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lanadelnegan · 8 months

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My Girl

S7!Negan x Reader

Requested from anon: hey! loving the blog and every story you post! i was wondering if you’d do a story of a reader’s first time being with S7 Negan who is an asshole at first but then goes soft because he accidentally made her cry??

OOOH I'm gonna have some FUN with this one. And thank you so much <3.

Summary: Rick's oldest daughter, y/n, loses her virginity to Negan.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, virgin first time, vaginal sex, daddy-kink, age-gap (reader is 18, negan is 40), Rick walks in on Negan eating you out.. (twice), degrading language, mushy romantic Negan, Negan fucks you in nothing but his leather jacket

A/N: This is my favorite fic I have written by far and I hope you love it as much as I do cuz I am obsessed.

"Carl, take your sisters upstairs and don't come down until I say it's safe." I lift Judith out of her high chair and follow Carl up the stairs.

Our dad has always treated us like Carl's the older one, even though he's two years younger than me, but I don't mind. If anything, it takes some of the pressure off of being big sis all the time.

I hear Negan's voice booming in the distance as my dad opens the door to head back outside. This has become part of our weekly routine at this point. Negan and his men went from monthly visits to weekly visits over the past couple months, but I don't mind that either.

The more I get to see him, the merrier.

I move the bedroom curtains slightly, peeking through my window until my eyes find Negan standing in the street in front of our house. I'm able to make out what they're saying if I listen closely enough.

"Rickyyy, I missed ya. Where's that sweet daughter of yours hiding? .....The older one of course." I can't stop the grin that appears on my face when he asks about me.

"This isn't about her. Get what you need, and leave." My dad stands firmly planted with his hands on his hips and my eyes roll at his attitude. Maybe if my dad would just be civil with Negan all of this could stop. I revert my gaze back to Negan.

"Now, Prick, you know I can't leave without seeing my girl."

His girl... The butterflies in my stomach flutter at the sound of that.

"Why are you so obsessed with him?" Carl asks rudely from across the room while holding Judith and bouncing her so she doesn't cry.

I quickly glare at Carl before turning my gaze back towards the window. When I look back down, Negan is looking up at me, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. I can't look away, and he lets his gaze linger a little too long as well, prompting my dad to look at my window. I quickly drop the curtain and back away.

"Take Judith to her room and put her down for her nap." I instruct Carl. He stares at me suspiciously. "Go! What did I just say?" I snap impatiently. He shakes his head but ultimately leaves.

"You're always so weird when he comes around." He says under his breath. I close my door behind them and go back to the window, peeking again, but this time everyone's gone. I rush to go see what's going on, but as soon as I swing my door open and run out, I crash into a tall, solid figure. My eyes widen as I look up at the man in the leather jacket.

"Hey, doll. Miss me?"

"Uh - I - where's my dad?" I stutter nervously, peaking around him.

"Busy getting supplies for me. He'll be busy for the next hour, so I thought I'd come keep you company."

Negan's been visiting Alexandria for months now, and each time he comes, our talks get longer and flirtier. Well, he flirts with me and I pretend to be annoyed, mostly so others don't think I like him. If they only knew how much I think about his beard between my legs.

There's something about him that intrigues me.. fascinates me even. I'm ashamed to admit I've even touched myself a couple times - okay, a lot of times - to the thought of him.

When I don't respond, he backs us into my bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

He slides his shoes and jacket off, sitting on my bed and leaning back with his feet propped up. I blush at the sight of him in my bed and restrain myself from ripping my clothes off here and now. A chill runs through my body, making me noticeably shake but I try to play it off. He probably things I'm scared, when in reality I just want him.

"Relax, I'd never hurt you darlin'. Unless you want me to." He winks as he leans back against the headboard getting more comfortable.

"I know." And I do... for some reason, I know he wouldn't hurt me.

He bites his bottom lip playfully and raises his eyebrows while patting the bed next to him.

I nervously walk over and sit down before leaning back, mimicking his position. My bed is a twin, so it doesn't allow much room to ourselves. My shoulder is pressed against his and the simple act has my body on fire already. I glance over and let my eyes roam up his white t-shirt to his handsome face. He watches me with amusement while his leg presses against mine teasingly.

"Sweetheart, I've been around the block long enough to know when a girl wants my dick. And I can practically hear that pussy fucking purring every time I come near you." He grins at me like he knows all my secrets.

My face burns with embarrassment at his words.

"I bet I could make you blush even harder than that, doll." His grin stretches wider but I stay silent, letting him do the talking.

"Of course.. I wouldn't do anything you're not comfortable wi-"

Before he can finish, I press my lips to his hard and climb on top of him. His mouth parts, letting my tongue in and his subtle moan makes my pussy flutter. He tastes like whiskey and smells like leather and I feel high off the taste of him as we kiss passionately. I grind my hips desperately into him and feel his bulge grow underneath me.

"Negan... I need you."

"I know baby." He breathes out.

My hands fumble with his belt and pants until I get them undone. He watches me as I pull out his cock and my pussy is already sore from just looking at it. No way it's gonna fit.

"How do you want it, baby? You gonna be a big girl and ride daddy?" His hands squeeze my ass underneath my dress and he practically growls when he realizes I'm not wearing panties.

"It's like you knew I was coming. Such a bad little girl." His fingers tease my opening and I'm embarrassed that I'm already pathetically soaked for him.

"All for me?" He slides a finger through my slit and brings it up to his mouth for a taste. "So fucking sweet."

I slide myself against his cock that's now slippery with my wetness and wonder how I'm gonna fit that thing inside me.

The big dick energy definitely checks out.

I hover above him naively, thinking I can actually take him. The tip just barely pushes through my opening and I moan at the sudden pressure. His hands grip my ass, guiding me down over him.

"Come on baby, that's it." He praises me as I keep sliding down. I stop when I can't take anymore, realizing I have at least four more inches to go.

"Oh, I know my little slut can take more than that."

I shake my head. "Negan, I don't think I -"

"You can, and you will, doll. I didn't come all the way here for you to only take half of my dick."

Tears fill my eyes as I try to sit all the way on him, wanting to make him proud. I make it another inch before the pain is too much. Not only with how deep he is, but he's so wide I think he may actually be ripping me apart.

"Deeper, y/n." He demands.

When I try again and fail, I quickly climb off of him frustrated. "I can't Negan, I'm trying!" He sits up in the bed, his feet on the floor now.

"Bend over."

"W-what?"

"Do not make me ask again." His jaw clenches as he stares at me seriously.

I lay myself over him, my ass facing upwards on his lap.

"You're going to take all of me, baby. If my wives at home can take me, I expect nothing less from you."

He doesn't even give me a warning before bringing his hand down painfully on my ass making me yelp. He chuckles darkly before smacking me again. He rubs the sensitive spot before teasing both of my holes.. One with his thumb and the other with his middle finger.

"What would daddy say if he could see you right now? Bent over my fucking lap and dripping for me like a little whore..." He pushes his thumb and finger deep inside each of my openings and I bite my lip hard at the pain.

I know he's trying to be all dominant right now.. I'm not oblivious to how rough sex works, but my eyes still sting with tears at his crude words. I shouldn't have built my hopes up that Negan could actually care and be gentle with me.

I sniffle as the tears fall, trying to wipe the snot dripping from my nose.

He quickly pulls me up and his eyes are filled with concern.

"Baby? Hey, look at me." He cups my face gently as I sit on the bed next to him.

"I - I liked you." I choke out. "I was the only one here who actually cared about you and saw you as a person.. and you.. you just see me as a stupid object you can shove your dick in.... You just ruined my first experience with a man. I hope you're happy." I sob while looks like someone just punched him in the gut.

"Fuck, sweetheart." He presses his forehead to mine, looking down with regret. "I didn't know you were all mushy about me and shit.. Truth is?" He tilts my chin to look at him. "I was being so harsh with you cause I didn't want to admit my own feelings. I didn't think you'd ever want an asshole like me, so I didn't want to go catching feelings for someone who didn't want me back. But baby? I can't get you outta my fucking head... Why do you think I started visiting every week?"

My teary eyes look up at him and he looks genuine. I want to trust him so badly, but my heart and head are saying two different things.

"Fuck, y/n. I know you don't believe me. Let me prove it to you. What can I do? Just say the fucking word."

"Stop taking our stuff... Leave our people alone..."

He chuckles lightly, shaking his head like he can't believe what he's about to agree to. "Does that include you?"

I try to hide my grin as I wipe my tears with the back of my hand. "....No."

"Then it's a deal, baby."

"That's it? Just like that?" I look at him confused.

He shrugs. "Guess you've got me wrapped around your finger already, darlin...And now that I know you've never been with a man, I'm taking my fucking time with you." He lays me down on the bed while kissing and climbing over me.

"What about my dad? He'll be back soon."

"Simon's keeping watch, doll."

His lips travel to my neck. "....What about your other wives? You're just gonna fuck me and go back to them?"

He laughs against my neck. "Sweetheart.. I kicked every one of them to the curb the day I layed eyes on you."

My mouth drops open but he cuts me off by pulling my dress down over my chest and taking a nipple into his mouth. I moan and arch myself into him. After a few moments of sucking each one, he slides down further, lifting my dress to my waist and settling his head between my legs. I watch him in awe as he takes his time, kissing my inner thighs.

"Has anyone ever eaten you, baby?"

I shake my head no as I lean up on my elbows to watch him.

"Good." He spreads my pussy lips apart with his fingers and I blush at him staring at it. "Such a pretty pussy. Fuck." He says before locking eyes with me and pressing a kiss to my clit gently. I moan from the contact and arch myself into him, silently begging for more.

He dips his tongue in me and curls it up, gathering my juices. His eyes roll to the back of his head and he groans and licks all the way up to my clit before sucking on it softly. My mouth drops open and my hips try to jerk away, being overwhelmed by sensitivity.

He smiles against me. "Not going anywhere until you cum all over my face, doll." He wraps his arms up around my thighs, pressing my stomach down with his hands.

My breathing matches the speed of his licking and sucking and I feel the pressure building up inside me.

"Fuck, Negan!" My eyes are clenched shut but snap open when my door suddenly flies open.

"Shit! Dad!" I reach to throw my blanket over me, but defeatedly realize it's on the floor. My eyes widen in horror at my father standing in the doorway, looking like he just saw a ghost. A ghost that's eating his daughter's pussy. I'm unable to close my legs because Negan is still holding me down with his hands.

"God fucking dammit, Rick. We were just ge-"

"Negan!" I cut him off, my cheeks turning bright red with embarrassment.

He kisses my pussy one more time and my eyes widen, not believing he just did that in front of my father. He finally leans up, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb and smirking at my dad like he's proud of himself.

I quickly get up and fix my dress.

"Dad, look, I -" I look up, stopping at the sight of Carl pointing a gun directly at Negan's head.

Negan tucks himself back into his jeans, buckling his belt and ignoring Carl.

"Carl.." I slowly step in front of Negan. "Put the gun down."

"You - you wanted this? Him?" My dad asks horrified. "He's done horrible things, y/n."

"And you haven't?!" I yell at my dad. "I watched you rip a man's neck open with your goddamn teeth. If he's a monster.. then so are you."

Negan steps beside me and laces his fingers through mine before kissing the side of my head.

"I love him, dad." I look up at Negan and elbow him roughly when I see a teasing smirk on his face.

"And you think he loves you? You can't be that stupid." My dad says, putting emphasis on the last word.

Negan chuckles and finally cuts in. "First of all, Dick, do not call my woman stupid. Secondly.." His faces grows serious. "We won't be taking anymore of your things. No more visits. Other than me paying this one a visit of course." Negan winks and puts his his arm around me protectively. "That is.. until she moves in with me." Our eyes all widen at the same time.

"You want me to live with you?" I turn to Negan.

"I mean, you did just confess your love for me, doll. Soo, yeah, that's the plan." He kisses my forehead.

"Y/n, we'll talk about this later. Negan, you need to leave. Now." My dad demands, his jaw ticking with anger.

Negan glares at my dad for a moment before turning to me, lifting my chin to kiss him slowly and passionately. Before he lets go, he whispers in my ear. "Meet me right outside the walls when it gets dark. I am nowhere near done with you, baby."

My heart flutters at the thought of us sneaking out together.

Negan walks towards the door before leaning close to my dad's ear. "I get to be her first, Rick. How fucking sweet is that." I struggle to make out his words but don't miss the chuckle at the end. He pats Carl's shoulder on his way out. "See ya 'round, bro."

"Love you, sweetheart!" He calls out to me as my dad and brother follow behind him, making sure he leaves.

I shut my door and smile giddily, running to the window and peeking out. Negan is already looking up at the window when I look at him. He smirks and winks at me before heading off to the gates.

A few hours later:

The sun just went down and my palms are starting to sweat as I pace back and forth on the outskirts of the gates. A million thoughts race through my head.

What if he doesn't come..

What if it's a trap..

What if he lied about everything he said..

Oh my god.. He's gonna kidnap and torture me..

Shut up. He wouldn't do that.

This is a bad idea. What am I doing.

Just as I turn to run back inside the walls, I see him appear from the shadows, wearing his signature leather jacket with a black t-shirt underneath.

"Were you about to ditch me, y/n?" He asks playfully as he pulls my wrist towards him and crashes his lips into mine. When the kiss deepens, he bends a little, pulling me up by the back of my thighs and wrapping my legs around his waist. We make out like horny teenagers while my fingers run through his slick black hair.

"You ready to officially be mine, doll?"

I nod without hesitation. "Yes. I'm already yours, Negan. I don't care what anyone thinks about us."

He kisses me again, setting me back down on the ground. "Lead the way, baby." He nods towards the side gates.

"You want to go back to my house? What if someone sees you?!"

"Kinda hope they do.. I like the thought of everyone knowing who you belong to." He smirks and it makes me knees weak.

"Okay.. come on." I pull his hand as I guide him back to my house. We sneak through the back sliding doors as carefully as possible before tiptoeing up the stairs.

He lightly smacks my ass as we're going up and I turn to shush him, tripping over my own feet in the process. He catches me before I make a loud thud on the stairs and his body is leaned over mine as we try not to laugh.

My body shakes as I laugh silently and bring my hand over my mouth quickly to stop any sound that comes out. His eyebrows raise at me with warning as if I better not make a noise.

"Okay, okay. Shushhh." I whisper before beginning our climb up the stairs again. My dad's room is at the end of the hall and mine is adjacent next to his. We try not to let the floors creak as we get closer to my room. We slip inside and I ease the door shut gently. When it finally clicks shut. I let go of a deep breath and look up at Negan. As soon as our eyes lock, we laugh like idiots, but quiet idiots.

He walks towards me. "Goddamn it, I fucking love you." He says as he lifts me back into his arms kissing me.

"You know.. earlier outside.." I breathe out between our kisses. "I thought.. that maybe you were gonna kidnap and torture me."

He smiles against my mouth as our lips lazily fight each other. "...What if I am?"

I stop kissing him to look at him. When I do, his look turns serious and it scares me for a moment. "I fully plan on making you mine and torturing you with this dick forever, doll."

I grin and roll my eyes as he continues holding me in his arms. "I guess there are worse ways to get tortured."

"Wait until I'm all the way inside you." His eyebrows raise teasingly.

I press my forehead to his and bring my hands to cup his face, kissing him again. I can't take my lips off of him. "Well what are you waiting for?"

That's all he needs to hear before he's walking me towards the bed and laying me down gently. He stands back up, removing his jacket and shirt.

I watch him closely, admiring the flex of his biceps when he moves. "Put the jacket back on. No shirt."

He laughs until he sees that I'm serious.

"Yes ma'am." He says with his little country accent. It's not always noticeable, but when it is.. it's so fucking adorable.

Once he's back in the jacket and bare chested, he stops for a moment before removing his pants. "Can I take these off, at least?"

"No, I want to."

He grin stretches as he walks towards the bed, keeping his hands by his sides. "All yours, baby."

I sit up in the bed in front of him and undo his button and zipper. I shuffle his pants down just a little before pulling his hardening cock out of his boxers. It turns to a steel rod in my hand and I don't care that I'm full on staring at it, assessing each vein and how it turns an ombre shade of pink towards the tip.

"I hope you like what you see, baby. Cause it's the only dick you're gonna be seeing for the rest of your life."

"I'm perfectly happy with that." I look up at him before kissing the tip of him, just like he did to my clit earlier. He watches me proudly, letting his fingers run through my hair lovingly.

I lick my lips before struggling to fit my mouth around him. He chuckles down at me.

“If you can’t fit me in that cunt, what makes you think you can take it down your throat, baby?”

I grin around him and I slide my mouth deeper and deeper. Surprisingly I don’t gag and I think it surprises him too.

Guess I don’t have a gag reflex. That’s good to know.

“Holyyy shit, doll. Look. At. You.” His voice is so deep it vibrates to my pussy. The tip hits the very back on my throat and even further until my eyes water.

I try to jerk my head back, but Negan pushes my head down on him again, my nose pressed into his pubic hair. He waits a few seconds until I feel like I’m going to pass out from lack of oxygen before pulling my head back. I gasp for air and he pulls me all the way off of him while kicking his pants and boxers off.

"Trying to make me blow my load before we even get to the good part, darlin'? He climbs over me in the bed, kissing me softly.

My hands slip underneath his jacket and rub his back, scratching at it gently.

"I am gonna make you feel So fucking good." He says before kissing my neck. "You want me to be gentle with you baby?" His voice right in my ear makes me shiver.

I nod and he hovers his face above mine so we’re staring into each other eyes.

“You ready, baby?” He whispers and I nod again.

He leans up on his knees between me and lines himself up with my entrance before pushing the tip through. “Tell me if you need me to stop.”

He slowly slides in me further and further as he holds my legs open.

“Goddamn this pussy is so fucking Tight.” He pulls back a little before pushing in deeper and my mouth gapes open slightly.

He chuckles and stares down at me through heavy eyelids. "I'm not even halfway yet, sweetheart. You want more?"

I nod desperately as my eyes fill with tears at the overwhelming sensation of him so deep inside me.

"Take it then, doll. Grind on me and make yourself feel good." He stops moving completely while still on his knees between my legs.

My cheeks blush at his request and he smirks down at me, sliding his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, refusing to move or touch me.

I lean up on my elbows while he's still inside me and push my body further into him, taking every inch I possibly can. I grind myself against him until I find just the right spot for the tip of his cock to press into and drop my head back at how good it feels, not caring about the desperate sounds I let out.

"Oh my god, Negan.. fuck." My face reddens at the intense pleasure as I continue using his cock to pleasure myself.

"Fuck, baby. Now THIS? Is a Fucking sight.. Watching you get off on my cock like a desperate little whore."

"Touch me, Negan. Please."

"Please what?"

"Please Negan."

He removes his hands from his jacket to lean over me, holding himself above me with one hand on the bed while bringing the other to lightly grip my throat.

His dark hazel eyes dart back and forth between mine as he squeezes his fingers gently around my neck. My face reddens even more at the sudden loss of air.

"Try again, doll."

"Please... daddy." I choke out and he quickly releases my throat.

"Good girl." He kisses my lips softly before thrusting his hips hard, completely filling me until his balls are flush against me.

I scream out and his hand immediately covers my mouth while his head dips to the side of mine and his deep voice fills my ear once again.

"Sshhh, baby. I know. I know." He pulls out almost completely before sliding in again, this time softer but just as deep.

My eyes fill with tears at the pain but I don't want him to stop. My fingers grip the bottom of his jacket as he continues fucking me hard and at a steady pace. The headboard begins to lightly bump the wall above me and my eyes widen with panic.

"Negan, the bed. My dad's room is right on the other side."

He chuckles lightly in my ear but doesn't speak. Instead, he pounds into me even harder and faster with his head is buried into my neck.

"Negan!" I whisper yell at him but it feels too good to make him stop. The closer my orgasm gets, the less I care about my dad hearing us.

After a few more thrusts, he slows down and suddenly flips us over with his dick still inside me until I'm laying over him.

"Negan, my dad's gonna come in here! We have to be quie-"

Before I finish, he lifts his knees up and rams his cock into me hard. It feels even deeper from this angle and hits a spot that makes me see stars.

"Come here, baby." He maneuvers me until my arms are wrapped around him and my head is nestled into his neck. He smells like musky cologne and sweat and I can't help but lick him. Our mouths are next to each others ears, breathing and moaning heavily as he begins to thrust up into me faster than ever. The headboard slams into the wall with force but I don't even care.

This feeling is unlike anything I've ever felt or knew was possible, so the last thing I'm gonna do is tell him to stop.

"Negan.." I cry out. "Faster."

He obeys and wraps his arms around me tighter, fucking me at an animalistic pace. I cum so hard and fast I don't even have time to announce it. My pussy clenches and I feel myself suddenly leak around him, soaking his dick and probably even the bed below us.

"Goddamn. That's my good fucking girl... You gonna let daddy cum in this pussy, baby?"

"Yes! Please." I whine.

He growls in my ear and holds himself deep and still inside me as his dick pulses over and over.

I try to slide off of him when he's finished, but he holds me tight, not letting me leave.

"Negan, you need to leave before my dad-"

"He's not here, sweetheart."

"What?!" I snap my eyes to his.

"Relax, baby. He's fine. But I did warn him that if he didn't want to hear his baby girl screaming "daddy" all night.. then he should take your siblings and go stay the night with Daryl." He grins up at me and my brows come together with confusion.

"Wait you.. you told him about our plan?"

"Of course baby. Had to be respectful and ask for your old man's blessing."

"And.. and he gave it to you?!"

Negan laughs and reaches up to tuck my hair behind my ear. "Absolutely not. But respectfully, I told him he didn't have a choice."

The next morning:

My vagina is screaming at me for allowing it to be destroyed last night. I can't count on one hand how many times Negan made me cum. I open my eyes to the sun shining through my window and immediately notice Negan is gone. I shoot up and look around, seeing that his clothes are also gone.

What if he just.. got what he wanted and left..

I throw the covers off of me and get up, grabbing my sundress of the floor and throwing it on before making my way through the house.

"Carl?!.... Dad?!" I yell as I descend quickly down the stairs. I stop at the bottom to find Negan stirring a pot of something on the stove.

"There she is! Mornin' sunshine." I walk over to Negan to see what he's cooking and he holds a spoon up to my mouth, letting me taste the deliciousness. This man can fuck and cook... what a god.

"Was wonderin when you were gonna wake the hell up. It's already lunch time, baby." He presses his lips to mine and I notice his freshly shaven face. I've never seen him like his and he looks so incredibly handsome.

He lifts me up and sets me on the kitchen counter while standing between my legs.

"Mmm, promise me you'll wear little sundresses with no panties underneath for the rest of our lives, doll." He says as he kisses me sweetly. I giggle and wrap my arms around him, kissing his neck.

"You hungry baby?" He asks and I nod sleepily.

"Me too." He slowly gets down on his knees in front of me, draping my legs over his shoulders.

He softly licks me with his tongue, moaning from the taste before burying his face further into me until I feel his tongue push past my hole. His shaven face feels soft and much more gentle than his beard.

My fingers run through his black hair, tugging on it gently as my head falls back.

"Mmm, daddy." I moan and my eyes snap open, hearing movement at the front door. I quickly jerk Negan up while pulling my dress down and sliding off the counter, seeing my dad, Carl, and Daryl standing in the doorway. Carl quickly covers Judith's eyes while he holds her and Negan sighs annoyedly at the sight of them.

"God..DAMN it, Rick. Again? You gotta learn to fucking knock."

"It's my house." My dad's expression is unreadable as he stands there, eyeing Negan. "You said one night. You can be on your way now."

"Well now don't be fucking rude, Prick. Have a seat." He grins widely at my dad before gesturing to the table. "I made spaghetti."

The End.

3K notes · View notes

tteokdoroki · 2 months

Note

happy valentine's day!! thank you so much for your lovely writings ❤️❤️ may i swipe spicy (breeding kink :3) for nagi + ring? thank you again!! i hope i'm doing this right ;-;

⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡. — SEISHIRO NAGI. swipe spicy: bound forever.

about. boom, it’s a match! after a perfect proposal, nagi decides to make you his forever in a more sinful way ( 2.3K ).

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, smut, characters aged up to 20s, established relationships, engagements, light choking, cum play, unprotected sex, breeding kink, pro player!nagi, fem!reader.

・:〃⤥ bumble date, swipe right event !

seishiro nagi is effortlessly good at everything.

with his friends — his aloof charm and easygoing nature is enough to keep them entertained. they don’t find his shy and laidback nature too off-putting or boring. with soccer, his talent is natural — born from nothing but a spark of interest. when he’d first started, nagi was a level above the rest without any of the extra hard work and training…but he’d craved to be better, to win above everyone else. so, at times, soccer was worth the hassle.

and with you, well, being with you was as easy as breathing air.

effortless is exactly the word the white haired striker would use to describe his relationship with you. on good days and bad, you and nagi fit together like perfectly made pieces of a puzzle. there’s something about the way that you love him, that motivates nagi to push himself past his limits. he’s better because of you, wants to be better for you — always. there is no feeling of hassle or tiredness when it comes to making you happy, your laughter fills nagi with life and a passion akin to what he feels whenever he’s on the pitch.

seishiro has no idea what it is about you that made him this way. but what he does know now is that he can’t live with you — the way you smile at him, hold him, love him, kiss him. it’s something he can’t bare to be without now that he’s tasted what it’s like to live life with you by his side. that’s why he finds the courage to propose to you on Valentine’s Day — uncharacteristically serious and nervous as he sinks down onto one knee in the cosy corner of that restaurant you like.

what if you reject him? what if you say no? bringing back the ring would be a hassle but the thought of losing you is even worse…

though, when you realise what’s going on and your eyes light up with such undiluted love and adoration — the words of little speech nagi had prepared for this moment slip from him easily as if he had been born to ask you to marry him. to be with you forever. and now, for the rest of your lives — you will always be his and seishiro nagi will always be yours.

a promise that is commemorated with the biggest and most blinding diamond ring nagi’s hefty soccer player paycheck can buy.

romantic dinner plans were quickly thrown out of the window as soon as your engagement ring took residence on its rightful finger. after ringing up the bill and abandoning your half-finished meals, the both of you find yourselves stumbling home to celebrate the beginning of forever. your movements are frenzied and fuelled by the high of your engagement as you make it over the threshold, hands tugging and tearing at the fancy clothes inconveniently in the way while your lips meet in passionate, ravenous kisses — your tongue running over nagi’s pearly white teeth as he pours hungry moans and love and adoration into you.

“sei—!” you whimper, soft and needy as your back hits the wall behind you. your newfound fiancé uses the entirety of his strength and height to lift you into his arms, wrapping your thighs around his slender waist whilst his hips pin you to the cold surface. lines between love and lust are quickly blurred when the heavy outline of nagi’s dick presses against the treasure hidden between your perfectly plush thighs — your dress pushed up just enough to reveal them to greedy cool-tone grey eyes. “seishiro…mph, i love you…”

“y’love me, angel?” the striker’s entire body trembles with pride at the way you call his name, keening into his closeness and the way that he towers over you. your fingers rake through his silvering hair, the band of your diamond ring icy on the back of his neck as you tug him even closer as though his proximity is not enough. “s’that why you’re gonna marry me? let me…fuck, let me have you forever?” nagi coos his sinfully words quietly, tucking his face into the alcove between your neck and shoulder — kiss swollen lips dragging over your heated flesh and fluffy white lashes fluttering against the spot as well.

you’re so soft, so warm underneath him and nagi can hardly resist the siren’s call of your body — ripe and fresh for the taking, much like the fruit in adam and eve’s garden. he can’t help his innate desire to take you, and it’s just a little bit frustrating.

his dick pulsates behind the layers of boxers and slacks, desperate to be sheathed within your silken walls. and in response, you clench around nagi’s tip through your thin cotton panties almost as if you’re coaxing him into making love to you. right here, right now. each time he drags his hips back and forth, slow and steady, against you, your thighs tighten their grip around his waist and your body twitches to life in seishiro’s hold. his chubby erection, leaky and hard, slides through your panty clad folds at your sensual bump and grind, only adding to your exertion.

“‘m gonna keep you as mine...” blood rushes through seishiro’s ears and shoots through the rest of his lean body, carrying adrenaline and lust hormones via the red blood cells teaming under the surface of his skin. he needs you, he can hear how much you need him too. it’s evident in the way you gasp and mewl out for him — your own body following your fiancé’s lead.

“uh huh, wanna be yours…” the tail end of your words fall away into a whistle tone whine, layering over the sound of a clinking belt and shuffling dress pants which give nagi the room to pull his girthy cock out.

he noses his way up the side of your face, breathing growing erratic and unstable against your ear as he positions himself at your quivering entrance — sliding into you with very little resistance. “ngh…so t-tight, angel. can’t…can’t wait t’be the only one who gets to fuck you open for the rest of our lives.” seishiro sighs dreamily. his hips jut upwards, filling you up with his milky cock in one swift movement. you stretch around him deliciously, walls rippling around him to accommodate for his size — despite having been taken like this many times before. “don’t…don’t clench down on me like that. s’not fair, you’re gonna milk me ‘n we’ve barely fuck started.”

the white haired player stutters with both his words and his hips — struggling to set a steady rhythm to the way he grinds into you. like that of a wet dog slipping into his rut. sometimes nagi thinks he’s being selfish, snapping a girl like you up and making you his for the keeping…but it’s times like this — where your cunt squeezes down on his seedy cockhead every time it pulls out of you — that nagi is reminded of his ego. the selfishness that’s been born into him with every play on the field and every precise, lax movement he makes to help you reach cloud nine.

he can’t stop running his mouth, lustful and debauched gibberish slipping and sliding over his wet tongue as he builds up the momentum behind the forceful juts of his hips into yours. “unless that’s what you want, yeah pretty girl?” seishiro continues to grunt even when the length of his creamy cock slips out of you, running through your puffy folds. “f’me to knock you up… make you take all of my cum.” your dainty fingers reach down between the slow rolls of your body to push him back in, sending a shudder down your fiancé’s spine.

no matter how many times you touch him, fuck him, love him… he will never get used to having you wrapped around him like this. dripping so sweetly down his heavy balls. “make you even warmer in here… s’warm and wet all for me. ‘m so lucky. you’re so good.”

a symphony of wet slaps from skin on skin echo throughout the hallway of your apartment — for every slothful plunge of nagi’s sloppy, seedy dick against your gooey and sensitive insides reverberates in the heated buzzing between your heated and temperate bodies. nagi, and all 190cm of him, curls over you protectively — lips tacked to yours as he chases your sluice, salacious pussy for more than you can give him. an impossible closeness that he craves now that you’ve agreed to marry him.

it’s ungodly how much control you and the ring on your finger have over him — reducing the mighty, notoriously undefeatable striker to a drenched, sweaty and sex-driven mess. “i want you inside…” pressing his forehead to your own weakly, nagi’s white hair sticks to your skin and his hot, heaving breath coasts over your cherry-bitten cupid’s bow as you speak — dampening the surface. “need you to cum inside, sei. m-make me yours…please!”

all the striker does is moan low and sexy in response, the husky sound sending thunder-strikes of dopamine across your loved-up brain. all he can think about is breeding you, stuffing you full with so much cum and so much of him that you can’t walk for days. impulsively his hips twitch upwards rapidly, so fast that your eyes disappear into the dark depths of your skull and nagi’s cockhead bears down on that needy, spongy little spot inside of you.

everything grows wetter, hotter and nastier. amidst your surprise from the uptick in your fiancé’s usually languid pace, your fingertips on your right hand sink into the broad expanse of his back while your left ( the one with the ring ) suddenly ensnares the colum of nagi’s throat — pulling him down so that your faves are only a breaths width apart. the cooler press of your engagement ban against his feverish skin only eggs him on, driving the pro soccer player to pursue the intoxicating squelch of your count around his thick base, a white mixture beginning to foam there from how vigorously you’re fucking each other.

nagi is loving and lazy, but greedy when it comes to you. he plans to be that way forever, if it means he can witness the look of delirium on your face whenever he has you fucked out like this. and you’re the same, a perfect match, bucking into him as though to match his strong pace — so that you both can see stars and reach new heights of insanity together.

you’re overwhelmed, the both of you are. senses being worked into overdrive from the way nagi’s cock shines each time he pulls out of your snugg, wet sex to the way that your needy gripes and laments harmonise into the night. “g-god angel, ‘m gonna cum…g’na let go inside’a you…fill you up,” seishiro rambles in warning, losing his rhythm and tripping over his words. he could cream your cunt right now, selfishly reach his high before yours — but nagi loves you; loves the feel of your diamond engagement ring cutting into his cheek when you move to cup his face through the final moments. “spread your legs a little more f’me, ‘m gonna touch you…”

so instead, he pulls back the hood your clit with the hand on the arm that keeps you steady against the wall, and burns the letters of his name into the puffy nub. “‘hmygod, s-sei!” you squeal at the new found pleasure, groping at your man as your head falls back against the wall. it begins to creak under the pressure of sex, tinging nagi’s skin a soft pink while his dick throbs in the warm hug of your addictive walls. “‘m close!”

“i-i know pretty thing, i know,” spreading the filthy mix of your arousals over your slit while he pumps in and out of you lewdly, nagi whimpers your name loud and proud. everything is so messy, so fucking raw, his shaft is doused in an opaque white that clings to the oretty blue veins spiralling around his cock while your mound seeps and weeps a wetness only he can bring out of you. “you gonna cum? you g’na cum f’me baby? drip d-down my cock…let me cum in you after?” the pitch of nagi’s moans rise in octave until they’re enough to rival your open-mouthed bleats.

“y-yes! please sei, p-please!” fat droplets of precum and your juices along between your bodies and crudely drip to the floor, and it’s not long before the tickle at the base of your spine becomes a bright spark — your orgasm breaking dawn first.

waves of your precious nectrar and liquid gold gush from your fluttering entrance before you even realise it — so fast it almost forces the white haired striker out of you. “y-yeah, yeah, yeah…fuck! that’s it angel, c-cum all over me…” nagi’s cock never relents, bullies it’s way through your blistering hot walls to nudge at your g-spot all throughout the ordeal while the world of colours flashes behind your eyes.

you’re such a good girl, you’ll be such a good wife — letting nagi use you and continue to canter into you until your rippling cunt push him over the edge into his own high. “c-cumming!” he gasps as if he’s taken a bullet to the chest, thrusting into you as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do — intent on keeping you bred and full. seishrio’s load pours into you like a never ending stream of thick white, warm and viscous as it coats your mound copiously. painting you in his claim.

he doesn’t budge even as you both fall back down to earth from your heavenly highs — making sure that not a drop of his cum is wasted on anything else except for you. a lazy giggle escapes you as your hand slinks down from nagi’s cheek to his plush lips, leaving a pink-ish (yet pain free) mark from your ring on his cheek.

“i love you, sei,” you whisper in tired amusement as he kisses the ring on your finger.

seishiro hums happily, squeezing your thighs in his hold. “i love you back, forever ‘n always, angel.”

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jazzyoranges · 4 months

Note

i love you write! can i req where shapeshifter reader's Super high after hanging out with stoners and shift to grizzly bear and can't shift back to human form enid report to wednesday, also reader just talk random shet that all wednesday hear was bear grumbling and whining?, tq 3<

New heights

Wednesday Addams x fem!shapeshifter!reader

Words: 1.1k

Warnings: implied drug use, you’re kinda a dumbass lol, my attempt at humor

A/n: writers block is kicking my ass whoops… also happy new years!

uehdhd nsedd uew gdhjs ppppspsodod hsdf

“Wednesday, can you decipher this?” Enid gets up from her bed to show her roommate the text she just got from you, which seemed to be just a bunch of random letters

“What makes you think I’m going to understand better than you.” Wednesday raises an eyebrow at Enid from where she’s sitting at her desk

“I dunno, she’s your girlfriend? Girlfriend telepathy or something”

“I recall her telling me she was, to put it bluntly, getting high with friends tonight.”

“And you didn’t think to lead with that! Do you know where she is?”

“Knowing her, the forest.”

“And you let her!?” Enid exclaims, a hand racking through her hair

“(Y/n)’s the scariest thing in there. Worst comes to worst she comes out with a few scratches.” The blonde is about to respond when her phone pings with another few messages from you

hey uh tell wednesday to come pick up her girlfriend (10:27)

i think (Y/n)’s lost it (10:27)

i’m her friend btw (10:27)

FUCK PLEASE HURRY SHE’S NOT MENTALLY STABLE ANYMSO (10:28)

“Alright put on your big girl pants, we’re getting your girlfriend” Enid’s phone rings with an incoming facetime from you, and she scrambles to click join. What she doesn’t expect is the face of one of your friends, looking a little more than worried

“Oh, thank god! I’m sorry for bad first impressions, but-“ A whine is heard in the background your friend turns to the noise

“Chill out dude, your girlfriend is right here!” He turns back to Enid

“Please put Wednesday on, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bear cry before” Wednesday perks up at her name and swiftly takes the phone from Enid. Your friend turns around the phone so now the two roommates are looking at a grizzly bear that stands on its hind legs, whining and maybe even sobbing

“(Y/n).” Wednesday says, and you snap your head towards the phone held in front of you

Now aware of your girlfriends face in front of you, you get back down onto all fours and boop the screen with your nose

“Wednesday, I missed you! Y’know I was just out here, getting high with my friends as one does, and then all of a sudden I was really sad! Then I started thinking really hard why that might be and I realized it was because you weren’t here! You know how I ugly cry, right? Well I started doing that but for some reason my friends didn’t really understand what I was saying, but I know you’d understand! So that’s why we’re here. Also, I think I might’ve had a growth spurt. I feel really tall and big right now”

Just by the shaking of your phone on the other end of the call, Enid knows her feelings of confusion and maybe fear are shared when you start to grumble and whine. Only you would be able to ramble as a fucking grizzly bear

“C-Connection’s bad, please say something!” Your friend squeaks behind the phone, and Wednesday resists the urge to roll her eyes. It was you, after all. No reason to be scared

“Enid, make sure she doesn’t freak out. I’ll go pick her up.” Wednesday sighs, grabbing her jacket and giving Enid her phone back. She hears you whine even more when you can’t see Wednesday in frame anymore

“(Y/n), can you…” Is the last thing Wednesday hears before leaving the dorm. For an academy that had a curfew, they were astonishingly bad at keeping it upheld. A turn here, climb up that wall, don’t touch that grass near the academy, and boom you’re in the forest before Enid can post something on her blog about Xavier and Bianca’s relationship

You weren’t very difficult to find. The wailing of a bear basically echoed in the forest and claw marks on trees made a clear path to the place you and your friends were getting high at. Well, were getting high at. Wednesday almost wants to watch your friends stay scared behind trees as you claw at the ground below you even more as Enid’s attempts at calming you down seem to be futile

“Wednesday’s almost there, (Y/n)! Maybe just a few more minutes?”

“But I want her now!!” You cry, falling to the ground on your furry stomach with a loud thump

“We’ve already established you’re a bear! We don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, dude!” Your friends voice cracks

“There are two wolves inside of me…” Your head snaps at the sound of a twig snapping in the forest. You stand up on your hind legs, hoping to intimidate whoever seems to be in the forest with you. You’ve already pissed on every tree so no way another bear would dare challenge you for territory

“Who’s there!”

“Don’t get your fur matted, it’s just me.” Wednesday makes her presence known by a chill in the air, which makes your friend jump but ultimately hide behind her. At first he touches her shoulder but the glare she sends his way makes him rethink his life. Luckily he gets out of the way before you barrel towards Wednesday. This time, as a giant tiger

The Addams is quickly tackled to the floor with your entire body weight on her. Your tongue would probably hurt Wednesday if you licked hard enough so you opt for chuffing wildly while having all the characteristics of a needy house cat. You had to make your peace with not being able to purr as a tiger. Which, you were always mad about. “If big cat, why no purr?” as you’d say

“(Y/n).” Wednesday embraces you. Her hands rack through your fur with calculated fingers that knew where to pet you. Under your stomach, behind the ears, and anywhere on your neck. She also knew where your pressure points were, but there’s no fun in dragging a tiger back to Nevermore

You chuff in response, not planning to stop smothering your girlfriend

“(Y/n).” Wednesday tries again. She fails.

“(Y/n).” This time, the look on your girlfriends face makes you stop your smothering. You blow air into her face with a tilt of your head

“Human, now.” You huff in Wednesday’s face while unwillingly getting off of her. Despite her protest you stay a tiger as you walk over to your friend, who looks confused as ever. Giving him a small nod, you take your phone out of his hand with your mouth and let him pet your head

Next, you scoop up Wednesday on your back while deciding it’s a better time than ever to leave

“S-Same time next week?” Your friend calls behind you. You give him the best smile you can whilst your phone is still in your mouth

You’re halfway out the forest when Wednesday finally decides to talk to you again

“For the record, I’m not doing this again the same time next week.”

//-//

Bonus:

Enid opens her door to; you, who’s taken Wednesday’s jacket with a shit eating grin and Wednesday, who’s glaring at you with what looks to be either murder or adoration.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday (2022)#wednesday x y/n #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x you #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #xavier thorpe #bianca barclay

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t-lostinworlds · 5 months

Text

Competitively Stupid | Steve Harrington

》 PAIRING: steve harrington x female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: rivals-ish (since childhood) to lovers, some angst; fluff

》 SUMMARY: It was stupid, jumping off a cliff just to prove that you were better than Steve fucking Harrington. But you were competitive. You were not losing to him. But you know what was stupider? For it to take a near-death situation for you both to confess what you truly feel for each other.

》 WARNINGS: canon divergent (everyone is alive & well & happy thanks), pet names (sweetheart, baby), shitty parents (on both sides), competitiveness on all accounts, r is basically a counterpart of steve during high school (cheerleading captain, queen of hawkins high, swim team captain, etc.), peer pressure-ish, some stupid decisions & stupider actions, very irresponsible cliff jumping (which doesn't end well), drowning, CPR, injuries, an emotional moment™, love confessions, and a happy, sappy ending.

》 WORD COUNT: 5.3k+

A/N: hi! okay, well, it's been a while since i posted a steve fic so i'm kinda nervous ngl. also, not me making it a habit to include swimmer!steve in all my fics from here on out. this was meant to be short & sweet to dust off the cobwebs but lol. super random. i saw a video of someone cliff-jumping & boom, the idea was born. also, not me using the first aid training i learned in college.

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ STEVE H. MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

This was stupid.

Absolutely idiotic.

You genuinely have no idea why you were even doing this in the first place.

"There's no way you can do it."

Right.

That's why.

The taunting voice of Steve fucking Harrington was the reason why you were standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down at a thirty-foot drop into the dark ocean.

This was supposed to be a relaxing trip with your new found family.

"You know you don't have to listen to him, right?" Robin sighed, so completely over the fact that her two best friends who never got along no matter what she tried, somehow came to an agreement to not listen to her right now.

Not that you could blame her.

You and Steve had been rivals ever since you were kids.

It was what you had always known.

What with narcissistic parents who used their children as pawns to one up each other, you had been conditioned to see him as an enemy from the second you step foot into their home.

Your family was invited into the Harrington residence for dinner as a way of welcoming you to the neighborhood. You recently just moved in, so you didn't know anyone else yet. When you heard that the next-door neighbor had a son who was your age, you had been really excited to gain a new friend.

All that changed when your dad sat you down an hour before, prepping you about how the Harringtons were a respected family in the town, and that you needed to show them you weren't any less than them, if not show them you were better. He drilled it in your brain to be on your best behavior, to be the best and the perfect daughter.

It only got worse when you finally sat down at that dinner table.

The comparisons were endless.

"See, my daughter here is a wonderful gymnast, quite amazing for someone her age."

"How wonderful. Steven here has swimming lessons every weekend. His coach said he might end up in the Olympic team once he's of age."

"Splendid. How about his academics? I'm sure he can take inspiration from my daughter's exemplary grades."

"He's the top of his class. Maybe if they study together, your daughter would be able to catch up in time."

It was harsh, pitting two seven-year-olds against each other—impressionable kids who only wanted to make their mom and dad proud.

But neither your parents nor his truly gave a shit. All they cared about was becoming the best family in the street, if not the whole town.

The sad thing was, those dinners became a regular thing, held alternately between your house and his.

It always looked like a preparation for battle whenever your mom would pull out the finest china in her collection along with the cookbook she only ever used for special occasions.

It was in the guise of cordiality when it was, in fact, an excuse to show off, to make a competition out of everything, a moment to compare who did what best. Those dinners were like monthly scoreboards, tallying up the respective families' recent achievements—and that included yours and Steve's.

Nobody was surprised that the competitiveness stuck with you both.

And it only got worse during high school.

Whether that was something as mundane as winning the popularity contest when running different circles—even going as far as getting crowned the King and Queen of Hawkins High—down to academics and extracurriculars.

Captain of the basketball team. Captain of the cheerleading squad. Prom Queen. Prom King. MVP of the season. Brightest student of the year. Beer pong Queen. Kegstand King. Best summer camp counselor. Lifeguard of the month and it went on and on and on and on.

When he got co-captain for the men's swim team, you rubbed it in his face that you were the captain of the women's team. When you got second place at the science fair, he made sure to rub his first place medal right in your face. When you became president of the student council, you ordered him around to do extra work whenever the basketball team was required to help with community service.

It was a constant back and forth.

There was always a competition between you and Steve Harrington.

And sure, since you graduated, it became subdued. But it was still very much there. Vying on who was the coolest babysitter in your band of ragtags, even fighting to have the title of Robin Buckley's ultimate best friend.

This thing between you and Steve was deeply rooted. So there really wasn't much Robin could do apart from getting in between your frequent squabbles before you started actually killing each other.

In Robin's words, something drastic had to happen for you both to finally wake up and see that this rivalry between you both wasn't what it seemed to be on the surface.

You had no idea what she was even implying.

Now, on a little getaway on the nearest beach you could drive to, the competition started with a race on who could get there first. It wasn't even fair seeing that you weren't the one driving.

The group had split into two, some were in Eddie's van—along with everyone's belongings since he had ample space in the back—while the others were in Steve's Beemer. Since you and Steve couldn't be in the same room together without an argument ensuing, it was a unanimous decision to have you two separated. Nobody wanted to deal with that for hours on the road.

Not that you could blame them, either.

And sure, it was the kids who suggested the race, but with Steve's smug smirk and that arrogant wink he threw once you got into Eddie's passenger seat, you knew it was game on between you too.

Yet despite the metal head being a fast—albeit slightly reckless—driver, he somehow took his sweet goddamn time getting to your destination.

Only when your group arrived at the beach last, did he say something about Steve threatening him to be extra careful with driving because there's important cargo in his van—whatever the hell that meant.

You lost to Steve on that one, but you would argue it was rigged from the start.

The next was a supposed friendly bout on who could build the biggest sandcastle that didn't topple over after a few minutes.

It was boys versus girls with you and him being team leaders. The girls won, obviously and El never used her powers. It was fair and square since the other team mostly argued over everything they could think of and had no teamwork at all. You made sure to point that out to Steve as you watched their sandcastle crumble into ruins.

Another one was beach volleyball. Same leaders as before, but you get to pick the members of your teams this time. Steve made it his mission to pick the tallest of the bunch. Still, it wasn't the advantage he thought it was because it ended up being one point too close.

Your team would've won if Steve wasn't such a dramatic asshole.

It was truly an accident. When you spiked that ball, you were not aiming for his face. He simply thought it was a good idea to catch the ball with it. Besides, he was distracted, flirting with some random girl in a bikini who was passing by, right in the middle of the game.

How was it your fault that he wasn't paying attention?

He made sure to oversell his injury after that, curled up on the sand as the girl fussed over him. But you saw that smirk on his face. You would've hit him again—definitely not by accident this time—if you weren't busy arguing with Robin about the point deduction. She said it was only fair since you hit the ball when she hadn't blown her imaginary whistle yet.

You decided to let it go when Steve commented on you being a whiny sore loser.

Unfortunately, the competition was ending with who could make jumping off a cliff and into the ocean look the coolest—adults only, despite the groans of protest from the mischievous bunch.

Eddie offered to stay behind and watch the rascals. When teased, he simply said he didn't want to test Death today.

His comment didn't help your nerves.

Robin said she was only coming purely as a voice of reason. She'd been saying nonstop how it was a horribly stupid idea, that there really was no need to be doing this in the first place.

But Steve wasn't backing down, so you weren't going to either.

So once again, it was only you and him.

As it always had been.

He volunteered to go first, throwing in a comment about rushing back up the cliff's edge before you could take your turn because he wanted a front-row seat for when you'd chicken out.

It only made you want to do it more.

His dive was smooth, almost flawless, you admit. He even showed off with a little flip near the end. It didn't take long for him to swim back to the shore, either. His years of training as a swimmer were obviously paying off.

But you trained just as much if not more than he had.

The only difference was, adrenaline didn't fuel you as much as it did Steve. So instead of getting all powered up looking down at a cliff's edge like he was, you were terrified.

But who wouldn’t get scared looking down at harsh waves crashing against sharp and jagged rocks? There was no margin for error here because one wrong slip and you'd be dead.

Still, if Steve could do it, you could do it better.

You weren't about to lose to his stupid ass.

"I'm not listening to him," you argued back, taking in a shaky breath as you took a step.

"He's doing reverse psychology!" she squeaked. "So you doing it is still listening to him!"

"I'm fine, Robs, I can do it," you mumbled, a slight questioning lilt at the end of your sentence.

"Look, sweetheart, it's okay to admit defeat," Steve said, cocky voice with an even cockier smile as he crossed his toned arms against his bare chest. His hair was still damp, quick to climb back up so he could get his front-row seat as he promised.

But you weren't chickening out.

Never.

"I mean, it wouldn't be the first time you lost to me so, it shouldn't sting as much."

You ignored him.

Instead, you took another step, the tips of your toes now hanging over the edge.

You can do this. Wipe that smug smirk off his face. You got this.

"Listen, you don't have to do—"

"Shut it, Harrington," you growled.

With a deep breath, you closed your eyes, counting from three, two, one…

You jumped.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

This was stupid.

Absolutely idiotic.

He shouldn't have pressured you like that.

The jump wasn't deadly, per se, but it also wasn't exactly deemed the safest, especially if you weren't an expert in any sort of way.

And he didn't want to say it out loud because if he did, he knew it would only push you to do it more just to prove him wrong.

But Steve could see how scared you were.

He was already dropping the act, voice laced with concern as he started telling you that he wasn't worth all of this, that he was stupid and that you were always going to be better than him.

But, obviously, you didn't listen.

You simply jumped.

You and your stupidly competitive ass.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, rushing to the edge of the cliff, tensely watching your falling figure disappear into the water with a splash.

"You two are complete idiots."

"Shut up," Steve gritted, never looking away from the water. Yet any annoyance was quickly overpowered by sheer worry as he scanned the deep blue for anything.

There was no sign of you.

"Like seriously! It's like I'm the only one with a brain cell here!"

"Come on, come on, come on," Steve mumbled, completely ignoring Robin when you still hadn't emerged to the surface. "Come on, Y/N, don't scare me like this."

"Uh, Steve?" Robin asked after a moment, carefully looking over the cliff before shooting him a worried glance. "You look anxious and you being anxious is making me nervous."

"She hasn't come up," he grumbled, glancing at his watch.

It was nearing a minute.

"Maybe you didn't see her?"

"I haven't taken my eyes off the water, Buckley," he gritted, too harsh and uncalled for since Robin didn't do anything wrong.

But he was panicking.

A minute and thirty seconds.

"Come on, sweetheart, you can do it. You're an amazing swimmer," he whispered encouragingly, hoping some sort of magic would let you hear him underwater all while saying it aloud for his own sanity.

Two minutes.

You could never hold your breath any longer than that.

Steve knew because he always won that competition.

And that was in a calm pool.

"Shit, shit, shit!" he cursed, gearing up to dive after you. "I don't think she's coming up!"

"Okay! Okay," Robin rushed, panicking. "Maybe she's already on the shore. We should go down now and see—"

Steve didn't listen.

He jumped right after you.

The biting cold was awakening.

Still, it was the absolute fear of losing you that was keeping him alert.

He ignored the sting of the salty ocean water in his eyes as he frantically searched for you, his heart beating hard and fast, struggling for oxygen all while fearing for your safety.

Steve didn't know which came first, relief or dread when finally found you, aimlessly floating and unconscious under the deep blue.

He swam to you as fast he could, securely hooking his arm under your shoulder and dragging you up to the surface.

Steve always knew that adrenaline can give you a random boost of strength when needed. He simply didn't expect that to be proven true when he was carrying your unresponsive body in his arms as he brought you to the shore.

He gently placed you on your back on the sand, cupping your face as he checked for any injuries.

You were so cold.

"Hey, hey, wake up," he begged, grabbing your shoulders to try and shake you awake.

Nothing.

"You didn't have to make the jump, you idiot. Why do you always want to prove me wrong," he scolded with no ounce of anger, only worry. He started tapping your cheek frantically. "Come on, wake up!"

Still no response.

"Dammit, Y/N, why'd you have to be so fucking stubborn," he scolded, his voice shaking in fear, his chest tightening as he pressed two fingers against your pulse point.

His own heart stopped when he couldn't feel yours.

And you weren't breathing.

Steve tried to keep himself calm. If he panicked now, he wouldn't be able to give you the aid that you direly need.

"Come on, Harrington. You know what to do. You trained for this," he mumbled to himself, getting into the proper position to give you CPR.

He gently cupped your forehead with his left hand, his other two fingers under your chin as he tilted your head up.

"You're going to be okay," he whispered, pinching your nose before slotting his lips against yours.

Breathing into your mouth, one, two, he watched your chest rise as it filled up with air, only for it to settle back down without coming back up again. He quickly kneeled straighter, locking his fingers together and placing the heel of his left hand in the middle of your chest, pushing down with enough pressure to try and get your heart to start again.

"One, two, three, four, come on, sweetheart, breathe for me," he mumbled, easily finding the right rhythm, his first aid training as a lifeguard coming back to him like it was second nature.

Still, he never wanted to use this skill in a real-life situation, much less use it on you.

It was the longest thirty counts in his life.

Check for a pulse. Check for breathing.

Still nothing.

"Goddammit, Y/N, come on!" he growled, blinking back the tears as he pressed his mouth against yours again.

Two rescue breaths.

Thirty chest compressions.

Steve repeated the cycle over and over. His eyes were stinging with unshed tears, his knees were burning as the rough sand dug deeper into his skin, and his arms were starting to get sore, tiredness slowly covering his aching muscles.

But he'd rather die first than give up on you now.

"Steve—"

"Call for help, Robin!" he ordered, not taking his eyes off you for even a second. When he didn't hear any movement, he yelled, "Don't just stand there! Go!"

He was going to apologize for being an asshole later. For now, he needed you to fucking breathe.

"Come on, come on, please," he begged, leaning back down to give you two more rescue breaths. "Breathe for me, baby, please."

Thirty chest compressions.

"Trying to prove me wrong when I've always been wrong, you idiot."

Five, six, seven—

"Sweetheart, come on," he choked back a sob. "Who's going to call me out when I'm being stupid, huh? You know Robin can't do it alone."

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen—

"And you're really going to leave me alone to watch our kids?"

Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two—

"Y/N, baby, please, I can't live without you," he whimpered.

Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thir—

Steve felt his breath leave his lungs when you finally gasped for air.

He quickly turned you to your side, rubbing your back as you choked out all the ocean water that got into your system.

"There you go, you're okay," he whispered, whether to reassure you or himself, he didn't even know anymore. All he was focused on was making sure you were going to be okay.

"S-Stevie?" you coughed out the nickname that was only ever used by you.

It was the equivalent to his nickname for you—sweetheart.

Names that started out to annoy each other but the more often it was used as time passed, it only managed to grow into an endearment that held something warm underneath it. You both were quick to realize that the nicknames you had for each other weren't out of spite anymore.

Neither of you simply addressed it.

"Steady, sweetheart, I'm right here," he reassured, hurriedly getting into your line of sight to stop you from trying to turn around to face him. He gently cupped your cheek, offering you a soft smile when your gaze found him. "I'm not going anywhere."

You nodded as best as you could, your eyes clinging onto his brown ones only for them to screw shut when a shiver ran through your whole body.

"C-Cold," you stammered.

"I know, I know, come here," he said softly, guiding you to sit up before quickly settling behind you. He gently pulled you closer between his legs, his chest pressed against your back as he blanketed his body over yours, rubbing your arms to keep you as warm as possible.

You turned to face him slightly, burying your face into his neck only for you to wince at the slight movement. He quickly tried to steady you again, checking over you twice to look for any visible injury. But he couldn't find any.

"Tell me what hurts," he asked, pressing his lips against your cold forehead as he fully wrapped his arms around you.

"A-Ankle," you whimpered in pain, your grip on his waist tightening and God he hated that sound so much.

You must've rolled it when you jumped, and having landed on it when you reached the water, it definitely made it worse.

"It's okay, you're okay," he murmured, littering kisses against the side of your head to try and keep your mind off it. "Robin already called for help, they should be on their way, alright?"

You gave him a small nod, inching even closer to him, seeking as much warmth from him as possible. Your cold breath was tickling his skin but he didn’t care. Hell, you could be breathing fucking ice and he still wouldn’t give a shit.

As long as you were breathing.

"I need you to stay awake for me, okay?"

"I-I'll try," you whispered.

"First to fall asleep is the biggest loser," he mumbled, squeezing you slightly when he felt your eyes flutter close. "And you wouldn't want me to win this, babe, because I'll be a little shit about it."

"Not f-fair," you choked out a laugh.

"It's plenty fair," Steve chuckled tearfully, ignoring the sudden wetness on his cheeks. He hugged you tighter instead. "So stay awake or you'll lose to me. Again."

"Right there! They're right over there!"

Steve had never been so grateful to hear Robin's voice.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"So are you finally going to tell her?"

"Tell her what?" Steve questioned back, unable to take his eyes off of you, soundly sleeping in a hospital bed with your foot now wrapped in a cast.

The doctor had already checked everything and thankfully, there weren't any further injuries apart from your twisted ankle.

Now, all you needed was to rest and recover.

"That you've been in love with her this whole time."

Steve sighed, squeezing your hand before turning to look at his best friend.

"I'm not in love with her, Robs."

"Right," she scoffed, raising a knowing brow. "Because jumping off a cliff with zero hesitation so you could save her is totally normal behavior for someone you claim you hate."

"I never said I hated her," he argued, and it was true. He couldn't think of a single moment where he hated you.

"Yeah, well, you two definitely don't act like you like each other."

"Does she annoy and frustrate the shit out of me? Yes. But I never hated her," he admitted.

Steve didn't know what it was exactly, maybe it was his tiredness muddling his brain, maybe it was from everything that happened in the last couple of hours finally catching up to him, or maybe it was the overwhelming need to confess everything into the open before it was too late—and it almost had been. Either way, he found himself suddenly spewing out all the things that he always just kept to himself.

"She's also been the most constant person in my life, you know? Hell, we basically grew up together. I can't just not care about her," he continued, memories flooding his system before he could even stop it. "She's been so ingrained in my life, her and the cute dresses she wore at those stupid dinners our parents always dragged us to. Her and her stupid competitions whenever our babysitters would bring us to the park together. Her and that stupid dance she always did whenever she won at anything even if it was my expense—she always does this cute little wiggle whenever she won, and that never left her even as we got older," Steve chuckled at the thought.

"And fuck, don't even get me started with how similar our parents are. She's the only one who will always get me when it comes to that," he continued. "And yeah, we compete a lot, but there was no hatred between us. Maybe at the start but all that went away when we learned that whatever our parents were feeding us was bullshit—that they were bullshit.

"And fine, did I sometimes get so annoyed whenever she got a new boyfriend? Yeah. But only because she always had this bad habit of dating fucking assholes. I don't know where she got those dickheads from but every time I see a glimpse of her crying by her window at night I swear to fucking God I would've killed every single one of those assholes if she asked," he gritted, slumping down in his seat with a sigh.

"She deserves to be treated right, you know? She's already experiencing so much shit at home, she doesn't need any more of that anywhere else. Sure, she irritates me to no end but that doesn't mean she's not a sweet girl who always cried whenever some random pet commercial came on the TV during the holidays. Does her competitiveness drive me up the wall? Absolutely. But that doesn't mean I don't feel so fucking proud of her whenever she wins another medal or achieves another milestone. And yeah, I wonder about how she's doing, if she's taking care of herself, if she's getting enough sleep between her work and classes. But that's only because I worry, you know?

"And maybe I do think about her a lot but that doesn't mean I'm in love with…"

Steve blinked.

Well fuck.

"Wow," Robin marveled. "You're stupider than I thought."

"He hit his head as a kid, cut him some slack."

Steve paled at the sound of your voice, swiftly turning red at the thought that you probably heard all the things he said.

He turned to face you, groaning in annoyance when he saw the smug smile on your lips. "You've been awake this whole time?"

"I'll leave you two love birds alone," Robin sang, quickly slipping out of the hospital room and closing the door behind her.

"How much of that did you hear?" Steve asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Enough to say you're stupid," you hummed.

He rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat with crossed arms. "I'm not the one who jumped off the cliff and almost died just to prove a fucking point."

"Yeah, well, I guess we're both stupid then," you snorted.

He shrugged. "I guess we are."

"Jesus, you don't have to act so tense. I mean, you've already given me a mouth-to-mouth, we've practically made out already," you scoffed playfully. "I honestly thought I'd die first before swapping spit with you yet here we are."

It was your attempt at alleviating the tension, to throw in a funny quip. But with everything still so fresh in his mind, Steve simply couldn't take it well.

"Don't fucking joke about that will you?" he snapped, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face.

The silence that followed only made the tension worse.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Steve immediately felt bad.

"No, no, no. You didn't do anything wrong, don't apologize," he sighed, meeting your eyes with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped. It's just—"

He stopped himself, chewing on his bottom as he looked everywhere but at you when he felt the tears well up again.

"Will you come here?"

Steve took a calming breath and did as you asked, moving his chair closer but didn't attempt anything else than that.

"Stevie," you called when he still wouldn't look at you.

Harshly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he lifted his head. You smiled at him sweetly, wiggling your fingers to get him to come even closer.

"You scared me back there," he croaked, taking your hand with a squeeze.

"I didn't mean to," you softly said, remorseful and apologetic even though you didn't have to be.

"I know," he murmured, pressing your warm palm against his cheek as he shot you a glare. "Just don't do that again."

"Promise," you giggled, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

Steve leaned closer into your touch. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks to you," you hummed, brows furrowing in thought. "When Marcus got that black eye, you said it was because he was playing dirty on one of your games." You tilted your head knowingly. "That wasn't true, wasn't it?"

Steve shrugged. "He hurt you."

"It was a small bruise on the arm, Steve," you reasoned.

"He shouldn't be giving you a fucking bruise in the first place," he growled, the memory bringing back the same anger he felt when he first saw that bruise. The soft tapping of your finger against his cheek calmed him down. "Sorry."

"Did you lose on purpose to get him expelled?"

"What? No!" he scoffed, offended, rolling his eyes when you giggled. "I tried so fucking hard to win that fight, you know, for you."

"You've always been protective of me," you hummed, taking his hand and interlacing your fingers together.

"Don't think I didn't know it was you who dyed that poor girl's hair green that one year in middle school summer camp," he retaliated.

It was a sharp and piercing scream that woke up the whole camp that morning. Everyone rushed out of bed to see what was going on only to find a girl who once was blonde was now sporting bright green hair in the middle of the crowd, crying her eyes out.

Steve would've thought it was only some silly prank if he didn't know who the girl was. But he did. Because the day before he tried to ask her to be his girlfriend, only for her to turn him down in the most embarrassing and humiliating way possible.

It wasn't difficult for him to find out who the culprit was since he immediately noticed how you kept hiding your hands in your pockets for the next few days after the incident.

The counselors quickly found out that the little menace—whoever she was—decided to use permanent dye on the poor girl's hair instead of something washable.

Your green palms colored you oh so guilty.

"She called you pathetic and gross in front of everyone!" you argued, pouting. "You looked like you were about to cry and I hated it."

Steve's heart warmed at that, a smile on his face despite rolling his eyes. "I wasn't about to cry."

"Yeah well," you shrugged, eyes trained on your intertwined fingers, your thumb playing with his. "I'm the only one who's supposed to be mean to you."

"Hmm," he agreed, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. "I guess we've always been there for each other, huh?"

"I guess so," you giggled, cupping his cheek and tugging him closer.

He stood up from his seat, following your lead until he was pressing his forehead against yours.

"Thank you for saving my life, Steve," you whispered, eyes turning glossy as so many emotions covered your irises, the weight of what almost happened catching up with you.

"You don't have to thank me for that," he said sincerely, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. "I'd do it over and over again in a heartbeat."

You nodded, sniffling, "Still, thank you."

Steve wasn't able to argue some more when you all but kissed him.

The first time Steve felt your mouth on his was a horrible experience considering he was trying to keep you alive.

Now, everything was the complete opposite.

A kiss that was careful but sweet, a hint of nervousness and excitement all the same, completely unhurried yet burning with passion as his lips molded against yours.

But still, it felt like that first gasp of air—a finally.

"I'm in love with you, too, by the way," you murmured as you pulled away, your warm breath tickling his lips.

"Thanks for clarifying," he chuckled, eyes laced with adoration, unable to stop his smile from growing wider, warmer. "I couldn't figure that out from the kiss."

"I mean, you are kinda stupid," you teased.

"We're on that same boat, sweetheart," he chuckled. "I'm sure Robin would remind us about that every single day now."

"Unfortunately," you groaned playfully. "God, she gets annoying when she's right."

"Tell me about it," he hummed, brushing his lips against yours, moving away when you chased it.

You whined.

Steve didn't hesitate to dive back in.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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idesofrevolution · 5 months

Text

Never Sleep with Your Phone On

Throughout recorded history, humans have been terrified of the dark. They created stories of sordid creatures of the night that would creep out from beneath your bed and drag you to some subterranean lair to languish in your final moments; or slither out of your mirror if you left it uncovered when your lights were extinguished to steal your soul from your snoring lips. The tales and cryptids across all cultures were all effective in terrifying their communities once the sun set on the horizon. Though that is not necessarily to say that every tale was crafted from pure imagination.

When technology bloomed, humans believed that the horrifying superstitions of yore were long behind them. They had evolved past the primitive fears of what lurks in the shadows, where in reality they had become complacent, arrogant, and lulled. Certainly some of the eldritch creatures had subsided, as all creatures do eventually. Though for every dead legend, a new myth sprouts, and each of those grew and evolved right there along with us. Which, of course, brings us to Asher.

Asher West was, by all accounts, a fairly normal guy. Graduated from high school, going straight into college on a modest academic scholarship. He played frisbee golf with his friends on the weekends, studied hard from 9 to 5, and was seldom seen without a cup of Starbucks in the mornings. He had a sizeable social media following, as was expected for someone with a traditionally handsome visage and adequately charismatic personality. Every day he'd happily post a quick selfie, posting for his thousands of admirers a run of the mill shirtless pic, often without so much as a filter. It'd almost become muscle memory for him: tap the camera icon, snap the pic, post with some benign emojis as the caption, and boom. 900 likes as the day meandered on. Did it provide him with a momentary burst of endorphins? Yes. Was it satisfying? Somewhat, at least he thought so. Years of his staggeringly average life had been all but usurped by this second life online, where he was glamorous, exciting, and adored.

It was so much easier to live in that fantasyland than to truly be present in the real world around him. He, as many of us are, was living his life as someone else- and a life that spectacled easily caught attention. It was easy to come across him in the sea of countless names and faces. It was easy to stumble upon that pretty face. It was easy find, attracting more than just starry eyed fans. Skulking in the void between lines of 1 and 0, buried deep in the infinite cosmic vacuum of the world electric and technological, another pair of eyes would befall him.

It had slinked into his vast sphere rather quickly, and it had begun to watch. Watching each and every 'tasteful' selfie, every vapid thought that he'd post, and every like and pin he'd make, it watched him with empty, expressionless black eyes from within a fragment of his phone's memory. It studied him, curious at first. Things of its nature were always curious, always inclined to watch and analyze and replicate. Even as he slept, his phone siphoning it's charge from it's cable, it would read. The more it saw, the more it had learned about Asher. In fact, it knew more of Asher than perhaps he himself was aware of, if not able to admit.

It had seen those intimate moments he'd taken careful measure to hide from the vast majority of those watching eyes. Second accounts under pseudonyms, gave way to countless of hidden alternate lives he lived: Tumblr blogs dedicated to bad-boy thrist traps and queer erotica, Twitter accounts cataloguing pictures and videos of his closest kept kinks, a well used and well loved Chaturbate account with his face tastefully cropped out of frame... all these lives immortalized in the endless archives of the internet. And after all it's patient watching, all the hours of analyzing, all the months of consuming his information, it had grown an attachment.

Asher had come home late one night. Not unusual for him, as the occasional party wouldn't derail his real life ambitions. After a few libations, and no small amount of cannabis, he'd made his way back home to his small apartment above the corner store. Just as he'd done numerous times before, he stripped himself of his shirt, pulling his camera from his jeans pocket, and snapped a slightly inebriated picture of himself. It'd be enough to boost his ego the next morning, enough to power through the long haul of his draining daily agenda.

SNAP. The flash of the camera went off, and his beloved face was shared for all to see. Though, that night, he mis stepped. Perhaps it was the booze, perhaps it was the toke, perhaps he was simply too tired to notice that he'd left the screen on. By the time he'd hit the bed he was out like a rock, collapsed onto the bed and quietly drifting to sleep. There on the brightly lit screen, in the darkness of the unlit bedroom, it saw its opportunity.

From it's perch on the nightstand, the phone began to spark. Small sparks at first, a quick fizzle and quiet pop. Then more: louder, brighter, faster. It began to rumble against the wooden tabletop, sizzling and sparkling as it danced before the screen went black and dead. Slowly, electric crackling gave way to a bubbling sludge. The glass subtly started wave and bellow, as if it were liquified, not taking long to begin to spill over the edges of it's metal frame. The black sludge fell like oil onto the hardwood floors, collecting in a growing, bubbling pool.

From the primordial ooze burst forth a long, slender arm; it's taloned fingers scraping as it braced itself on the ground. A second arm clawed it's way out, and with an echoing slosh, it had begun to pull itself out of the sludge. It's long, emaciated torso and thick muscled legs had slithered out, landing on two massive, clawed feet. It towered above Asher's bed as he slumbered, bent over so as not to hit it's back onto the eight foot ceiling. It stood there, looking at the person it'd observed and studied for so long. The image presented in the world it'd pried himself out of was nothing of what lay before it. From what it had gathered from his more clandestine dealings, it had noted that he was far from the archetypes he'd collected on Asher's behalf.

He did not have the tattoos like those he'd pinned on Pinterest. He was not wearing the dark, heavy clothes like those he'd saved on Instagram. He wasn't well endowed like the video's he'd favorited on X-Tube. He didn't give off the aura of some rebellious casanova like the stories he'd reblogged on Tumblr. To a creature of symmetry and consistency, this was an error to be corrected; a dichotomy requiring integration.

It crouched down above his drooling maw, gently caressing his head to face it's clenching claw. The talons pressed ever so tenderly past his lips and over his tongue, becoming the very black ooze it had crawled out of once more. It flooded down his throat as it's second arm made it's way into his mouth, as if it were being sucked into Asher. He was drinking it's essence, it's aqueous body slurping down into his core. It's torso compressed as it wriggled down his gullet, ringing out splashing squelches as Asher gargled it down.

As quickly as it had entered, it's long legs slithered into his mouth, leaving only its large feet thrashing about in the air. Asher's stomach was bubbling and undulating under the sheer pressure from this invasion, growing to a large gut spilling over the waistband of his jeans. One loud slurp and a crisp pop, and the feet slipped into him, leaving his writhing body squirming on the bed. It expanded within him, incorporating itself into every fibre of his being. Pressing into his arms, his legs, pushing up his throat until it met the top of his palate. The pressure began to mount, black goo dribbling down the corners of his mouth, until a wet crack sounded in his cavernous head, and it flowed into his skull.

It took mere seconds for it to reach his brain, which it flowed freely into throughout the grooves and nooks. Entirely coated, imbued and inoculated with it, the deed was done. Asher opened his eyes, tiredly sitting up in his bed. He looked over at his phone, tapping it with his finger: 3 AM.

At first it seemed like a nightmare. He could recall moments here and there, though the majority of his 'dream' was a blur. From what he could remember, it was nothing visual he could recollect... but it he could recollect the sensations. Wet, slimy, invasive, and cold- much like he felt drunkenly sleeping in his cold sweat. He brought himself to his feet, dragging his feet on the slippery floorboards to his bathroom.

Flipping the switch, the harsh fluorescent light flickered to life above him, as he turned the nozzle on his shower. Immediately, his jaw nearly dropped to the floor. In the mirror, Asher finally caught a glimpse of himself: strange black bruises and undulating bumps were scattered across his body. That pristine, smooth skin was now covered in sprawling web-like lesions from head to toe. He had mere moments to process the horror reflected in front of him before an immediate pain in the gut had him doubled over the counter.

His stomach started to bubble and groan, and through the foggy haze of his blurred vision he saw his feet begin to ripple and swell. He could feel the slick sweaty soles slide across the tile floor as they expanded and grew. As they reached a substantial size 13, the swelling crept it's way up his calves and into his thighs. Asher wobbled on his feet, as if they were filled with gelatin beneath his slippery skin while his knees began to buckle. He collapsed into a crouch, the fumes of sweaty footmusk bellowing up to his nostrils as his legs cracked and stretched above. He'd never truly experienced scentplay as he'd so dearly fantasized about throughout countless hours of edging to such content, nor had this funk ever emanated from his own soles. In the moment, he felt something within him prod into his brain. As if poking the individual folds of his cerebrum with thousands of tiny needles, causing cascades of thoughts to enter his mind- all of which telling him to embrace. In his mind's eye, he could see himself burying his face into his sweaty sole, between his long toes, lapping up every droplet of sweat that was spewing from his pores. The thought was buried deep in his subconscious, pried out with expert measure, by something now within him.

Grasping for anything to steady himself on, Asher gripped the edge of the sink, pulling himself upright once again and now towering above the countertop. He hung his aching head low, watching with strange newfound fervor as his cock began to feel heavier and heavier. Drool started to drip from the bottom of his lip, landing square onto the lengthening shaft. Like a sandbag, his balls dropped and swelled while he got harder and harder. Another onslaught of pinpricks in his head brought forth another command: stroke.

Steam started build in the bathroom as the hot water continued to fall from the shower, intensifying the scent wafting from now both his feet and his pendulous sac. Each breath of hot, wet musk hit like ecstasy, and with bated breath, he softly grasped ahold of his python and began to pump. Each knead of his engorged member was accompanied by a change. His fingers grew long and sinewy, smooth and slick with precum. His arms remained thin but toned, growing longer and packed with lean muscle. His torso lengthened, topped off with a firm pair of pecs above his sinewy abdomen.

As pressure began to build in his balls, his mind began to feel the needles one last time, imbuing his brain with one last injection of a single trait: pride. He didn't need the approval of anyone else, he was aware of how fucking hot he was. He didn't need to heed the rules that society had straddled him with, he always forged his own path. He had no fears of recompense for his attitude, his ego, his spirit- the world would either stand with him, or he would step on top of them. Either way, what bliss. As the last of his inhibitions and fears had gathered in his groin, he cried out in elation as he erupted. Rope after rope of black sludge shot from his cannon, washing him with a sense of relief he'd never before known. He released his grip on his softening cock, hanging at an obscene eleven inches. He smirked at the sludge coating his mirror and pooling beneath his toes. A sight like that would have shocked and terrified the old Asher, though as he stood before his reflection, devoid of any tension, he relented to the entity within him. It had delivered onto him a new self, a new image, a new viewpoint. As tattoos both vulgar and delicate began to sprawl across his skin, he happily admired his new likeness.

The entity had bestowed a gift to him; throughout the horror, throughout the fear, he was becoming the true Asher that had only ever peeked out from the abyss of his psyche. He leered, bringing his thumb and middle finger together before snapping loudly. From his pores, the black sludge began to spill across his body until he was nearly covered from the neck down in what appeared to be a rubber suit before it began to become a bit more defined. A plain white tee shirt, classically fashioned with a black and white varsity jacket from his college. Skinny, weathered black jeans barely containing his sizeable commando bulge beneath it's thin fabric. On his feet, a pair of white socks and tightly tied high top Chucks, quelling the ripe stink of his soles within the sneaker for some sub to pry off and enjoy.

He grinned, posing and modeling for himself, before he finally turned off the steaming water. After the long, arduous, painful process, the entity had incorporated itself entirely within him- now completely indistinguishable from parasitic to symbiotic. It had rewritten him, completely remade him in the likeness of who he had shown the vast virtual world. There was no cognitive dissonance, there were no lies, there was no deception. All that remained was the Asher he had created in his fantasy, now ready to fuck the real world and all within it.

Thus, as our creature feature comes to an end, I leave you with a modicum of friendly advice. Don't leave your phone on as you slumber, for those that are watching, those that are waiting, those that have been learning are a mere sheet of glass away from finding their way inside. Take my counsel, or ignore it. But do so knowing the outcome, and whether or not you are prepared to weather such a storm.

#body transformation #male transformation #original #transformation #musk #punkification #punk transformation #body possession #body invasion #symbiote #male symbiote #virtual cryptid #virtual symbiote #college

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vampyrsm · 7 months

Text

‣‣ COR UNUM: CHAPTER NINE | KANGITEN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Next time, I won’t miss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Domain Expansion: Warrior’s Valour.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Domain Expansion: Malevolent Shrine.”

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

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

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

He really was the King of Curses.

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

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

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

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

…But the blow never comes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s ripped away from you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach drops and swoops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you. I don’t sleep–”

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

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

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

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

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

He killed your father.

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

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

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

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

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

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boomerang109 · 4 months

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i got one of my roommates a bone china tea cup for Christmas and i was putting away the dishes and i stood stock still in the kitchen staring at it as monkey brain went “throw it on the floor.” i didn’t. but can you imagine having to explain that to her. hey you had this item for less than a week. it was a gift from me. i smashed it to pieces in our kitchen. not by accident. just for funsies.

#FUCK I SAT DOWN #NO SITTING DOWN SITTING DOWN IS THE MOTIVATION KILLER #i am cooking and cleaning and maybe will pack later we’ll see #but I literally have food on the stove so I mustn’t sit down #life of a boomerang #boom blogs high

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sm-baby · 2 months

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People know you from all corners of the internet. I'm telling you- YOURE POPULAR *SHAKING YOU*

NOT POPULAR....but I've been around 😭

I've experienced the lows of content creation, I've experienced the highs... again, "popular" is a state of a blog, not a label (unless you're a celebrity I guess)

I will always go back to being itty bitty... And maybe I'll experience another boom! Haha! I've experienced it all and I've made peace with that!!

I don't think I'm that big yet huhu,,💕

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wardenparker · 9 months

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The King's Queen - chapter 1

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Prince Javier of the Balearic Islands has always known that one day he would have to follow in his father's footsteps to be the caring and steadfast king that his people deserve. What he did not know is that he would be stepping into the next phase of his life alongside a woman he has never met before - and amidst a rocky sea of unusual circumstances of every kind.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 8.1k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: arranged marriage, age gap, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, mentions of American politics, deceased parents* Illness, cancer. Summary: Javi is given some unexpected and unwelcome news from his father - meanwhile you receive the phone call that you have been waiting for for your entire life. Notes: As always, we do our best to infuse some Spanish into the dialogue when our stories call for it, but neither Keri nor I are fluent by any means. If you see an error let us know, but kindness counts!

The day began, as so many do, with a knock on the door. The palace had stirred to life hours ago, bustling staff all going about their business and, breakfast served and cleared away again, appointments kept, and meetings held. Business, as they say, booms this morning at Castel del Ocaso. The only person not yet risen, it seems, is the crowned prince.

And so his day begins with a knock. A gentle one. There is no need to jar the man into reality cruelly. His valet has a tray with his breakfast so that the kitchen could move on with their duties for the day, and an urgent message from the prince's father. Which is, if one was to ask the valet, the only reason for waking the prince at what is already a late hour. When he stirs at the opening of the windows, the valet clears his throat and sets the tray down on the broad bedside table. “There is a message this morning, your Highness.” The valet tells the bleary-eyed prince quietly. “His Majesty would like to see you in his chambers after you are dressed.”

Groaning, Javi looks over at the clock, well aware that the staff knew that he was to sleep in. It’s a rare night that he is up until the early morning hours and today had been blocked out of his schedule as a recovery day. “What is going on?”

“I only know that your father has asked for you.” Sometimes the king’s staff would impart more details or relay why his Majesty needed a particular thing or requested a particular presence, but this was not one of those times. Indicating the tray laden with croissants, marmalade, yoghurt, and fresh fruit alongside a strong cortado, the prince’s valet offers an apologetic smile. “Would you prefer to take breakfast before dressing?”

“No—” Javi sits up and groans, closing his eyes again at the throbbing in his skull. “Yes.”

The man says nothing at first, but hides a private smile as he hands the prince his coffee before going to his closet to choose clothing for the day. “Was your evening enjoyable, sire?” He asks, always preferring to have the temperature - so to speak - of the royal family each day. There had been shouting from the king’s chambers this morning.

“Too much so.” Javi is desperately grateful for the coffee and he takes a sip with a sigh before reaching for his bottle of aspirin from the bedside table. He had anticipated celebrating too hard and wanted to be prepared. “I am getting too old for all night parties.”

“Then we will simply begin celebrations earlier in the day, I expect.” The prince’s birthday is always a series of extravagances, and this year had been no exception.

“Yes.” Hissing, Javi gingerly crawls out of the bed. “I will shower first.”

“Very good, your Highness.” With a nod, the valet lays out clothes for the day and is gone again, leaving the prince to ready himself to see his father.

******

It takes Javi an hour to shower, dress and make his way to his father’s quarters, frowning slightly as he knocks on the door at the raised voices inside.

“¿Quién es esto?” The king’s deep voice grumbles from inside, obviously irritable. When the doors open a moment later to admit the new arrival, the king is fairly growling and ousts the others from the room. The last to leave is the doctor, sparing a last glance at the king before excusing him to say good morning to the prince as he retreats.

“Javier.” Gruff as he can be, the bedraggling king sighs and waves his son inside. “Come in.”

“You wished to see me?” There is a tenuous relationship between the king and his only son but Javi loves the gruffer man, even if he does not always understand him.

“I wish to speak with you.” He glances at the footman standing near the door. “Alone.” As soon as his son steps inside the door is shut securely behind him and the king smothers a deeper sigh. Standing is quite painful this morning, but since lying down and sitting are, too, he does not move yet. “I sent for the doctor last week. About the pain in my stomach.” Which no one, save extremely close family members, knows about. “He came back to me with answers this morning.”

“Sí?” Javi strides closer to his father, a worried frown creasing his brow. It is not good news if his father is asking to speak to him privately. It is rare that at least his cousin Lucas is not in attendance. Fear and dread coils in his own stomach and the breakfast he had threatens to make a reappearance.

There is no other way to do this, for a man of King Miguel’s temperament, than to do as the Americans say and rip the Band-Aid off. “Javier,” he motions for his son to come closer, not wanting to have to raise his voice and be heard by someone passing in the hall of the drafty medieval palace. “It is cancer.” Which was his worst fear. His fear as a ruler and his fear as the father of a son he is not certain is ready to take his place. “It came on quickly, and spread just as fast.” He tries to hide a wince as best he can, pressing a hand over his aching side as though the disease can hear him speak of it. Laying down may not be any less painful than standing, but it does relieve a bit of pressure, so he lies down again gingerly. “They have given me a few months at most.”

“No.” Javi shakes his head and gives a nervous chuckle. His father is king. He is invincible, always seeming so large to Javi, even now. “No, they are wrong. They have to be wrong.” He blinks, fighting the tears that would be ‘unbecoming’ a future ruler.

“It is always possible for doctors to be wrong.” He would be a fool and a liar to claim otherwise, but Miguel shakes his head. “However, the pain I feel is not a lie. And we must act as though they are correct, in case they are.” He sighs again, clearing his throat to hide pain from his face. Despite the characterization of their relationship as adversarial by the European press at points in Javier’s life, Miguel truly does want the best for his son. It is why he has done what he has done. Made the arrangements that he has made. “Thirty-five is a good age for a king, Javier. Old enough to have some sense but young enough to make the people feel the invigoration of youth.”

The age-old argument of not wanting to be king doesn’t even slip out of his mouth like it normally would. He can’t. Not when his father is lying in a bed looking much older than he had just the day before. Javi realizes how much pain the older man has been hiding from the world. “Sí.” Javi nods. “You have been a good king papá, the people will miss your guidance.”

Surprised at the lack of protest from his only child, the king pats the mattress beside him, hoping for this conversation to go smoothly. He knows Javier would not choose this life if he had the option - but there is no option. Second in line to the throne is his odious nephew Lucas and if that remained his only option, he would sooner find a way to pass the throne directly to Lucas’s new wife. Gabriela may not have royal blood but at least she has a decent mind behind that lovely face. “Steps will have to be taken, mijo. I will have to abdicate. You will have your coronation. And you will also need a queen.”

Javi frowns sadly, aware that the one woman he had wanted his for queen was now married to his cousin. “You took away my queen when you allowed Lucas to marry her.” He reminds his father bitterly. The woman who he loved had just married two years prior and Lucas was always taunting him that she will be pregnant soon.

“When I told you that you could not marry Gabriela, it was not to be cruel or obtuse.” If he had ever hoped that his son could forgive him over that refusal, apparently the hope was in vain. “A bride was selected for you long ago, mijo. So that you would not have to bear the burden of choice yourself.” He looks to his son with interest, hoping this will not begin a shouting match. “It was your mamá’s dying wish that I secure your future. And it is mine that you honour the promises we have made.”

Javi swears he chokes on air. Gasping and stuttering for a moment, eyes widening in shock. “An arranged marriage?” He huffs, swearing if it were anyone but his father it would be a joke. “No. No.” He shakes his head. “My future has been set from the day I drew breath but now my choice of a wife is taken from me?”

“Choosing a queen is more complex than choosing a wife.” There is the objection Miguel anticipated, even if he must admit to being disappointed by it. “The monarchy’s survival means more than simply whose figure you like the most in an evening gown.”

“My queen.” Javi stresses. “So it should be my choice.” He shakes his head. “I have done what you asked but I want to love the person I take as my queen.”

“How do you know you will not love the girl who has been chosen?” The pain of an arrangement is not exactly unknown to the king. After all, his own match was arranged and so was his father’s. Every crowned prince in their family has had their wife chosen from eligible candidates on their behalf - it was perhaps only that Javier’s match was chosen when he was a bit younger than most.

“How do you know I will?” Javi imagines a woman steeped in tradition and molded by pomp and ceremony. Someone who is rigid, only caring about the legacy she leaves behind. “Just because you came to love mamá doesn’t mean the woman you have chosen to be queen is right for me. Or were you only thinking of the crown?” He asks bitterly.

“I was thinking of finding you a partner.” He admits, knowing that his son’s disgust with the idea will not do well if it lasts. “Someone to help you. To stand beside you and to be your support as you find your footing as king.” The tax of sitting up is too much on an injured body and the king lays his head back down again to continue speaking. “Good breeding is done differently in America, but her family is wealthy and prominent, and the photographs I have seen make her out to be quite beautiful.” When he earns a scoff in return, Miguel sighs. “There is a contract in place, Javier. It is legally binding. And— and she has already been sent for. So there is no use fighting with me about it.”

“You arranged a marriage with an American?” The surprise and wistfulness of the statement catches him off guard, even as he shuffles closer to his ailing father. Miguel Gutierrez has never claimed to understand Javi’s affection with America or American Cinema, although they have shared an affinity for Nick Cage. He reaches out and takes his father’s hand, knowing he won’t fight his papá in his last days. “I hope you have chosen well.” He murmurs softly, wondering what this woman is like. His future queen.

“Her mother was friends with your mother at university.” His son’s affection for American pop culture was something he had attributed to his late wife’s own affection that she gained at university. He never understood it for the life of him, but it made her happy to share it with their young son, so he let it pass. “She will be here tomorrow, provided that she is able to travel quickly. The flight from New York is not too tiresome.”

“Tomorrow? So soon?” Javi shakes his head, reeling from the changes that are happening so quickly. “When— when do I have to marry her?” He asks quietly.

“Before the year is out.” The terms of the agreement with the Senator over the marriage of their children was exacting, to say the least. “Seven months is ample time to know her before you walk down the aisle, Javier. But it is more time than I have. So if you wish me to be present when you wed, it must be sooner.”

Javi closes his eyes, wanting to scream and cry and refuse his father. He cannot. He cannot let down the king, the man who has intimidated him and been his idol for his entire life. “We will be married in two months.” He decides, his voice flat. Certainly not happy about the circumstances, but he wants his father at his wedding, he will already miss his mother. “We will get to know each other later.”

Again it’s surprise that crosses the king’s expression first, but a lifetime of schooling his emotions away means it is gone in the blink of an eye. “Your mother and I tried to do what we thought would be best for you,” he tells his son, seeing the frown that forms on Javier’s lips. “This is the daughter of her most precious friend.” Knowing his penchant for the creative, and trying to provide him with a happy distraction, Miguel reaches and pats his son’s arm. “Would you like to choose the suite she will stay in until the wedding?”

The pout that he hadn’t quite ever grown out of nearly comes to the surface. Instead he just nods, not really caring where the American woman who would be his queen would stay but he knows his father is trying. “I will make sure she is afforded every comfort the palace can offer her.” He tells his father, noticing how tired the old man is. “You should rest.” He urges, covering his father’s surprisingly cold hand with his warmer one.

“Not a word to the staff, mijo.” The king warns, though he does lay back again on his pillows. “Only my private secretary knows who she truly is to you. The rest of the staff are preparing for a close friend.”

“They will figure it out when we have a royal wedding in two months.” Javi snorts, reaching out to cover his father up. “Rest.” He urges softly, his heart breaking but he can’t let the king see that. “I will make sure you are not embarrassed.”

“Javier.” It will be the last thing he says in the subject for now, but he does wish to say one last thing before his son leaves the room. “Try to keep an open mind. An arranged marriage is not the worst fate in the world.”

Instead of answering him, Javi just nods, standing quickly and swallowing. “Get some rest, papá.” He murmurs softly, “I have a guest to prepare for.”

******

There is something to be said for a good night’s sleep. Unfortunately, those things cannot be said for you at the moment. Curled up in the apartment you share with your brother, watching a late-night movie with a bottle of wine and a seemingly bottomless bowl of popcorn, you know you ought to be sleeping before your father’s re-election fundraiser tomorrow but you just can’t seem to quiet your mind. Today - yesterday in Mallorca - was his birthday. Another year gone by and another year closer to the impending details of the contract that has dictated your entire life.

You wonder how he celebrated. What sort of party he had, if any. If birthday cake is the same in the Balearic Islands as it is here. The internet doesn’t really have answers to these questions and you never had the courage to ask your mother for details of her lost friend’s life. You should have. But you didn’t.

The things you know about Prince Javier are finite, and you have studied them for decades. Which should be proven by the fact that you’re up late tonight watching National Treasure for the umpteenth time. When your cell phone rings halfway through the film, you mute the television and pick it up immediately. No one calls in the middle of the night unless it’s an emergency.

Private. Mallorca reads the caller ID. “Oh shit…” You murmur to yourself before sitting up straight on the couch and sliding your thumb across the screen to accept the call.

“Hello?”

Your name is spoken in a clear, Spanish accent, “Please hold for the King of the Balearic Islands, His Majesty, King Miguel.” The private secretary of the king announces him before muting the phone so she can pass it to the king.

“Uh—” Dumbstruck, you nearly spill your wine trying to set it down on the coffee table as though it were a video call or the king himself were right in front of you. He has only called you twice before - when you turned eighteen and then when you graduated college - and the last was several years ago. It sort of feels like suffocating, honestly, waiting for him to pick up the line, but you manage to breathe evenly until you hear a voice on the other end again.

“Hello?” Miguel says your name and waits for you to acknowledge him.

“Good morning, your Majesty.” Glancing at the clock, you quickly calculate it to be half past seven in Mallorca. “To what do I owe the honor of this call?”

Miguel takes a moment, composing himself after another brief flare of pain. “I hope you are doing well.” He offers. “The time has come for you to join the royal family in Mallorca. How soon can you be here if we send the jet?”

The time has come. The words seem to drown you, swallowing you up in duty and anticipation. “I will need a day to pack my things,” you tell him as politely as you can, hoping that you don’t sound as scared as you feel. The anticipation of an abrupt call like this one is why nothing in your life truly belongs to you - your apartment, your car, and all of your bills are under your father’s name so he can sell everything after you are called away to fulfill your duty. You’ll have to quit your job with no notice, but that’s a separate issue. “But one day should be sufficient.” Just one day to pack up your whole life.

“I shall have the jet sent first thing in the morning. It will be a direct flight so it should not be too long.” Miguel keeps his voice as steady as he can manage it. “My son will be informed of your impending arrival as soon as we disconnect.”

“As your Majesty sees fit.” It’s an odd thing, to speak to the man who holds an iron fist on your future, but you’ve grown up your entire life knowing that one day this would happen. To be honest you’re surprised it has taken so long.

“We will speak again soon.” Miguel promises, disconnecting the phone and then shouting for the doctor to come back into the room. The pain is worse and he needs him to manage it. There is another; more difficult conversation ahead with his son.

You exhale deeply, staring at your phone as the disconnecting line beeps and goes blank, bringing back your home screen with the background photo of the last beach that you went to with friends from college. Everyone is spread out over the blankets with picnic baskets and umbrellas while they laugh in the summer sun. It had been an amazing time – and now as you look at it you wonder if you'll ever be able to have days like that again. If your freedom, such as it ever was, has just been plucked away with one phone call. Still, despite the time, you have a call of your own to make. Opening your contacts, you select the entry for your father and stepmother's landline and hope that the ringing doesn't wake up your little sister. The preteen is a nightmare if she doesn't get enough sleep, and you don't blame her one bit.

The call is picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” The austere voice of your father comes down the line. “What is going on?” He knows you don’t call at late hours unless it is an emergency. “What do you need?”

"I need to come by the house tomorrow and pick up my trunks." Although you can feel your voice waver, you hope your father is too disoriented from being woken up to hear it. He raised you to be strong and to take on responsibility headfirst. "And I can't come to the fundraiser tomorrow." Deep breath, you remind yourself. "I've finally been summoned."

Silence fills the air between you for a good thirty seconds before the senator answers. “That is very good. It is past time.” The bedsheets rustle and he pulls the phone away from his ear to murmur to his wife. “We will draft a press release as soon as you are in Mallorca.”

"I only have one day to pack." Which means, you know yourself well enough to realize, that you'll be starting immediately. There's no way you'll be able to sleep. "So I was thinking I could drive out to Scarsdale to have breakfast with you and come home with the trunks to make sure I have enough time. Is that okay?"

Sighing, your father mentally files through his schedule. “That will be fine, I have a meeting at 9:30 though.”

"Okay. I'll be punctual." It never would have crossed your mind to be anything else. Not with the way your family operates. Scheduling is everything when your father is a senator. "I'm sorry to wake you, but I thought it was important for you to know right away."

“I appreciate the call.” Your father sighs softly and there’s another small pause. “Go on and start working on your packing list, I know you want to get organized.”

"There's a lot to do." That may be an understatement, but you're nodding as though he were standing in front of you. "I'll see you in a few hours for breakfast."

“See you then sweetheart.” The phone disconnects and your father sighs again before he climbs out of the bed. He will need to draft a press release and start working on the PR for his campaign. This announcement couldn’t come at a better time for him, and he intends to use it to his advantage. Perhaps it might even put him in the running for President.

******

It took every second of the time that you had to get things ready to leave even with your brother’s help, but in the end you drove to the private airstrip at JFK airport with an SUV full of your things and left behind an apartment that barely had a single trace of you left in it. What little you have left behind would be kept by your brother, sold, or saved for your half-sister depending on what you father saw fit.

The crew of the jet was very kind in loading your things on board and seemed to expect you to have much more, but you had kept things contained for exactly this purpose. At any point in your life you would be expected to pick up and move your entire existence across an ocean, so you had kept things contained.

The eight-hour flight would put you in Palma, Mallorca in time for dinner and you know that between not sleeping for the last two days and the jet lag, you'll desperately need to sleep on the jet. Hopefully you won't be too anxious to sleep. That would just make things that much worse.

******

“I am meeting her at the airport.” Javi isn’t shouting, but his voice has pitched up to match the same inflection as his father. Met with resistance when he announced that he would take the boat over to the private air strip to meet the woman who is to become his bride without the fan fair or pomp and circumstance that normally surrounds these affairs. “You wanted to keep people from knowing, it will be suspicious if I am in my formal royal uniform.”

"Why can you not let someone from staff fetch her and meet her properly here?" Miguel is exasperated beyond measure, having had both of his suggestions met with rejection from his son. Javier refuses to be in uniform to meet his intended and he refuses to receive the girl in the throne room. He insists on dressing down in a veritable disguise and going to the airport quietly himself. "I understand that you wish to meet her quickly and I commend that, but your position matters, Javier."

“Of course my position matters.” Javi huffs. “That is all that matters. But I am meeting her casually. I want to know what she thinks of this, of me, without any pretense or need for propriety.” He’s worried that you might be dreading this, resenting him once he had learned of the details of this arrangement. He would like to know if he is to be sentenced to a life of passive aggressive comments and resentment.

The king purses his lips, seeing from the clock on his bedside that time is running short to make this decision. "Fine." He concedes shortly. "But take enough staff with you to have her things brought to the palace separately. If you wish to have a conversation with her then you can bring her back to the palace and show her her rooms properly dressed. If not in uniform, then at least not looking like you've just come out of the pool." Clearly indicating he means that he disapproves of what his son is currently wearing, Miguel nods and sits up a little more in his bed. "Something that would be appropriate to wear at the dinner table, since you will be escorting her directly after showing her to her new home."

Javi sighs and nods. “I will even wear a sports jacket, your majesty.” He huffs sarcastically, annoyed that even meeting you is turning into an argument. He doesn’t want to be so stiff and formal all the time. Royals need to relax as well.

"Good." Glancing at the clock again, the king waves him off. "Go and change, then. You should be on your way."

Rolling his eyes again, Javi turns around and stalks out of his father’s bedchamber. Annoyed with himself and the king. Why must their relationship be so strained? Why is he so different from the man who had sired him? He wonders what this woman will think of him, already deciding he’s going to dress causally chic for the meeting.

******

The chance to wash and change and touch up your makeup on the flight after waking up from a six-hour nap was something you hadn’t expected and are grateful for. The simple but well-tailored white sundress you had chosen to make your first impression on the prince could be put on just thirty minutes before landing instead of being thrown on in the airport bathroom so that it wouldn’t wrinkle after hours on the plane. Everyone on board was so kind and so formal that you have to wonder if any of them knew who you were or if that was simply how they were trained. Either way, when you exit the jet’s cabin to come down the stairs with your travel bag in hand, there is just one person waiting for you. In a powder blue sport coat and linen shirt with perfectly tousled hair, he looks like he ought to be a model and not - you assume - palace staff. Sunglasses shield his eyes but he stands straight and watches you expectantly, suddenly making you question if you even know how to walk down stairs at all.

You are…beautiful. He expected his parents to have chosen someone with all the right characteristics and the right schooling, but the sheer force of your beauty nearly takes his breath away. His father will approve of your outfit, the white dress both prim and proper enough to be considered appropriate and yet Javi likes that you are showing some skin. The length of your arms on display and the legs both making him smile at the idea that maybe you are not as stuffy as he might have feared. “Welcome to las Islas Baleares.” He offers as you stride close. The staff rush to get your luggage and he gestures towards the boat swaying gracefully at the dock. “We have a short boat ride to the palace.”

“Muchas gracias.” As hard as you’re trying not to smile, this man that has been sent to receive you is incredibly handsome. His hair and stature remind you of the very few pictures you’ve seen of the prince, and you wonder if perhaps this man is a cousin. Some lower-level royal sent to be a one-man welcoming committee. “Everyone has been so very kind. I’m grateful to have such a personal welcome.”

He cannot tell if you are being sarcastic or not, figuring that you have recognized him. “Sí.” He simply nods his head and gestures for you to precede him. He will need to help you into the boat and then cast off the lines, preferring to operate the speeder himself.

The man’s silence is surprising but you try not to read into it too much as he walks you to a nearby ramp that leads down to a small boat dock with an elegant speeder moored at the tip. The crystal-clear ocean spreads out around you like its own kind of welcoming and you smile. “The evenings are very beautiful here.” Weather. Weather is safe small talk. “Are the days just as gorgeous?”

“Better.” Javi promises, holding out his hand when you stop next to the boat so he can assist you inside. “Not too hot, not too cold, just right.” He smirks slightly, remembering the childhood story about porridge.

“I have to admit, I won’t miss winter.” Putting your hand in his to accept help into the boat gives you a nearly electric shock that you beg your body to ignore. There is no room to be attracted to anyone but Prince Javier. It’s impossible, you remind yourself harshly.

Javi ignores how warm and soft your hands are, quickly bending down to untie the boat before jumping in beside you. Occupying himself with starting the engines and pulling away from the dock, he knows the staff will ferry your luggage over on the other tender. For now, he wants the race the boat over the waters to calm down his own rattled nerves.

His continued silence signals that the weather isn’t worth talking about, and you fall into an uneasy quiet as the boat speeds out into open water. You have about three million questions but know that you can’t ask them of just anyone. It wouldn’t be proper or ladylike to ramble on, and from the moment you stepped onto that jet at JFK you have done your utmost to be perfectly ladylike. Without knowing who knows what or what is truly expected of you beyond marrying a total stranger to produce royal heirs, you feel like the water might be in your lungs instead of under the boat. Your palms are sweaty and you twist the decorative ring on your finger nervously. At least it’s beautiful here - it would have been cruel if you had to spend the rest of your life someplace frozen when you notoriously dislike snow.

He looks back at you a few times, gauging if you like the water. Finding you looking pensive so he doesn’t speak. Not wanting to make you even more nervous if you aren’t impressed with his boating skills. Or him. Instead he throttles down as the palace comes into view, aware that everyone, even him, likes to take in the majestic site of the Balearic Islands seat of power.

When you first take in the sight of the palace standing high on the cliffside, you gasp audibly before you can stop yourself or muffle the sound. It’s truly remarkable - this medieval edifice that has survived through hundreds of years and countless occupants, and you can’t help but stare. No photograph could ever do it justice, and you’ve seen every single photograph. That is where you live now. That’s home. Unless you fuck up spectacularly and he sends you away in disgrace. Oh god. Don’t fuck up like that. “It’s…amazing,” you murmur, realizing that your escort has turned to see your reaction.

“Castel de Ocaso. The royal palace of Mallorca.” Javi announces. “Home of King Miguel Gutierrez and the crowned Prince Javier. Soon to be king along with you, his queen.” He offers before he throttles up slightly to guide the boat into the Royal docks.

“Soon to be?” You startle at that news, feeling your eyes go wide behind your sunglasses. The king had certainly failed to mention that when he called. “I—I did not think…You know who I am?”

Javi laughs for a moment but then he stops, realizing that you don’t know who he is. “Sí.” He nods, turning back around to ease the boat alongside the stone dock. “I know who you are.”

“Forgive me, I just…” It’s like your mouth has run dry and your head is spinning, except you know it’s only nerves. “I was under the impression it was not common knowledge. That only the king and Prince Javier knew.”

He hums, cutting the engine and letting the boat float up next to the dock expertly. Moving to toss the lines to the staff waiting on the pier to tie off. “Come.” He offers, stepping up off the boat and holding his hand down to you. “The king is waiting.”

“May I ask you about him?” Those innumerable questions are all bubbling to the surface as he helps you out of the boat, and you now feel even more sure that his must be a trusted family member that was sent to fetch you. “The prince, I mean?”

“What do you wish to know?” He asks, raising a brow in interest. Curious to know what questions burn in your mind about him.

“Is he a kind man?” You’ve seen official photos and been told what he likes – practically every birthday gift that you’ve ever received from King Miguel was something that Javier liked – but the question of his temperament is completely unknown to you.

“I would say so.” He offers, wanting you to open up more. “Shall we go up to the palace?”

“Thank you.” You nod politely and try to ignore the tingling in your skin at the small touch of hands. Once you’re up the stone steps built in to the cliffside, you look up at the palace again and remind yourself to smile. “Is the prince…” The curiosity is overwhelming. “Is he…shy? Outgoing? Is he a very social man?”

“Ask the questions you really want to ask.” Javi urges you, knowing that there are only a few more moments before propriety will be deemed necessary.

“It’s just…” This man is offering you just enough of a lingering lifeline that your curiosity just can’t say no to it. “It’s just that I’ve never seen photographs of him with friends o-or girlfriends.” You swallow. Hard. “Or boyfriends. And I just…I wondered if…if he…prefers women?” That might be one of the things that terrifies you most. The idea that this marriage was arranged to force him to be with a woman when he’s actually gay.

Javi chuckles. “Women.” He promises. “There is much emphasis on not causing a scandal for the crown.”

“I understand that entirely.” There was plenty of emphasis on that for you growing up as well. “Forgive me if that’s too personal. I just would never want to make him uncomfortable.” An awkward laugh passes your lips and you shrug slightly. “Hopefully just the fact of me doesn’t make him uncomfortable.”

“You care about the Prince’s comfort?” That surprises him, and it’s rather sweet. It is rare that someone cares about someone they’ve never met before, not even someone who was going to marry. You are guaranteed a crown, why would you care about the man placing it on your head?

"Of course." The idea that you wouldn't is fairly shocking to you, if you're honest. "Everyone deserves to be happy, don't they? Especially with the people closest to them. I mean...this arrangement...it's not something either of us chose. What good would it do for us to hate each other?"

“And you?” Javi turns to face you. “You would choose another without a crown? A woman?” The idea that you might be repulsed by men is one that flashes in his mind and it would be a miserably cold marriage if that were the case.

"No." The idea of having a choice is almost incomprehensible if you're honest, but you can only shake your head now. It's not as though you weren't allowed to date, it was just that no one you ever went out with was ever going to last. And if you had been found out to have slept with any of them, your father probably would have disowned you. "I mean I'm interested in men and from all the photos I've seen of the prince he's very attractive, I just...this arrangement was made on our behalf. And I would hate to think that he is dreading my arrival when I'm actually excited to finally meet him." Excited and terrified, but the terror will be kept private. This man does not need to know about your anxiety or your fear.

“Excited?” He tilts his head curiously and smirks. “Why are you excited? You are not worried? I would be.”

"Excitement and worry are two sides of the same coin." That's honest, at least, and very true. You're definitely both. "It's hard to be excited to meet the person you're supposed to spend your life with without also being at least a little worried about disappointing them. That...I guess that's why I'm so curious about him."

“No other questions?” He asks playfully. “Nothing at all?”

"I wouldn't want to be inappropriate." For all you know, you've already overstepped and offended this man or even the prince by accident by asking anything at all.

Javi snorts and shakes his head. “Of course.” He murmurs, slightly disappointed by the way you seemingly cling to propriety.

"It's just...there are personal things that I would prefer to ask him in privacy." Probably your imagination, is what it is, but when he pouts slightly you have the almost unhinged urge to hug him. "I'm so sorry. I never even asked your name and here I am asking questions about someone else entirely."

Javi had turned away, prepared to climb the stairs carved into the cliff to enter the palace but you give him the opening that he wants. Turning around, he pulls off his sunglasses and gives you a small smile. “I am Javi.”

"Oh shit." The words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them and your eyes widen even more, with your entire body burning in embarrassment. Dropping down into possibly the least elegant curtsy of all time, you thankfully manage not to fall over but secretly wish you'd just topple right back over the edge of the cliff behind you. "I—I mean...I'm sorry, your Highness. I...apparently didn't recognize you." And went and made an idiot out of yourself in the process. Fucking hell...

“Obviously.” He smothers the grin and returns your curtsy with a formal bow and looks back up at you. “Now, what questions may I answer for you? Anything at all, since we are to be married.”

"How long have you known about me?" It slips out of you before you can think of anything more articulate or more interesting to ask not that you're standing face to face with him. At least you have the presence of mind to take off your own sunglasses and tuck them away in your bag.

“Two days.” Javi frowns, shaking his head slightly. “My father decided that I would learn of you the day he sent for you so I apologize that I do not know more than you are American and your name.”

"Two days?" It makes your heart sink in a way that you hadn't expected, and you can feel your shoulders roll in on themselves slightly before you push them back again. Ladies don't slouch says your father's voice in your head. "I've known about you almost my entire life."

“And you are…disappointed?” He asks softly. His entire life he had been compared to his father and been found wanting, why would the woman he was supposed to marry think any better of him?

"What? No!" When you look up again he's frowning so deeply that you have that overwhelming urge again to just wrap your arms around him and squeeze. Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately for propriety - you're frozen on the spot. "I just can't believe that your father didn't tell you. Our parents made the arrangement when I was so little that I've just...always known this would happen one day."

“My father- it’s complicated.” He sighs softly, slightly relieved that you aren’t disappointed. “I am sorry, I meant to just meet you casually, not mislead you as to who I was. It was very nice to realize you didn’t recognize me.”

"I thought you might have been your own cousin or something," you admit sheepishly, instantly wishing you hadn't said anything at all. "You have...very nice hair. I thought it might be a family trait."

“You like my hair?” Javi’s eyes widen slightly and he almost reaches up. “I like that you are wearing a dress that is not stuffy.” He admits.

"It's one of my favourites." That's why you chose it, really. To really look and feel like yourself the first time you met him. "You like it? I—I have more like it."

He nods. “It’s very nice. Perfect for an evening in Mallorca.”

"Is there anything you want to know about me?" Since he hasn't known about you for long, that means that anything about you that might have been communicated between your fathers is probably unknown to him.

“Endless questions.” Javi admits with a grin. “But the king is waiting for your arrival.” He bites his lip and decides to be honest. “My father is sick. So he will only meet with you for a few minutes.”

"I'm so sorry to hear that." The unconscious step you take toward him is like the pull of a magnet. "That's why you said soon to be king when we met, isn't it?"

“We – my father is stepping down.” Javi confesses. “And we will be married in two months’ time. I want— he needs—” Javi swallows, unable to speak the words that his father needed it to be quick. “He has few months left.”

"I see." Vivid flashes of your own mother's funeral burst in your mind but you swallow and reach out to touch his arm gently. "If two months is too long for him, just name the day." This is a commitment that you've been preparing yourself for, for your whole life. If it happens fast, then it happens fast.

“We will discuss it with him.” Javi is grateful that you understand and he covers your hand with his for a brief moment.

This time when his touch makes your skin prick, you accept it wholeheartedly. It's a giddiness in the pit of your stomach that feels a bit shallow but at the same time you can't help but be grateful for. He's incredibly attractive in person, now that you see his whole face, and you fluster a little as the two of you turn to continue walking to the palace together. "So...do you prefer to be called Javi?" You ask after a moment, remembering that he hadn't used his full name when he revealed himself to you.

“I do, Javier is too formal.” He makes a face before he frowns. “My father feels as if I am too relaxed for the throne, that I need to be more rigid, but I do not think it must be so serious all the time.”

"It's good to have someone that you can let down your guard with." That frown makes him look a bit like a sweet, discontented puppy, but at the same time you can't help hoping that you don't see it too often. "I hope that...in time...you might feel that you can be yourself with me."

“You have known about me your entire life?” He asks curiously. “And you agreed to marry a stranger?” There’s no judgement, but he finds it odd that someone so beautiful would agree to this.

"I think we must be a few years apart in age." It seems odd to tell him that you know his exact birthday and secretly always have a little cupcake that day in his honor. "You were a preteen when our parents made the contract. I was in pre-school." The slight shrug you offer says that it doesn't bother you anymore. It is simply a fact. "So I grew up knowing that one day - any day - I might get a phone call to come here and marry you."

“You have never…wanted more?” He asks, wishing that you weren’t so close to the doors. “For yourself?”

"More?" More than being royalty? That would make you about the most demanding and highest reaching person in the world, you think. Certainly it would be a rather extreme expectation. "More than what? I mean, I liked my job and all, but I tend to think I could do a lot more good here than just being an organizer for a non-profit back in New York." Or did he mean more than him? That actually makes you frown instead. "If you mean...personally? All I want is someone who loves me. And if that can't be you...well, you'll be king soon. You can make whatever decision you want."

“There— there is no divorce for the royal family.” Javi reveals, relieved, that it’s not the crown that you wished for, but love. “Once we are married, that’s it.” He might not agree with arranged marriages but he respected the crown and tradition enough that he would not make a mockery of it.

This particular fact has never been related to you so cleanly, but always sort of hinted at. And now that you’re hearing it directly from him, it seems almost foreboding. Like he is trying to see if you can be warned off. “The only expectation I have had for my life is to come here to marry you,” you tell him, fingers twisting around each other nervously. “I am prepared to do it. But if you decide that you don’t like me for some reason…” The possibility is surprisingly devastating to you, now that you’ve met him and feel strings of actual attraction for the man. He seems genuinely sweet. And is incredibly handsome. “If you decide you do not like me, then it is up to you what happens afterward. But I hope that that is not something we will have to think about.”

Javi shakes his head, no longer as resistant to the idea now that he had seen you in person. “My father has assured me that the contract is binding and it would be dishonorable for me to back out of this.” He gives you a nervous smile. “I just— I hope that I do not disappoint you. Our monarchy isn’t like England’s. We are the government and our people are very much our interest. We are small on the world stage.”

“That sounds vastly preferable, if I’m honest.” You’ve lingered outside one of the many palace doors for a few minutes now, and though you’re still nervous it’s slightly different than when you first arrived. “I hope that we can at least be friends? I would hate to be a disappointment to you, either. And I know that you did not ask for this.”

“We will have more time to get to know one another very well.” Javi acknowledges, opening the door for you to enter the palace. “Welcome home, Princess.”

______

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