What you think?”

That’s how you end up on the floor on your knees under his desk. You kneel between his thighs unzipping his trousers and taking out his thick cock. He is bigger that you imagined, and you know that there’s no way you can take him whole into your mouth. He gathers your hair in his hand, and he makes you look up at him. “You always look so pretty for me, but I think you will look even better with these lips around my dick” he says, and he gently guides your head to his crotch.

You choke on him quite a lot. You can take half of his length without a problem but after that, your gag reflex makes you stop. You hear him mumble something about training your mouth. When John finishes his cigarette, he makes you stand up, your lipstick ruined, most of it is on his cock like a pretty mark you left.

He bends you over his desk, pulling your skirt up. You can feel his cock teasing you through your underwear. When he pulls your panties down and starts to push inside you can feel him stretching you. “Just like that, you’re taking me so well, you’re so wet for me” he says. John pushes one hand under your t-shirt, pulling it up so he can see your tits. He tells you to take it off, so you just stand there in your skirt and knee-high socks.

He fucks you rough, quick thrust that makes your eyes roll. He plays with your nipples, twisting and pulling them until your breast are sensitive. You know that you don’t have a lot of time, anytime now his colleague could come back from their lunch break and find you like this.

When John starts to rub circles on your clit you can feel your orgasm approaching. With one hand he rubs your most sensitive part, and the other one is around your throat. “I need you to cum on my cock, I need you to milk me dry with your sweet wet pussy” he tells you and you can feel that he is also close. You cum like the good girl you are right as he tells you. A few moments later he is cuming inside you, his hot seed spilling in your pussy.

He helps you to put your clothes on. He pulls up your panties, and when he sees that his cum is spilling from your pussy, he quickly pushes two fingers inside you, saying that it needs to stay where it belongs. You’re still there, in his office with your thighs still trembling when his colleague comes back. John walks you out on the hallway, saying that you should come to see him again tomorrow at noon, that you still have a lot of work to do. You just hope that his colleague can’t hear when he whispers that you should come without panties this time.

Masterlist You can support my work here : ko-fi

[whateveriwant]

NSFW Size Difference HCs with Simon Pt 2

F!Reader, Part 1

Before you, Simon never had a partner that was able to take him more than halfway. So the first time you took his cock all the way down, he knew right then and there he was going to marry you

This man is thick everywhere, which is fun when it comes to stretching your pussy open, but not so fun when it means you can’t fully wrap your legs around his waist :(

Lube is a must-have when you’re having sex, but cum is a decent alternative when you’re in a pinch (good thing he’s always making sure to pump you full of it 😊)

Thinking about trying anal? Go right ahead! So long as you’re okay with not sitting right for the next week

You thought the reason he has such a big car is because he needs the leg room. While that’s partially true, it’s also because he likes to fuck you in the backseat without bumping his head on the ceiling

Speaking of which, you’ve had to rein him in when it comes to getting adventurous on where you have sex. You can only break so many dining room tables before he realizes maybe it’s better to stick to the bed

He got you one of those clone-a-cock dildos because he knows none of your toys can satisfy you like he does. In return for such a nice gift, you make sure to send him videos of you using it when he’s off on deployment

You never understood his obsession with raising your hips up everytime he took you on your back – that is, until you looked down and saw for yourself how your stomach bulged from where his cock was hitting you from the inside 😳

Beast of a man that he is, he doesn’t let himself get too rough with you in bed. He’s not trying to break you, poor little thing :(

That being said, if you give him permission, he’s not above pinning both your wrists to the mattress with one hand as he fucks you within an inch of your life

One of his favorite things to do after pulling out of you is spread your lips apart and watch how your little hole gapes for him

It’s okay, baby. He knows how puffy and swollen your pussy gets after having two loads fucked into it. But you can take another one, can’t you? That’s a good girl…

[xprinceling]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ where enhypen would finish.

·˚ ༘𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑖𝑡

ׂ╰┈➤s. 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑐𝑢𝑚 wc. 1.4k w. 𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡+ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠 (18+ 𝑚𝑑𝑛𝑖!),𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑙 n. 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦!

heeseung - inside. to hee, there's nothing better than finishing inside you - the way your body tightens around him, the way your breath hitches, how he can feel every pulse of his release as he presses as deep as possible. it's more than pleasure - it's possession, it's devotion, it's the most intimate thing he can imagine.

that first shuddering moment when he spills inside you, your warmth surrounding him, thighs trembling against his hips. he lives for the way you gasp when you feel him, nails digging into his back like you never want him to leave.

there's also something primal about it - an instinctive need to claim, to fill you up so thoroughly that even after he pulls out, you're still his. heeseung loves the thought of you carrying his release inside you, even if just for a little while.

he swears you get tighter when he comes, like your body is milking every last drop from him. it's overwhelming, intoxicating, and he can't help but groan your name like a prayer when it happens.

you stay locked together, panting, his forehead pressed to yours as he rides out the aftershocks. he kisses you lazily, murmuring praise - "took me so well, baby." the possessive hand on your hip when he finally pulls out, watching his release drip from you.

"again" - because he's never satisfied just once. the second he catches his breath, he's already thinking about the next time he can fill you up.

jay - tits. there’s something electric about the moment he paints your chest - the way your skin flushes under his release, how your breath catches as warm streaks stripe your skin. it’s possessive, it’s filthy, and it drives him wild every damn time.

watching himself mark you - your tits glazed, nipples pebbled, his cum stark against your skin - it’s art to him. he’ll stare like he’s memorizing it, jaw clenched, pupils blown.

the way you arch into it, or gasp when the first hot stripe lands. maybe you even open your mouth without thinking, and fuck if that doesn’t make him throb.

his voice is rough when he says it, thumb swiping through the mess to smear it over your nipples - "made such a pretty fucking mess, baby."

he loves licking it off you - slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue, just to hear you whine. or maybe he makes you rub it in, his cum slicking your fingers as you play with yourself.

he’s already dreaming about the next time - maybe higher, maybe lower, maybe while you’re begging for it.

jake - ass. to him, nothing compares to the forbidden heat of finishing inside your ass - body clenching around him, audible whimpers when he fills you up, the way his release stays trapped deep inside where only he can reach. it's maddening, and so intoxicating he can't get enough.

that tight, searing heat - so much more intense than anywhere else. the second he pushes in deep and spills, he swears he sees stars, your body milking him dry with every damn pulse.

it’s animalistic - claiming you in the most forbidden way, leaving his mark where no one else can see. he loves knowing you'll feel it for hours after.

the choked gasp when he first pushes in, the broken moan when he comes, the way you beg "more" even as he's already giving you everything.

how you collapse together, his cock still buried inside you as he whispers filthy praise - "fuck, you take it so good." the way he lazily rubs your hips when he finally pulls out, watching his release leak from your well-used hole.

sunghoon - stomach. the deliciously primal feeling of coming on your stomach - how his release paints your skin, hot and claiming, as he watches with dark, satisfied eyes. it's not just about the pleasure, it's about seeing his desire spilled across you, marking you in the most visual way possible.

the way your chest rises and falls beneath him, stomach tensing as his release streaks across your skin - it's beautiful to him. he loves watching it, how stark and intimate it looks against your body.

if finishing inside you is about possession, this is about display - proof of what he's done to you, what you've drawn out of him. he gets off on the visual proof of your shared pleasure.

how you shiver when the first hot stripe hits your skin, the soft gasp you make when you see how much he's given you. he lives for the way you look up at him, lips parted, as he marks you.

and he's not gentle about it either - he wants it everywhere, smeared across your stomach, your hips, maybe even higher if he's feeling particularly possessive. the messier, the better, because it means you'll feel it on your skin long after.

"look at you” - the growl in his voice when he drags a thumb through it, spreading it further, marking you deliberately. "you’re mine".

sunoo - thighs. to him, it’s maddeningly erotic to come on your thighs - the way his release spills hot and thick against your skin, streaking down the sensitive inner flesh he'd just been teasing moments before.

your soft skin, flushed and trembling under his touch, now marked with him - it's a picture he'll never get tired of. the way his release glazes over your thighs, some dripping down toward your knees... fuck.

it’s so close to where you really want him, yet just out of reach - it's torture in the best way. the way you whine when he denies you, when he chooses to stripe your thighs instead of giving you what you begged for, only makes it hotter.

how your legs twitch when the first hot splash hits, how you bite your lip as you watch him coat your skin. he loves that shaky little gasp you make when it's more than you expected.

thighs are personal - close enough to be intimate, but not where you'd expect. it's a tease, a promise, a reminder that he could have had you anywhere he wanted... but he chose this.

"stay still" - the way his voice drops when he pins your hips down, making sure you take it, that every drop lands exactly where he wants it.

jungwon - face. your lashes flutter, lips part, breath hitches as he stains your face with his release. it's not just about pleasure, it's about worship and debauchery tangled together in the most maddening way.

the way you look up at him - submissive, trusting, wanting - makes his pulse roar. whether your gaze is hazy with pleasure or burning with defiance, the moment his cum streaks across your cheeks, he owns you.

your flushed skin, the heat of your mouth so close, how he stands out stark against you - it's obscene and he can't look away.

holding your chin, tilting your head back just so, watching you let him mark you like this - it's control at its peak. and if you lick your lips after? damn..

"you look perfect like this." - the growl in his voice when he smears a thumb through it, dragging his claim across your cheeks. he wants you to feel it, to remember it.

you blink up at him, sticky and spent, and he kisses you anyway, swallowing your gasp as he tastes himself on your tongue.

ni-ki - mouth. there's nothing more intimately dominant to him than finishing in your mouth - how your lips part for him, the heat of your tongue against him, the surrender in your eyes as you take everything he gives you. it's ownership at it’s peak, the ultimate act of trust between you two.

the way you look up at him, lashes fluttering, as he holds your head in place, knowing you're letting him use your mouth, that you want to swallow every drop. it's the hottest form of surrender he can imagine.

that first pulse against your wet warmth, the way your throat works instinctively to take him deeper. he loses it at the feeling, fingers tightening in your hair as he groans your name.

he should feel bad for how rough he gets, but the choked little noises you make when he pushes too deep? they just make him harder. he loves the mess of it - saliva-slick lips, teary eyes, the obscene drip if he pulls out too fast.

‘’swallow." - the command is guttural, desperate. he needs to watch your throat move as you obey, needs to see proof that you've taken all of him. the way you lick your lips after, still tasting him? fuck.

when he drags you up and licks into your mouth, savoring the bitter tang of himself on your tongue. "good girl."

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divider credits: cursed-carmine