18+ DARK CONTENT (AND REGULAR NSFW) BLOG, MINORS DNI (THIS BLOGS CONTAINS MANY TRIGGERING SUBJECTS, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO: INCEST, NONCON, POKÉPHILIA, AND EROGURO)
Want to treat yourself and/or me?
Ko-fi
IMPORTANT NOTES:
mostly an x reader blog, please specify if you want a specific type of reader (female, male, neutral) or i’ll keep it as neutral as possible.
feel free to send in requests! i'm a bit picky with them though because i don't have a lot of free time. i like to hear your own thoughts on the idea so please feel free to send longer asks! it's what i prefer.
no real rules. i'm decently interested in a lot of kinks. won't write anything that's not allowed on tumblr. here’s a post i made on the subject, if you want a bit more certainty, though!
every kink / trigger i can think of will be tagged as cw.(subject). for example, ‘cw.incest’. i tag it in this specific way since tumblr’s weird with a lot of tags, and these work. if you want anything tagged, let me know.
even if it isn't on the list below, if i've written about it you can send asks about it
Fandoms under the cut!
Ace Attorney (First 3 games)
All Saints Street
Arcane
Call of Duty
Date Everything!
Dispatch
DC movies (+ Peacemaker)
Fate/stay night + Fate/zero
Gravity Falls
Hades 1/2
Hazbin Hotel
Honkai: Star Rail
Homicipher
MCU
Obey Me
Pokémon (Literally everything)
Re:Zero
Twisted Wonderland
^ Original works also always welcome! Byt his I mean asking for a certain character archetype, trait, type of monster, etc.
i love your work and i hope you’re doing well, you are greatly missed ❤️❤️
Thank you so much :')!! I promise you and everyone else that I'm completely fine! Just a little burnt out on writing requests, and a lot has changed in my life since I initially started this blog. I was never on social media super duper lots and it's only gotten less. Still writing, just about other stuff. Thanks for checking in on me and still following <3 I'm out there, somewhere, haha
I used to be a huge fan of your DOL blog back in the day and just found this blog. I thought you stopped writing. Absolute goldmine, it feels like christmas. Your brain is so big. You are basically Shakespeare all your old kylar writings still linger in my head years later🤞 you fed the pathetic girlcreep girlfail fans well. I still think about caleb too your ocs were awesome
This made me so so SO happy to receive!! It's crazy to me that people still remember my previous blog after all these years and still think about it or enjoy it :')! I'm still writing, yes, but I'll admit that I likely won't be posting on this blog that much... I've been writing and am planning on posting a longer fic again on an alt AO3, just because it's a pretty niche kink thing I'm pretty embarrassed about HAHA But I'm still here!! Still writing!! Just kind of burnt out on writing for requests, to be honest. But I'll never delete this blog,, I don't really talk about my personal life on here ever but this blog has LITERALLY changed the entire course of my life. So I hope you enjoy some more things that I've written on here!
Haven't touched a confession/ask blog in years, but—I was never into Pokemon as a whole (no cards, games, anime, etc.) until my boyfriend finally got me into the franchise just over 2 years ago. I was hesitant at first, but now I have like... over 20 Pokemon that I'm down bad for. I've BARELY been public about it, except with select friend groups who share the same mindsets.
It wasn't until recently that I finally dared to look at any sort of Pokephilla tag here on Tumblr that I realized what I'd been missing.
At that, would you consider writing a N$FW piece with a female trainer and her male Greninja? The silly frog man has been one of my new interests as of late, especially with his new mega evolution. Doesn't have to be anything too extreme, it can be made as vanilla as you'd like.
Thank you in advance if you do! 😊❤️
Love hearing about people that recently got more into this kind of stuff :D!! Glad you've enjoyed my writing and I hope you like this too ^^!!
notes: pokephilia, dubcon, public
this instantly made me think about perverted!greninja using its water manipulation powers to mess with you in public.
maybe it’s just a humid day, or it’s been raining, or perhaps he just spritzes some water into the air for this exact purpose! but he’ll manipulate the water soaking through your shirt and pants to give you some stimulation without anyone else being aware of it.
walking down the street with your partner pokémon greninja by your sidr when you feel something cold and wet enveloping your nipples, rolling around until they’re pebbles against the inside of your bra.
you have no idea what’s going on until the same thing starts happening to your clit. as soon as it happens, you stumble over your next step. your eyes dart to greninja.
it’s clear to you at once that he’s the culprit. for one, his eyes are fixated on you before you even look. saliva’s dripping from the tongue wrapped around his neck. otherwise, his composure is as infallible as ever. his cock is still completely hiding in its sheath.
“greninja,” you hiss out. “not in public.”
the acknowledgment that his tricks are working only seems to egg him on more. you don’t know what has gotten into him but by the time you’ve collapsed onto the nearest bench, your teeth are grit tightly together and your legs shake as your clit gets massaged underneath your clothes.
the pokémon hops onto the bench besides you. his slightly slimy hand rests on your thigh, leaning over in fake concern. your hips jerk forward and you gasp out a curse as your pussy spasms around nothing.
“good job,” you grumble as soon as the aftershocks are out of your system. “you’re probably proud of yourself for that. don’t think you’re getting a reward.”
the tip of his tongue curls around your hand, tracing your wrist.
yandere alphabet very inspired by @dear-yandere’s alphabet!
Attention (How needy are they? Are they the type to constantly need to be around you, or can they leave you for a while to go stir-crazy in your own isolation?):
Broken: (What would their response be if you ‘broke’? Would they be delighted that you offered no further resistance to their advances?)
Creep: (In what way would they try to worm their way into your life? Do they try and befriend or date you first, or perhaps they already know you when their feelings surge to this intensity? Or do you simply awaken one day to be kidnapped by a stranger?)
Death (How would they respond to your passing, especially the knowledge that they (more than likely) had something to do with it?):
Escape (Is escape even possible? If so, how far do they go in order to bring you back? Is there any chance for you to stay out of their grasp?):
Fantasy (What would their dream life look like with you? Is there a single fantasy that they are striving towards, or are they making things up as they go along?)
Gilded (In what way would they treat you during a possible captivity? Do you get everything that you desire, or is your cage a little less gilded?)
Harm (How would they respond if someone, other than themselves, caused harm to you?):
Love (What’s the primary way that they show their affection towards you? Are they sweet and loving towards you, is it violently protecting you from others, or something entirely different?)
Moment (At what time did they realise that they’d fallen for you? Was it a single moment that made it all fall into place, or is it more of a slow burn?)
Never (Is there some kind of limit they have for themselves? In other words, is there something they’d never, ever do to you?)z
Obedience (What are their rewards for good behaviour? Or perhaps they even prefer it when you put up a bit of a fight?):
Punishment (Would the yandere punish you for misbehaviour, or can they not imagine laying a hand on you or even ignoring you? If yes, what kind of punishments do they dish out?):
Quell (Is there something you can do that’ll immediately help to settle them down? A certain action or declaration?):
Run (With the way they act towards you, is there anything that might convince you to stay with them rather than run for the hills?):
Sharing (Are there other people the yandere would be willing to share you with? Perhaps someone who has the same kind of obsession, or another victim?)
Token (Is there anything they would do to physically lay claim to you? Perhaps making you wear certain clothes or accessories, or something more… Permanent?)
Unity (What’s their attitude towards sex? Do they force themselves on you the first chance they get, or do they wait until you’re more willing? What are they like during sex?)
Variety (Is there a trait that’s relatively unique to this yandere?)
Warring (Does the yandere struggle against the way they feel? Do they perhaps have guilt over their obsession, but can they simply not help themselves?):
Xylitol (Would you be able to fool them with any kind of fake obedience or sweetness, or would they see right through you? Or, perhaps, they would be able to tell and still simply accept it?)
Yearning (Before they go out of their way to capture you or show their feelings for you, are you able to tell that there is something very wrong? Or do they manage to hide their desire pretty well? Is there a particular moment you catch on?)
Zeal (Are they more of a type to worship you, or to have you worship them? What are they willing to do for you to prove their love?)
tattoo artist and piercer ghoap x reader au that i have been chatting about extensively with my girlfriend <3 @blossomoranges
notes: age gap, needles (in the piercing process)
you've moved out, away from your parents and into student accommodation for a while now before you even start to think of making changes to your appearance. it'd taken a while for you to settle in. getting used to sharing the living room with strangers (awful), navigating classes (doable) and, for the first time, being solely responsible for your own food and cleanliness had been a lot to deal with.
at first, you'd had dreams of becoming 'an entirely different person'. straight out of a movie, moving to a student city and becoming Cool. that hadn't quite worked out. unfortunately, you'd taken all of your previous issues and personality traits with you when you moved out. but at least you can try out some new things, right?
you'd never gotten your ears pierced as a kid and you'd never been a fan of needles, but you want to, now. Claire's and Superdrug don't sound like prime locations to avoid an infection so you want to head somewhere else. the reason you go to Tatt's A Wrap is because 1. the name got a smile out of you, 2. it's pretty cheap, and 3. the reviews are pretty good.
from what you can gather from the reviews, two blokes run the shop and all the complaints are about the tattoo artist. (who seems to, if the reviews are anything to go by, make a habit out of tossing out customers he doesn't like.) the other guy, who you'll be booking an appointment with, seems a lot nicer. nice lad chattered my ear off until i forgot i was getting a piercing in the first place. only remembered when he started pulling out the needles.
you won't have to deal with the tattoo artist because you're only getting your ears pierced! so it sounds pretty solid to you. when the time for your appointment rolls around, you enter into a quiet downstairs area with an empty receptionist's desk. as you wait, you start to fret about whether you're even in the right place at all. as if there wasn't a sign above the door. there's muffled music playing in the background.
the door on the side of the room opens into a stairway and who you assume to be your piercer—johnny, the website had said—opens the door. the shaved sides of his head perfectly show the copious amounts of jewellery decorating the helix and earlobes on both his ears. he smiles at you in a way that has the own corners of your mouth quirking up without even thinking about it. your name is on his lips in a questioning tone.
"come along, hen. studio's upstairs. sorry 'bout the cold welcome, s'not very inviting, is it? we're still looking for someone behind the desk."
their interior design choice is… interesting. it honestly looks like the upstairs has been split in half with the way that the rooms have been furnished. one side's sparsely decorated and monochromatic. it's practically only black, silver and white, nothing much more than the chair for people to sit in and a desk a man is currently hunched over, presumably sketching.
you can't make out much of his face, though you can only assume this is is mr. 'bad reviews'. he doesn't have a name listed on his website. the man only lifts his head a little to wordlessly look at you and you catch a glimpse of a skull-patterned mask covering the lower half of his face. (that seems to be a theme. when you'd glanced at his portfolio, what had greeted you first had been drawings of death and demons.)
"dinnae worry about simon, he's just like that." you give another glance out of the corner to your eye to simon but he doesn't respond at all. at least nothing you can hear over the music.
johnny's side of the room, where you're quickly taking place in the chair, is more wooden. he's got a brown leather seat and band memorabilia hanging up on the walls. you're trying to commit them to mind in an effort to distract from the wriggling in your stomach. children get this done. you'll be fine.
as he's getting his tools ready, he talks a bit about himself but mostly asks questions about you. you tell him about what you're studying and where you're going to school. he hums and responds in a way that makes you think he's genuinely interested— he's just a nice guy.
"you've never got anythin' done before?" johnny asks as he pulls your ear back, his gloved hand swabbing your earlobe with a disinfectant. you thought that was obvious and maybe it is because he continues. "that's okay. you nervous?"
"a little," you admit. you press your thighs a little closer together. looking up at him now as he's preparing the needle, you can see a circular scar dug into one side of his head. barely covered by the thin, shaved hairs. it looks a little raised. pink, even.
"earlobes barely hurt, promise. s'just a wee pinch and then it'll get all warm. i'll explain how to clean it then, aye?" you nod obediently and swallow to wet your dry throat. your thumb rubs over the knuckles of your other hand.
"i'll count down from three. 3, 2…" just as you're about to brace yourself fully, there's a short stab of pain in your ear. you hiss in a breath and your shoulders jerk upwards to your ears. a hand on them soothes them back down. "sorry, sorry. deep breaths. it's already done."
"you did it at two," you say. your tone has a whiny undercurrent that makes you think of a little kid and you immediately regret it.
"aye, that wasn't so nice of me, was it?" johnny says without batting an eye. the hole burns and throbs as he puts a ring in it that you'd pre-selected online. "but you did it. only one more."
it repeats once again but, this time, instead of piercing your skin at two, he does it at one instead. your annoyed huff makes him laugh. …but he'd been right. it really didn't feel that bad at all.
"good girl," he tells you. "you did great." and, for some reason, hearing that from a handsome man a couple years older than you. he explains how to look after your piercing during the healing process and you're listening, but your brain has also turned to mush.
when you're leaving, he leans over just a little and you take a tiny step back. johnny's still smiling. "hope to see you again, lass. i think you'd look even more bonnie with a few more. anythin' would look good on you but, if you need suggestions, let me know, okay?"
you end up leaving, a little breathless, cheeks hot, already fiddling with the new rings in your ears despite the advice you'd gotten less than ten minutes ago.
"you're going to scare 'er off if you keep that up," simon grumbles from the other end of the shop. "can't blame everythin' on the hole in your head."
"you jealous, si?" the smile is audible in his voice.
"you can have a pet if you want. not like you can leave me anyhow."
"let's get the lass in your chair and you'll be smitten too. she's real cute."
waves i'm still alive!! a lot going on irl so i haven't been writing as much... though i think that's to be expected from me at this point. perfectionism + being busy a lot is . a big struggle.
i haven't quite been writing fics but i have been working on a yandere prompt list inspired by the yandere alphabet that's been going around a lot. not so much for people to send stuff in (though they can) but moreso for others to use. might post that sometime soon!
i've been watching/reading some stuff! really been enjoying the pitt season 2 + got completely caught up with jujutsu kaisen in a couple of weeks. horrifyingly enough i've also been going through the dungeon crawler carl books at a breakneck pace (and very intrigued by the system ai. help.) and i've gotten in the cod guys through fanfic osmosis, haven't ever played the games so i'm a bit too shy to post all those thoughts because they might be ooc haha
also thinking about posting some more pokephilia stuff on here soon.... something something randomly generated pokemon for a weekly little story...?
In seven days, the world was made. In seven instances, yours grows smaller.
Or: You grow up in the house of Adam and Eve as their eldest daughter. There are many restraints for one living a life such as yours, and many are caused by being your father's favourite.
I.
There's a large rock that functions as the edge of your world. You and your siblings are not allowed to go any further past that point, or out beyond your father's field on the other side. Not that you would ever go near him while he's working. Despite these limitations, though, the world had seemed so large and you so little.
The days before you were made to sit inside for hours and hours on end, working with sheep leather or grinding barley, were short, but they never ended up losing its lustre entirely. You and your younger brother Abel would go outside and play—splashing in or skipping rocks over the river, hiding in the tall grasses or in trees, watching the few goats—or try and find something to fill up your rumbling stomachs.
You groan as Abel digs his feet into your shoulders, the scratchy make of his tunic rubbing against the top of your head.
"I'll fall over!" You warn. Your brother isn't as tall as you, and you can't stand on his shoulders to climb into the fig tree. Cain could but, for some reason, preferred to stay around your father. (It's for the better. He's no fun to play with.)
You heave a loud sigh of relief as Abel makes his way into the tree, laughing as you run around and catch the fruits as they fall down. Almost none of them are free of insects. The little creatures bury themselves into the fruit's flesh, eating away at it, leaving holes or bodies behind inside. It's easy enough to eat around, but a little icky.
"Are there any birds up there?" You ask. Abel has disappeared far enough up the branches that you can't see him, beyond the rustling of leaves.
"'M not going to steal any eggs!" He yells in response and you shake your head.
Abel's still such a child. Ever since he'd started sniffling about the idea of bird parents coming home to an empty nest, he's refused to swipe any nests. That sensitivity is also a bit endearing to you, though. He's always smiling, the brightest out of all of you. You think he might be your mother's favourite, though she always says that she doesn't have one.
"You think too much," you lightly chastise Abel when he drops back down on the ground, then shove a few more figs in his hands. Yours are sticky with sap, tongue buzzing with the sweet flavour. Despite the hassle of the bugs, they're really tasty.
Rather than arguing back, he just smiles and plops down on the ground. "Are the figs tasty today?"
They are. Sitting in the shade of the tree, the two of you eat your fruits in companionable silence, only the grasses rustling around you and insects humming in the air. It's not enough to sate your hunger, but that's okay. Later, you walk home together without washing your hands clean in the river, your sap-coated palms sticking to each other as you hold hands.
II.
You learn the true worth of food in the next few years, when you've shot up in height and deemed old enough by your mother to start preparing for your responsibilities. There's no more playing outside for you.
It's there that you can see your future playing out before you, it's outline disconcerting. Sitting inside the home or right outside the door, back hunched over while grinding grains on stone, fingers permanently cramped into a clawing hand. The pain in your shoulders and the back of your neck. Endless preparations for new children, one after the other. (The sight of the swelling of your mother's stomach makes yours clench and churn). Preparing food, preparing clothes, feeding the children, keeping your father calm… Your mother is kind enough to say nothing when you slip out for a few hours, but there's none of those possibilities later.
You wonder if there's anything else and, at the same time, can't imagine what your life would look like others.
If there is one upside, it's the stories you hear from Eve. An image of Paradise forms in your mind thanks to her. Everything about it is fantastical. You cannot imagine a world with so much abundance. You've never known one. Where you would never be hungry, where none of the animals are your enemy, no changes to harsher seasons. If it's true, you could have lived there. And you don't.
"I don't get why you would leave," you tell her, brow furrowed and the tip of your nose twitching. "We could've lived there, and we're not? We wouldn't have had to work so hard— You wouldn't have had to. And now we don't have a choice." What you don't say: How could you be so stupid?
Your mother remains hunched over. Smiling almost dreamily, hands threading away tirelessly at another tunic. Cain's had torn while he was out hunting waterfowl.
"I made a mistake," she simply says. "I shouldn't have talked about this. I was feeling…" Eve trails off, her sentence never finished.
"But what did you do?!" You snap, dropping the stone you were holding next to you on the ground. Things didn't have to be like this, and nothing's ever explained, nothing— Your teeth click together as a shadow is cast over you.
Cain is out hunting. Abel is gathering fruits and cutting down grasses, checking for patches that can be planted here instead. Neither of them will be home for a while.
"What're you two whining about?" Your father's eyebrows are pinched together, the corner of his mouth pulled up to reveal a hint of teeth. Sweat glistens on his brow and on the exposed skin of his chest, fingers dirtied with clumps of dirt. Both of you remain quiet, but it doesn't take long for him to continue talking anyway.
"One of my tools broke. You," he points at you. "Take a look at my shoulder." Without hesitation, you get up and look. There's a cut, shallow but long, oozing a steady trickle of blood.
"It's bleeding. I'll, I'll go get the water." When you get up and go inside to the darkest corner of the house, furthest away from the door, your father follows right behind you.
Wordlessly, he lets you pour lukewarm water over the wound. He should give his arm some rest though you know there's absolutely no way that he would. You know better than to suggest it, even. When it comes to his work, he both hates it and is more defensive of it than anyone else.
You're about to move away to find a strip of leftover material used for clothing, a long line cut away that you could wrap around his shoulder and smother the wound with, he speaks.
"That woman," he spits out the word with vitriol, like an insult. "Ruined everything for us. If you ever want someone to blame, blame that damned demon."
You're rooted to the floor. "It was… All true?"
He ignores your question, instead turning to face you. Perhaps that says enough. You hold your breath as you stare into his eyes.
"I still can't believe that something so useless was made out of me." A finger mindlessly traces the uneven dip in his chest, one side higher than the other. Your father reaches out a hand to touch you. You flinch away and he clicks his tongue, grabbing your chin and stroking a finger over your cheek.
"Cain showed me that my sons are fine. Some of them, at least." You let out a slow, shuddering breath as the crease in between his eyebrows disappears. "I wasn't sure any women would be any good. But you're a good girl. You know your place."
You swallow thickly, unsure of what to do yourself. What any of this means. "…Thank you, father." You shift your weight from one foot to the other. He still hasn't let go of your face. "Do you need, I mean, could I offer any help outside today? With your arm…"
Adam grunts and drops his hand. "That's not your job. I'll find Abel, maybe he'll actually put on some muscle."
"Oh, wait!" You call out when he turns to leave, and you're more surprised that he actually does what you asked. Your hands shake a little when you wrap the strap of cloth around his arm. "…For the bleeding," you explain.
"Thanks, kid."
III.
You're grown enough to start thinking about which of your siblings to leave with. Cain has already left with one of your sisters, built a shack of their own somewhere out of sight. Past the rock determining the border of your childhood. They're still in walking distance.
From one day to the next, your father's started slipping you more food. Extra pieces he's won from the curse God placed upon him: fruits like figs and dates, a waterskin full of goat's milk instead of water, a slab of barley paste as large as your hand, or a fish skewered fresh. You can feel your younger siblings' gazes weigh heavily on you as, bit by bit, your share is increased. More than your mother, even.
Even though you're hungry, you draw a line at being given a third more meat than the rest.
"I, I can't accept this," you sputter. "I'd rather— Can we not divide this among the rest, father?" Though your mother is the one who prepares the food, Adam is the one who decides who gets what. Being given less is a common punishment. Your mother keeps her head down, merely eating her own meagre share.
"No. Be happy that I gave you that much." His mouth is full of food as he eats. A piece of meat leaves his mouth and lands on his leg. "You're going to need it soon."
You don't know what he means. You don't really want to ask, because there's a suspicion of the edge of your mind that you would rather not have confirmed.
Regardless of that, a different type of damage has been done. Your younger siblings side-eye you, now. Abel's the only one willing to talk to you and reserves a smile for you, but he's old enough that he's working alongside with your father most of the time. The rest of them whisper amongst themselves. As if working over the grindstone would make your hearing stop working.
There aren't very many people in the world. To have a group of them dislike you stings, especially because it's not like you can do anything about it. They'll leave the river when you come to wash with them in the evening, leave you to sleep in the corners of the communal room or gather somewhere else, without touching you. You'd raised half of them, but the younger ones spend enough time playing with the others for their minds to be poisoned against you.
Soon, all that you have to talk to are really your mother, father, and Able. For anything more than surface-level pleasantries, at least.
You hold out hope that it isn't forever.
IIII.
Adam laughs and laughs and laughs, then stops all at once. He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye.
"No." Your father says it without any hesitation in his voice. "I'm surprised you even ask, are you stupid? No." He stares you down with the narrow-eyed snarl he usually reserves for your mother, or when one of the babes refuses to sleep through the entire night.
Should you argue? Probably not. Still, this is a discussion about the entire course of your future and you can't just pull back. Especially because you don't understand the reason why he would refuse. It'd be one less mouth to feed. It'll make it so you don't have to face the truth of why he's been fattening you up. You moved fast after that.
Abel hadn't wanted to come. His gentleness had morphed into cowardice over the years, especially when faced with your father. It's fine. You won't say that you're not a little soft for him yourself, the only sort-of ally you have left.
"Cain got to leave," you remind him. "With a girl of his choosing."
"That's different," your mother mumbles at the same time that Adam cuts in.
"I am going to be very. Clear. With. You." Your father's eyes are a little wide. Each word so clearly enunciated as if he were talking to a child still learning to use its tongue. "You're not leaving. You really think I'd let my worst son breed with my best daughter? And I thought you were pretty clear-headed, for a woman."
"I, I can pick someone else, anyone else." You feel a pang of guilt at the betrayal of Abel, but then again, he should've been here to argue alongside you. The walls of your home feel suffocating. Your skin prickles with the sensation of being just barely touched, the awareness of a trap waiting to snap shut around you.
"It doesn't matter who," you continue.
"None of them are good enough for you!" Adam's mouth is turned up in a snarl. "I have tried to tell you so many times, but you need to have it screamed in your face, huh?!" A droplet of saliva lands on your cheek. You don't wipe it away.
"Your place is with me."
Your breathing picks up in pace. It's like you put your food down, where there had always been earth to support you, and now you find nothing there. You're stunned. You see a future fading away. Where you'd share a house with Abel, calm and nothing special, tending to animals which he'd all give fitting little names and feed too much. Children, maybe. Maybe not.
"But that… We can't…" It had never even occurred to you as an option. To stay with your father. Forever. To…
"I am the first person of this planet. All of you came from me," your father hisses. "I make the rules."
You turn your mother. Her eyes are pinned on something far away. Not on you, that's for sure. You can't expect any support from her but, desperate as you are, you try.
"Let me leave on my own," you mutter. You have no idea what you would even do. Staying here isn't an option either.
"You would be a woman, out on your own. You were never taught how to tend to the fields, or how to catch animals. You'd starve."
Adam gestures in her direction. "I never say this, but your mother's right." He sighs.
"Clearly, I've been too nice to you. You're staying here. And if you think that's so awful, I'll show you how awful your life can really get."
He stands up, tugging on his clothing. "I've wasted enough time here. There's work to do."
"I don't want to," you mumble to yourself, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.
"And I wish I were still in Paradise right now," your father spits out. "But we can't all have we want."
In the silence that follows, you sit with your mother. You stare hard at the ground and will your tears to stop. To no avail. You refuse to wipe at your face and wait for her to speak, to move, to do anything. To provide any comfort. She does nothing. Abel didn't get his cowardice from a stranger, it seems.
"Did you know?" Your voice is shaky, more breath than anything else. "That this… Couldn't you have warned me?! You didn't even say anything." Your voice cracks.
"And what could I do?" She responds. A flash of emotion breaks through her own voice, but she swallows and it's gone. "I'll tell you the last things you need to know about the way children are born."
It's the noises that you hear in the other part of the house, the room your parents share. Growling and panting and hitting. The insects stuck together in warmer days. Fowls coupling and calling, wings rapidly hitting the water. It's the fig. Eggs buried deep inside and eating away at you, splitting open your flesh to emerge when you are hollowed out on the inside.
"Does it… Hurt?" You ask your mother slowly.
"Oh, yes," she says. You knew the answer. The screaming always cut through your bones. "Yes, it does."
V.
The only option you can think of is to run. To move towards uncertainty rather than certainly suffer here.
No one wants to come with you. The alliances between you and most of your siblings have already been long since severed. If you told them, they would simply pass it on to your parents. You can't go to Cain. He's one of your father's favourites too and you know for a fact that he wouldn't want you in his house. You would only be a nuisance to him.
If you think about it too much, you'll start to doubt yourself and stop moving at all. You wander out of the house in the early morning. Anyone who saw you would only assume that you were moving to the pit to relieve yourself. Your father's sleeping breaths rumble in the other room like an incoming storm. The night is dark, but you picked a day where the moon would be full and the sky is clear tonight. All you have on you is a waterskin and a loaf of bread. Stealing much more would hurt all of your siblings.
Your mind is practically blank. Putting one foot in front of the other, that's all you do. You know the location of every single uneven patch and rock on this land. For a moment, you stop to look at the border. You've never actually ventured past far enough for it be out of sight. (Though past it, yes. As children, to test if you would truly be struck down if you stepped out of bounds.)
It's only when you move past it and keep going, that you start muttering your prayers. For safety and for food, for other people that might be out there, that your father is a liar and he is not the only one, that if not happiness, you will at least find safety and calm. That you may avoid the beasts that lurk in the night.
You've only seen glimpses of them before. That, and the aftermath of their slaughter. Sheep torn open from belly to throat and with their guts pulled out. Abel sobbing over the mangled remains of one of his favourites. Darkened smears on the earth. Or, just once, a little brother that had gone out and returned screeching like an animal with tooth marks that had never entirely faded.
You're starting to regret your decision as soon as the sun peeks out and the morning dawns. Maybe you should've been dragged off by beasts after all. What you're walking towards really is uncertainty, though an uncertainty that starts to seem much more like a slow, slow passing.
You haven't been running. You'd wanted to preserve your energy. Because of that, it perhaps shouldn't be as much of a surprise as it is when, echoing across the fields, you start to hear your name being called. You pick up the pace. It doesn't seem to matter, the noises only further closing in on you.
"I know you're out there!" The voice bellows. It's now close enough for you to pinpoint its identity. Your father's, because of course it is. "If you turn around and come back now, I might not drag you back by your hair!"
You hadn't expected him to come. One of your brothers. Abel or one of your other brothers old enough to be trusted on their own, but not him. The man himself. The pure rage in his voice is enough encouragement for you to go faster and faster until your feet are pounding on the earth, arms swinging back and forth besides your body.
You only slow down at the sight of what looms over you. A sudden increase in height, a rocky wall. Wide enough to not see an immediate way around, not steep enough to be impossible to climb. You darted up so, so many trees in your younger days— How much more difficult could this be? You can't face him right now.
You curse God underneath your breath as your fingers grasp at the first outcropping you see and the sharp rocks cut into the palm of your hand. A sign. Even if it hadn't been one, you should've taken it as such. Each move upwards hurts you more and more, lacerations covering the bottoms of your feet and your palms. Each grip grows slick with blood until you're too scared to make any movement at all. Up or down.
Of course, that is the exact moment your father appears.
"Get down from there!" He calls out, voice trembling with what you're sure must be rage. You're sure he doesn't know that there's also not much you would rather do.
Any movements might as well bring you closer to falling however. You're breathing so hard that your chest is burning from the exertion. The strain on your body is intense enough that you don't even have the opportunity to start crying.
"I, I—" You gasp out pathetically, facing the stone wall in front of you with wide eyes.
"Stop wailing like a child," your father snaps from below. "You're the one who decided to run off, don't think you'll get away with it so easily now."
"I, I can't come down," you cry out pathetically. "I'll slip." You're breathing heavily, arms shaking harder and harder by the second.
For a couple of heartbeats, your father is silent. "You're not up that high. Let go, and I'll catch you." At that, you start breathing even louder. You can feel his gaze burning holes into you from below, his voice is steady when he opens his mouth again.
"You trust me. Let go." And only because you can see no other option, you do exactly as you're told.
There's a moment of weightlessness, of your stomach seeming the float higher than your body, and then you crash into his arms. Adam groans loud and hard, his knees buckling, but he doesn't drop you. As soon as you realise that you landed, you've actually landed, you break into harsh, violent sobs. You can't see anything through the haze of your tears. Your father lets out a noise of discomfort again as he kneels on the floor, still cradling you in his arms.
You expect him to curse you then and there, to yank on your hair and to bid you to be quiet. Instead, he doesn't say anything at all. The only touch that reaches you is his finger moving over your cheeks. Adam swipes away a few of your tears. You feel like a little kid again. Though you can't remember much of him holding you like this back then either.
"My hands 'nd feet hurt," you complain weakly.
"Yes, I can see why. And we're going to have to walk all the way back. I'm not carrying you." You cry harder at that, chest heaving. He lifts up your hands and bends over to take a look at your feet.
"Stupid girl," he says, though there is little bite behind his tone. "Were would you even go?"
You just sob in response until he speaks up again. "There's nothing out there. You know that now, huh? You'll stay with your father." You swallow through your tears and nod.
"Yes, that's right. Good girl." Only your breathing is loud and uneven anymore now. "Let's go home. Walking back all that way is punishment enough for you."
As soon as he plops you down on your feet, you know what he means. Each step is like having more shards forced into your foot. You hiss in pain and your father laughs a low, rumbling laugh. His callused, warm hand latches onto your wrist. He refuses to let go.
"It's fine. It's not like you're going to be needing to do much walking soon enough."
VI.
Awful as it is, Adam is the only one who pays attention to you. Anything beyond superficial attention, that is.
The act of creating a child is not pleasant, exactly, but at least it's short. At least it seems to temporarily lift some burden off of your father. His muscles relaxed and his touch more tender. But the pregnancy afterwards seems to last forever. There is an endless list of little discomforts and general exhaustion. Your extra portions hardly seem to make up for the hunger. It doesn't help that, sometimes, the hard-won food comes back out again, leaving you even weaker. Your hands and feet are swollen, that is nothing to say for the way your stomach expands and expands.
Despite your exhaustion, it's not as if you get a break from most of your usual tasks either.
"I worked while I was child too," your mother tells you. And you know she had, so what would be your excuse? It's not as if Adam has entirely shifted his focus to you either, but most of it has fallen on you. Maybe, one day, there will be someone to take over to you as well. A buried, thorny part of you wishes that your mother was more grateful.
Your evenings are spent together with your father, in the room that him and your mother once shared. Sometimes, he takes you. He's more careful as to not to hurt the child. His hands rub circles on your sore breasts, his fingers never clawing, and he does not fully force himself inside of you. It's slower. He presses his lips to your skin more, murmuring about how he'll stuff you full again and again, populating the earth with only his children, and it makes you yearn for the times where it was hard and fast but over within minutes.
Sometimes, he only speaks. When your stomach becomes more and more noticeable, he becomes touchier and more talkative in turn. You always hold still when his rough hands rub your stomach. His smile is brighter than you've ever seen it when he feels the child move inside of you.
"A strong kick," he says. "Must be a boy, bet he'll grow up real strong, like his dad."
You take in a long, slow breath. "And… What if she's a girl?"
Adam hums. "I'll send her off with one of my better sons. Our kids won't be failures."
You know what's in your future. When the child is actually in your arms, he'll pull away entirely. Rearing a newborn is a woman's job, you're told, same as the painful births you're cursed with. It's nothing you're not used to. As the eldest girl, it wouldn't be the first child you raised. At least there's that.
As you lay there, reduced to your child, you can't help but wonder why he seems to like his children so much more when they're not yet born.
VII.
You're a field sown many times over.
It's familiar to your now. The lines of your expanding stomach have been forever etched into your skin, your chest sagging down to the earth from all the children that have taken milk from you. You have a whole gaggle of children of your own. Of you and your father. Your body is hardly granted a reprieve before he's all over you again with his roughened touch, ready to put another child in you. (Not that he stops while your belly's swollen, either.)
You walk bare-feet on the ground to a familiar place along the river, the night covering much of your movements. The boundaries of your home are still meant to contain you, but you've learnt how to push at the borders of your tiny world. Listening to the streaming river soothes you. The cold water is soothing to the swollen, scarred undersides of your feet.
You're expected to stay inside at all times while you're far along with child, as you are now. You know your body better than your father, though. You're sure of what you can handle. A short little walk isn't going to kill you, nor have you ever seen any wild animals out here. It's far away enough from the animals, close enough to your home.
Tonight, you think of your brother, Abel. It feels so long ago that a life with him seemed feasible. Now it's impossible, even if you were ever to get away. Cain hit him in the head with a rock and he stopped moving. You weren't supposed to know, but you heard the whispers through the wall regardless. None of you had known that a person could stop moving so easily— An animal, yes, but a person?
You wonder if he's at peace now, wherever he is. You can only hope for a world after this one for a chance at freedom. Maybe he's back in the Paradise his parents robbed him of.
When he approaches you, you don't hear him over the noises of the river.
"What are you doing out here?"
You know him well enough, from years and years, that even without an outburst you can hear the threat in his voice. A curse flashes through your mind. Now that he's caught you once, it'll be harder to do this again. He must've come out to check on the animals or something.
And because of that knowledge, you're also aware of how he sees you. Even if you're his favourite, you're still a woman. A bit stupid, impulsive, doesn't know how to take care of herself. It's not like you could ever convince him otherwise, but the least you can do is use it to your advantage.
You bend over, pressing a hand to your stomach. The hiss you let out is exaggerated enough to be audible over the water.
"I'm so, sorry, father— I got… So warm, suddenly, and my feet hurt so bad, and it's like I couldn't think." You wipe away invisible tears from the corners of your eyes. "I was scared something would happen to, to the child, so I just went outside."
He practically stomps to your side in quick steps. His hand lands on your stomach a little too roughly.
"And what if you slipped, huh? What if there was some kind of beast out there?" The only beast you've ever been face-to-face with is him.
Your mouth hangs a little open, your eyes a tad too wide. "Oh, oh, I just hadn't thought about it at all… I'm sorry, my state is… It's confusing me, I think."
It's laid on so thick that, if you performed it in front of your mother, she'd think you were making a total fool out of her. Your father's pride and sense of superiority makes him think someone like you isn't even capable of it. When the tension bleeds out of his muscles, your own shoulders slump.
"Next time you lose your mind, wake me up first," he grumbles. "Let's go home. Come on." He pulls you up. You throw one last glance to the river over your shoulder.
Home for now, but not forever. Your brother is gone and, one day, doubtless your father will be too.
wordcount: 10.6k
notes: Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes (with memory issues), concussions, woundcare, power dynamics / power imbalance (Bucky sees you as his handler, you try to avoid this dynamic), somnophilia, mildly dubious consent = you're into it when you realise what's going on, bucky goes by a nickname in this because of his memory issues.
A complete stranger crashes head-first onto your balcony. With his head scrambled and murky origins, he has absolutely nowhere else to go. Against your better judgment, you decide to take him in.
Or: Winter Soldier!Bucky confuses you for his handler following a concussion.
There's a loud crash on your balcony.
One moment, you're sitting on the couch, eyelids drooping downwards as you're nodding off, the biggest concern on your mind being your pride. (You should at least make it to 9 PM before passing out.) The next, there's a bang. And you're on your feet, heart hammering against your chest. It's unsteady, skips a beat, flutters around like a caged butterfly. You exhale loudly through your mouth. For a moment, you just stand there. Refusing to move. On the forefront of your mind is a childlike that always used to keep the monsters at bay. If I don't look at it, it's not really there.
You're too old for that now. Maybe, just maybe, you're making a huge fuss about a confused bird crashing straight into the glass. You glance. The only thing you move is your head and, as you do it, your heart speeds up again. Your courage isn't rewarded. The clash between the light of your apartment and the dark of a winter evening means that whatever is there, if there even is anything there, is cloaked in shadow.
Your steps are tentative. Socked feet tip-toe towards the window, as if being heard matters when your figure must cut so clearly through the dark outside. You hold your breath as you look. A large heap lies crumpled on the tiny balcony. You still can't quite make out what it is, but one thing's far certain: it's far too large to be an animal. And it isn't moving.
It's a person, your brain yells at you, even when you're not exactly certain. It'd be impossible, for one. Your apartment floor is way too high off the ground, the fire exit on the other side of the building. With the thought echoing in your head, though, your mind fills in the gaps. That's an arm, two legs splayed to the side, a dark mop of hair—
Before your head and body fully realign, you throw the sliding door open. You're instantly blasted with a wave of cold that sends your teeth chattering. No one would survive long just crashed on the ground. Awful as it is, your first move is to poke the body with one of your toes. No response. You can't just… Keep them out there.
Leaning down, you take hold of them by both of his legs and brace yourself as you start to pull. The first part of their body that's pulled into the light is a pair of metal-tipped, black boots, caked with dark snow-sludge underneath. The rest of their body drags some snow off of your balcony inside too. There, it's promptly melting into dark spots on your carpet.
"Sorry, sorry, shit—!" You curse as his—you think—shoulder catches on the doorway with a loud thud that rocks through his entire body. If the stranger felt any of the impact however, he's certainly not showing it. Unmoving as a corpse.
As soon as you lean over the readjust him, dizziness makes the world around you spin. You take his arm into your hands and hiss. It's cold, bitingly so, your skin practically sticking to it and it doesn't have the give of flesh. All you can think of is your tongue sticking to the popsicle and the fact that he has to be dead, that rigor mortis stiffening him more by the second. Then, there's the question of how you're going to explain away a corpse in your apartment.
With another harsh pull, you manage to get him inside and slam the sliding door shut. The man is dressed in a strange get-up of black upon black, plenty of pockets and, most strikingly, a mask covering the lower half of his face. There's snow in his brown hair. Unbidden, you wonder to yourself whether this is good enough of a reason to call in sick to the store tomorrow. A desperate, humourless laugh bubbles from your throat, ending as soon as it started. You're shivering violently. Not only from the temperature dropping more than a few degrees, but the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.
It's that exact moment he chooses to grunt. At the same time, his leg twitches and drops back down to the floor. Okay. Not dead. Your mind starts to race once more. You kneel on the floor next to him and make a grab for his wrist, forgetting, in your hurry, your earlier experience.
When you touch it again, you have no idea how you missed before that his arm is made out of solid metal. You pause for just a moment. Shaking your head, muttering another curse underneath your breath, you stretch yourself out over his body and make a grab at his other wrist. Cold, but comfortingly human. Your thumb finds his pulse. It throbs steadily underneath your touch. You let out a shuddering breath as you sit back on your knees.
What you should probably do is call an ambulance… And yet, you can't bring yourself to do it. (Not that your trembling fingers would be very successful at dialling any number on your slider phone.) He's got this strangely advanced metal arm, crash-landed on your fifth floor balcony, and an entirely black outfit, mask included. You can't help but feel that getting the authorities involved might be more trouble than it's worth.
You're also not just going to let him die on your living room floor, though. But, what do you do? You hop back to your feet as a way to vent your restless energy, pacing back and forth for a couple of seconds before deciding.
You need to get him out of those clothes. It's freezing outside and whatever suit he's wearing is by no means dry. You have no idea where to start, so you just start undoing belts and zippers and little clasps at random, pulling at his vest—still largely stuck—before moving to the pouches along his belt instead. They're pretty heavy. Opening one of them, you find it entirely full of bullets. The other is stuffed with small throwing knives. You swallow thickly.
Your eyes wander a little lower and you wonder if, before this, your brain just hadn't wanted to register the gun strapped neatly into a leg holster. Once again, you're unsure whether it was a good idea to refrain from calling the cops. Either way, this whole thing spelled trouble. It's clear that he isn't a normal civilian. As if the metal arm hadn't made that clear enough. You could still make a call. It's not too late. But first… With trembling hands, movements with only the smallest of increments, you take the gun from its holster. You treat it as if it may jump to live and bite you at any moment, steering far, far away from the trigger.
You're breathing quickly again. Not wanting to leave the man unattended, you lift one of the decorative pillows on your couch and gently put the gun behind it. You roll your shoulders. It isn't enough to relieve the tension in your body. You get to your feet and pace back and forth instead, your legs feeling so heavy, tense with the desire to run. Maybe you don't have to call anyone after all. Your conflict-averse brain latches onto this idea at once.
Yes, that's the best idea you've had all night. He's not dead. He'll wake up, and when he wakes up the apartment will be empty. You could just throw on your coat and your gloves and a scarf, and go out to find the nearest bar. Get a drink or two. You need it. Steeling yourself, you take one last look at the stranger on your floor.
His eyes are open. He's staring at you. When your eyes meet his, he breaks his gaze away almost instantly, darting around your living room instead. They're a little too wide. Even behind his mask, you can hear his raspy, quick breaths. He lifts up his head a little. It's the first time that you see the puddle of blood forming underneath his head, a dark-red ooze that'll permanently dye the carpet. You hold your breath. Despite having thoughts of fleeing less than a minute ago, you're now nailed to the floor.
"Hand…ler…?" He croaks out, voice rough behind the mask you hadn't managed to figure out to remove.
The man breathes again, loud and sounding wrong. His fingers dig into the carpet. One hand of flesh, the other of metal. He leans his weight on them, pushing himself upward, only for his head to loll to the side like a puppet's. With a thud, he lands back on his elbows. His metal arm whirrs audibly and the other trembles. Something stupid and dangerous, akin to pity, flares to life inside your chest.
"Handler?" He asks again. A little clearer, this time, his eyes on you once more. His gaze is intense. Your throat feels bone-dry.
"Yeah," you tell him, in an attempt to placate him. You have no idea what he's asking. "Yeah, that's me. You're bleeding. Don't try to get— You should stay down, okay?"
You jump a little, sucking in a sharp breath, as he collapses in on himself at your words. He let himself fall so abruptly and suddenly that his head knocked, hard, into the floor. The only indication of his pain is the squinting of his eyes.
Okay. This man clearly has a concussion, and probably a pretty severe one at that. That lines up with a head wound, right? You feel relieved, and you don't want to dissect how bad of a person that makes you right now. Your shoulders slump a little. Unless he's putting on an act, he's in no state to do much of anything at the moment. Much less try to stab, shoot or strangle you.
You crouch down, sliding the removed pouches, holster and belt a little further away from him. "How are you feeling? You, uh, fell really hard. On your head, I think. I brought you inside."
His eyes are still fixed on yours. You squirm a little, looking out through the window that you'd find him instead. There's a delay in his response, but it comes in the end.
"It will heal."
Your stomach is tight with discomfort. You get to your feet, swaying a little with leftover stress. "Are you cold? Do, do you need something to wrap your head with? Should I— Should I call an ambulance?" The cops, you add again, quietly to yourself, still doubting.
"Yes. Yes. No." He responds once you're done babbling, only the slightest pause in between each of his responses. A disbelieving, slightly off-tune laugh bursts from your lips. His expression doesn't change. Yeah, sure, this is a thing that's happening right now.
"Okay, okay, I'll be right back. I'll get you a change of clothes."
It's all good. You're not going to have a complete stranger, possibly an assassin, bleed out on your living room floor. Your nerves settle just a little with a clear task outlined in front of you, to find something warmer to wear and something to stop the bleeding.
You have no idea if the cotton and gauze you manage to find stuffed at the bottom of a drawer will do any good. There's only regular tape to tie it all together, and you have no idea whether the largest hoodie you own will fit him quite right. At least you tried. It's hard to think straight, especially with your mind constantly echoing that this kind of thing is not supposed to happen to people like you. You don't live in some big-name city like New York, where there's life-altering and planet-endangering shenanigans seemingly every other week. It's supposed to be quiet here.
You tuck a blanket underneath your arm. It's nice and warm, you'd gotten it from a thrift store a while back, but now you're resigning yourself to the fact that it'll end up bloodstained. There are bigger things for you to worry about.
Like, for example, the now the mostly undressed stranger, possible assassin, bleeding out on your living room carpet. As you'd been busy finding things to patch and dress him up with, he hadn't been sitting still either.
He's shed most of his clothing, revealing a toned, though not overly defined, chest. His metal arm rises up to about his shoulder. Most of his skin is flushed angrily red in response to the cold and his body hair is slicked against his skin with molten snow. And blood. On his right shoulder, underneath the head wound, there's a gash on his shoulder. It oozes a slow trickle of blood. Thicker and darker than you would've expected. For a moment, you just stare.
"My shoulder was dislocated," he says, voice still as raspy. Maybe you should've gotten him some water. You can't remember if you're supposed to offer that with a head injury. "I pushed it back into the socket."
You don't really know what to say to that. "Um… That's, that's good. Good job. Can I do, like, anything else for your shoulder?" He shakes his head. You swallow, then nod slowly. "Alright, let's… We'll get you fixed up more."
You kneel down next to him, opting to use the blanket as a towel instead as you wipe away the cold moisture on his skin. He reaches out for the medical supplies you'd put on the ground next to you. Slowly, at first. Then, when you make no move to stop him, he cuts off a strip of bandaging and wraps it around the wound. You're still wiping him down when all of his movements still. His fingers keep the bandages and cotton wrapped around his arm.
"What's wrong? Is it your head?"
"The tape," he replies instead. It's too far out of his reach, and he's only got two hands.
"Oh, yeah, I'll get that for you. Just let me know when you need something, okay?" You say, still grappling with the whole situation. You have no idea how to carry yourself. But you tear off a piece of tape and use it to tie the bandages together.
When you look back at him, there's a little stream of blood from his head that's made it onto his forehead. Before you have the chance to say something, he's working on that wound of his too. His hands are surprisingly steady. Practised, even. Following the motions with skill despite the tremors of cold making his whole body shake. He removes his mask with a kind of clasp at the back of his head, hidden underneath his hair. It reveals a handsome face, one with a stubble.
"You're head is… It's bleeding a lot." You don't get any response to your comment whatsoever. Maybe he's just too focused on the task. Still, it's disconcerting.
Even disregarding the whole absurdity of this situation, there's something inherently strange about the man you're faced with. A little off-putting. You couldn't quite put your finger on it before, but it has to be that he doesn't speak unless spoken to. He doesn't emote much at all either. If he's feeling any shred of the emotional turmoil you do right now, if he were distressed about waking up battered in a stranger's home, he doesn't show any of it. He's only quiet. And stares at you— A lot. His gaze is, somehow, both oppressing and blank.
He's undressed his upper half, but his lower half is still clad in sodden clothes. You decide to focus on that next. In order to test your little theory, you start undoing his belt. The man doesn't respond whatsoever, just keeps working on his head wound. Your own embarrassment starts to catch up with you as you start to tug his pants down, revealing more cold-flushed skin.
"What happened?" You ask, in an attempt to fill the silence that feels increasingly uncomfortable for you.
Reaching for the blanket, you grab it and toss it over his lap. You're not going to start taking off his underwear. That's a step too far. From the angle of his arm, you can tell that he's still holding the bandages against the side of his head. Though you don't look up, you know he must be staring at you again.
"…I do not remember." He starts slowly. "There was a mission. That is why I was here, and then… I do not know. Excuse me for being unable to answer your question, handler."
Your eyes flicker up. There's a deep crease in between his eyebrows, his eyes, for once, downcast.
"It's okay," you say quickly despite yourself.
There's no doubt about it now that he has a concussion. You sigh in frustration, tugging down the wet fabric clinging to his legs further. You focus on that for now. He's pretty hairy. Part of his skin have turned practically purple in response to the freezing temperature, and you pull the blanket down further over his legs. No metal ones there. Only when you reach the top part of his boots do you stop. His boots are wet on the underside, all the snow having melted into the carpet.
You're so fucking indecisive, you inwardly curse yourself. This isn't anything you could've prepared yourself for, but it's hard not to start screaming. He drops his bloodied bandages on the floor and starts grabbing some more.
"I think I'm going to call an ambulance." The adrenaline crash is in full swing, and you'd never been energetic tonight to begin with. Your eyelids feel heavy. It takes you a couple of tries to unlace his boots and start tugging them down.
"You said to tell you what I need," he says. "That's not what I need right now."
You slam one of your hands on the floor, tossing your head back, meeting his gaze with your narrowed ones. "Then what do you need?"
"I need some time to heal. I do not need to be taken away. I need to stay with you."
You practically choke on a bit of your own saliva. "S-stay with me?!" You sputter. "Why?!"
His voice never once falters, neither does he look away. You don't think you've held this much eye contact with another human being for the past year.
"Because you are my handler." He says it with such natural conviction, without any shred of doubt. Embarrassingly enough, you feel a bit of heat rush to your face. "You have not given me any mission yet. I need to stay with you until you do."
He's quiet for a moment, then opens his mouth and closes it again. You wait a couple of seconds for him to speak. He doesn't continue.
"What's on your mind?" You ask.
"…I'm sorry, but you're not a well-informed handler." You laugh a little at that.
"Yeah, I guess you could say that." You might as well play along for now. If he's acting, he's starting to fool you, to be honest. "Or maybe I'm just testing you? Seeing how much you know after you hit your head."
It was meant to be teasing. You'd redirected your eyes back to his boots and begun to untie the other's laces, when he responds with nothing but sincerity.
"I remember this. You are my handler, and I am the asset. This means that I will obey with any of your commands without question, whatever they may be. This is what's expected of me."
You blink at him as you lift your head again, unable to ignore this. At the same time, you're tugging on one of his unlaced boots, nearly toppling over when it suddenly pops free.
"Are you messing with me? Like, are you joking right now?" Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. He's rubbing his legs over the blanket, his metal arm whirring. "I know what you— You came in here with a bunch of weapons!"
He blinks at you, then again. As if you're the odd one here.
"I'm not joking." He's frowning again. "I carry weapons because that is required of me."
You let out a shuddering breath. "You won't hurt me, that's what you're saying?"
"Do you want me to hurt you?" In response, you shake your head. "Then my answer is 'no'."
You have no idea what's going on anymore, frankly. "…So, basically, you'd do anything I ask?"
"Yes," is your immediate response. Your hand jerks up and you rub the top of your head, smoothing down your hair. The settling heat on your face returns once again. God, you're a loser.
The worst part is that you kind of want to believe him. That, maybe, you already do. There have been a million chances for him to strike you down if he'd really wanted to. And yet, he hadn't. But… Something as baffling as this isn't supposed to happen around here, much less to someone like you.
"Alright. Alright! Okay—" You're starting to think that maybe you passed out on the couch after all, and this is all conjured up by your sleep-deprived mind. "Then, right now, I'm asking you to stay where you are. Take care of your wounds." The weight of commands is unfamiliar on your tongue. You've never liked ordering others around. "You were honest when you said you'd heal just fine?"
"I heal quicker than humans," he says.
"I'll still… Let me get you something warm to drink. While I'm gone, you can put that on." You gesture vaguely in the direction of where you'd tossed the hoodie.
You're gathering all of his other clothes in your arms. You'll just put them on the radiator somewhere and hope they dry. As soon as you're in the kitchen, you turn on the kettle. By the time you've hung out all his clothes to dry and found some fuzzy socks somewhere (an old Christmas gift), the water is boiling and ready. You make him a simple cup of tea. For him, you put in a fresh bag, though you reuse it for your own mug.
He's actually still there when you return.
All of his wounds are bandaged up by now. He's just sitting there, staring into space, head tilting in your direction at the sound of your footsteps. If not for those slight movements, you'd hardly be able to tell that he was alive. He's shivering less underneath the warmth of the blanket.
"Here. You should drink it, but it's still pretty hot." You hand him the mug. He takes it with his metal hand. Despite your warning, he puts the cup to his lips and starts to drink. No hesitation, no flinching, only the slightest twitch at the corner of your eye. You just stare in stunned silence.
"Doesn't— Doesn't that hurt?" You ask as soon as he's chugged it all down, eyes still wide.
"You told me to drink it," he responds, his voice a little gravely. Your mouth closes on its own. You press your lips against each other. You make the tactical decision to take a moment to process this. Only when you sit down on the couch, do you feel the exhaustion in your upper legs.
The weapons you'd found on him—the gun, the throwing knives, other things you couldn't quite identify— are exactly where you'd left them. At the settling of your weight on the couch cushions, the gun's handle peeks out from underneath the pillow you'd hid it behind.
In the corner of your eye, you can see him bring the tips of his fingers to his throat before dropping his hand again. He'd really done it. You hadn't even meant it that way, but he'd heard a command and acted accordingly. That's too far for a game of pretend with a completely average civilian such as yourself.
"What's your name?" You ask, finally.
In the back of your mind, you're already thinking of whether you have enough pillows to set up a bed on the couch. Or… Aren't you supposed to frequently check up on someone with a concussion? Every few hours or so? Your bed might be large enough to share. It's an awful idea, a clear display of a lack of survival instincts, but… It's been a while since you've had any kind of company.
You're so stuck on your rumination that you don't immediately notice that your question has been met with resounding silence.
"Sorry, uh, I asked what your name is." He's looking directly at you. There's no way he hadn't heard your question the first time.
"I don't have a name. It's not necessary."
You frown. "What do they call you, then?"
"'Soldier', most often. Or the asset. Or the weapon."
"I don't… Want to call you any of those things." The end of your sentence is punctuated with a sigh. He just looks at you with that stagnant, almost gloomy expression. Sullen.
"'Sully', then." You decide on a whim. "We can think of a better name together later."
In the end, you never do.
You get him dressed and you ask a few more questions. Through them, you learn that he really is some kind of assassin, as you'd assumed. Working for a secret organisation. Despite your curiosity, you hadn't pushed much further. At your core, you simply do not want to know. It's only become clearer to you that having him in your apartment is already dangerous to begin with, fully knowing who or what he is might be even more so.
More importantly, he'd agreed without pause to stay in your room. He'd brushed his teeth after you in the bathroom, with the spare toothbrush you had lying around. Afterwards, he had settled on the floor with nothing but a spare blanket.
"You sure you don't want to be up here?" You ask, though you doubt you'd be able to sleep if he did.
"Yes."
It takes you a while to drift off, your mind restless with all the new impressions and excitement of today. Dissecting every moment, pulling it apart until you start to grow fuzzy on the details of occurrences that had happened a mere few hours prior. Your body is exhausted, though. As soon as you've closed your eyes, you can't pry your eyelids apart anymore. Your bed has never felt quite so comfortable and warm.
You jolt awake with a start later. There's no way for you to tell how much time has passed. Through the haze of sleepiness, you still know that you should give Sully a poke and see whether he's still able to answer you.
With a groan, head lolling to one side, your push yourself up with one hand firmly planted on the mattress. Only for you to jolt fully awake at a dark shadow looming next to your bed. Standing fully upright. You can feel the shot of adrenaline being pumped through your heart.
"Su, Sully? Is that you?" You ask in a hurried whisper.
"Yes, it's me." He responds in his usual voice. Your head slumps and you let out a sigh.
"You scared me, I thought— Well, never mind. Don't just stand there. Lie down. You should get some rest."
Instead of getting back down on the floor, he sits on the edge of the bed. Without even thinking about it, you shuffle backwards, giving him the space he needs to settle down. Well, you hadn't been clear about where he was meant to lie down. And you're not going to kick him off now, that would be rude.
You slowly let your head fall back on the pillow with your heart racing. When he doesn't move any further, you reach out to tug the blanket over you both. He's on his back and seems as stiff as a board. You'll be able to tell if something's wrong, at least.
In the bed, there's barely enough space to avoid the two of you touching. Heat radiates from his body. You curl up small in an attempt to get comfortable. Your legs tucked up, arms close to your body. In the quiet, you can hear Sully's even breathing. In an attempt to calm down and drift off, you start to count them.
You can't remember how far you'd gotten when you wake up the next morning. Your first thought is instead that you're warm, almost uncomfortably so. Still sleepy, you try to move. You're held back by a heavy arm draped over you, the metal arm warmed by your body heat. It's the fabric of your own hoodie pressed against your back, the one you'd given to Sully the day before. Nearly, it's enough to make you drift off to sleep once more. But you're sweaty underneath your pyjamas and Sully's breath, warm and slow, brushing over the top of your head makes you twitch.
What doesn't help is that the man you're sharing a bed with smells like the human equivalent of a wet dog.
"…Are you awake?" You ask softly, little more than a whisper.
"Yes." The answer comes a beat too late. Because of his his usual instantaneous responses, you can only guess that it wasn't the truth.
It's only a rumble against your shoulder. For a moment, you just lie there, then Sully is peeling himself off of you and proceeds to stare at the ceiling. You push yourself up on your hands. Your face is still a little warm. He doesn't comment on your earlier predicament though, doesn't seem flustered about it at all. It helps you not feel as embarrassed either.
"I really don't want to be rude," you start. "But, I have to be honest, you smell pretty bad."
He doesn't respond, though he has turned to look at you.
You clear your throat. "So, could you take a shower? Or a bath? You can use my stuff, I don't mind. I hung out your clothes last night, but I don't think they've dried yet, so you'll have to wear some more of my clothes."
"I understand." When he gets up, he nearly stumbles and falls, needing to catch himself on the wall to keep from falling over. Oh, yeah, the concussion.
"You know what—" You're at his side in a moment, only taking a step back when you can tell he won't trip again. "I'll help. I can run the bath, you should probably sit down… You mind if I help get the blood out of your hair? I'll, I'll look away."
He doesn't mind. You think if you told him to strip naked and do a silly little dance right now, he might actually do it. You shake your head a little as if to clear the thought out of your brain.
Sully follows you as you make your way to the bathroom and turn on the tap. He stands so closely behind you, in fact, that you bump into him as soon as you straighten up again.
"Oh— Sorry. You can, uh, take off your clothes and get in, I'll be here… Turned around. Let me know if you get dizzy."
You know it might be silly, considering you're about to see him naked regardless, but it feels more respectful to turn away. And, well, you almost saw him naked yesterday too.
There's only the noise of garments hitting the floor and the steady pouring of the tap. Quickly, you glance up into the mirror, just to make sure that he isn't unsteady on his feet. He seems a lot better than before, and you lower your eyes again.
Water sloshes around in the bathtub as he sits down. You gather a comb and brush from the sink cabinet before turning around. The first thing you do is pour a slosh of bath soap in it. You don't have to worry about looking if you can't see anything.
"You can adjust the temperature, if you want." The first thing he does is turn the handle all the way to the hottest setting. "Ah, still cold, are you?"
"A little." Your eyes roam over his head, shoulders, catching on his metal arm.
"Is it water-resistant? Your arm, I mean."
"Yes. It also cannot be taken off, so it does not matter." The skin around the place where the metal meets flesh is flushed red, annoyed. If you're being honest, it looks painful. Dug into the skin, stitched together, rather than merely slipped on.
Releasing a breath, you kneel down on the bath mat and take a look at what you're working with. His hair is a bit of a mess, to put it lightly. The worst offender being the part where his wound was the last night. The hair there is clumped together with dried blood into a solid mass. You're hesitant to just start pouring water over it because of the wound underneath. You click your tongue.
"I'm going to grab a cup— I'll be right back."
It's a lot easier than cupping your hands. You rush to the kitchen and back, returning to your earlier position. There's a solid layer of bubbles covering his body now, including a wall of steam. He really likes his baths hot. In order to scoop out some water, you clear away a bit of the soap and wipe the suds off on the bath mat.
In one hand, you carefully take a clump of bloodied hair. In the other, you take the cup and start to pour over it. You rub the wet hair in between your fingers. They're immediately stained red. As soon as the worst is washed out, you run through it with a wet comb. Then, you do the same thing, but with your fingers coated with shampoo and, later, conditioner. It takes absolutely forever as you move your way further up towards his scalp.
His hair is dirty, after all. There's knots in there so big that you spend a few minutes untying them, others that you end up having to cut out with a pair of scissors. He's like a matted dog. You pull out clumps of hair that aren't attached to anything at all and stick them on the tiled floor to be thrown away later. …You really need to wash your pillowcase after this. You're so lost in the repetitive tasks, that you hardly notice that the bath's a few inches away from spilling on the floor.
"I think the bath's full enough." In response, Sully reaches out and turns off the tap. You squint at his hair, knowing about the wound that's underneath it. "Does any of this hurt?"
"No." His voice is the most quiet you've heard him, though you'll admit that you haven't known him for very long. "The outside's healed already."
"It has?" You can't hide the surprise in your voice. "I'm pretty sure that's impossible."
"It is the same as I said before: I heal faster than humans."
Less careful now, you part his hair and peer through it. There really is no wound to be found on the side of his head. You breathe out a slow sigh. What you're seeing really is reality, so you continue on with washing his hair, a little less carefully than before. Rather than just washing the worst of his strands of hair, you massage your fingers alongside his scalp as well. The shampoo still doesn't produce much bubbles, so you go for another round. There's something soothing about cleaning him so thoroughly even though your fingers are starting to get a bit sore from the repetitive movements. The tips of them are wrinkled from the water.
Part of the reason you're taking your time with it is because Sully seems to be enjoying himself too. He's quiet other than the occasional slow exhale. What he does do, however, is lean into your touch. Leaning his neck in your direction and tilting his head like a pleased cat hoping for more scritches. Your heart warms with a bit of unexpected affection. It must've been a while since anyone has touched him like this. …You don't think you ever have been, at least. You smile as he lets out a sigh as your nails lightly scratch the top of his head.
You knead a final round of conditioner in his locks and grab a tube of body scrub. The glove that comes with is on the end of 'comically small' while pulled over his hand, but it does the job. You squirt a sizeable amount on it.
"This is body scrub. It feels a bit like… Paste with sand in it, I guess? It helps you get all the dead skin and dirt off, so you can just get to rubbing it everywhere." You turn around. "Well, not near your genitals— Just let me know if you need any help. I can do your back for you later."
You stare at the fogged-up mirror. He doesn't respond, which is expected. The sound of water sloshing around in the tub is about all the indication you need that he's listening to you. It seems to take forever until he's done. To be fair, there is probably quite a bit of dirt on him. It's only weird if you make it weird, you tell yourself, you're just helping out someone who needs it.
"I've scrubbed everything," comes softly from behind you.
"Alright, then I'll do your back." You're lucky that you have another glove with you. You try not to let your gaze wander too much, but it's clear he did his job on the rest of his body. His skin is rub red at some points, so maybe he did too good of a job.
You hum a little as you rub your gloved hand up and down his back. It's fascinating, almost, how much dirt comes off. Little rolled up, dark grey bundles of skin that you wipe down into the murky bath water. The upper area of his back is covered in dark hair, thinning out as it goes further down and along. There are a few more scars to be spotted here. Thin, jagged cuts crisscrossing through the skin. They've turned white with age. It takes a little while until you're satisfied. Only halfway through do you remember that he's supposed to be wearing bandages around his shoulders. They're discarded behind you on the floor, bloodied, not a wound in sight.
"I think that's about it," you say, rising to your feet. You keep your gaze off to the side. "You can stay in as long as you want. Got some clothes for you by the sink, towels on the rack, and I'll just be making some breakfast. Feel free to drain it, and get some fresh, warm water in there."
You're not sure whether you're being too condescending or not. He's not a child, after all. But maybe he likes the clear instructions? He's not complaining either way.
"…Thank you."
You smile at that. "Yeah, sure. Just join me whenever you feel like it."
Judging by the almost violent noise of sloshing water in the tub as soon as the door closes behind you, he'll be joining you soon.
You're making a mental list of things to do while shoving two slices of bread in the toaster and cracking two eggs in a frying pan. You need to get him some new clothes because he can't just keep wearing your oversized stuff. Besides that, you need to change the bedsheets. There's no way that you're not giving them a wash after seeing the amount of dirt that came off of that man. And you probably need to get some groceries. You take a step back to find something to flip the eggs with, only to collide with something solid.
"Oh!" You gasp out. "Oh, hey." Sully's body is damp, hair falling down in wet strings along his neck. The fabric on his shoulders is clearly a darker shade than the rest of the hoodie. Gaze slipping lower, you see a trail of wet footsteps making their way into the kitchen. Add a quick mop to the list.
"Did you not find the towels?" You don't want it to sound mean, it's a genuine question.
"You left," he responds, as if that is explanation enough. When you continue staring him down, his tone takes on something that borders on accusatory. "You said I could join you whenever I wanted to."
"Well, I— I guess you're not wrong about that." You laugh. "Next time, just get a bit more dry, okay? I gotta clean up the floor now."
"I will do it, handler," he quickly responds. "I'm sorry."
"Oh, don't worry about it." It's odd to have someone around you in your apartment. It feels strangely domestic, all of this, and you can feel your walls quickly crumbling. It's dumb, really stupid, but you can't really help it. "…How many eggs would you like for breakfast."
"Four."
You snort. "Alright, big guy. I'll let you know when they're done."
The two of you have a quiet breakfast together and, after that, he helps you with stuff around the house. Sully's always a step or two behind you or lingering in the doorway, so you figured he might as well help. You changed the sheets together and explained to him how the washing machine worked, then the vacuum cleaner. He picks everything up easily enough. You had half-expected him to tap out at some point or to show his 'true colours'. Instead, he's very attentive, asking questions when he doesn't explain something and taking over from you as soon as he understands.
You think he'll wander off eventually, but it doesn't stop for the rest of the day. If you sit on the couch to watch something, he's right there next to you. If you grab a snack from the kitchen, he leans against the counter and watches you work away. If you go to use the bathroom, he's waiting right outside. Going from living on your own to, well, this is a shift so jarring that you're exhausted a couple of hours in.
"Sully, I'm sorry, just…" you sigh and shake your head. "Do you need something from me right now? Otherwise, could you go somewhere else? I just… Would really appreciate some time on my own right now."
"Sorry. I was waiting for a mission."
"I don't think I'll have one for you for quite a while, I'm sorry." You have no idea what you'd have him do. "Go rest up, and let me know when you're completely healed, okay? I'll think of something. If you really don't want to go anywhere else, you can help around the house and get a job… Or something."
He nods quietly and wanders off to the bedroom again. You watch TV on your own for a little while in order to relax. Just as you're wondering whether Sully would even be able to get a job—you don't know whether he has any form of identification—you remember that you're supposed to get him clothes as well. You haven't seen him ever since you told him to leave you alone for a bit, and you go ahead and knock on his door.
It's cold outside on the way to the thrift store. Sully had gone with you without hesitation, because of course he had. It's a couple degrees above freezing. The sun reflects off of the snow all around you, almost making you wish you'd brought a set of sunglasses. Countless tracks have been dragged through the slush of snow.
You let out a little yelp as you lose your footing and grab on to Sully for purchase. He links his arm with yours. It keeps you steady. You mumble out an apology and grip his arm. You didn't have a coat for Sully to wear against the cold, but even while walking outside now he seems to radiate heat. You eye the cars driving past. The 'having a car' situation is pretty dire right now, and you're a little jealous.
Nothing to be done about it now. It's about fifteen minutes of walking. There's not a lot of people out and about right now. The ones that are seem to swerve around you as soon as you come near. Glancing up at Sully, the reason quickly becomes obvious. He's practically staring holes into anyone that comes near. Impolite, maybe. You're glad you won't have to make small talk with anyone, though.
Excepting your initial little slip, the two of you reach the thrift store without any issues. You gesture to a general direction in the store. There's endless rows of racks and hangers and stacks, but you've been here before.
"I think the men's stuff is over there," you tell him. "Just pick something out and I'll pay for it. Probably all of the basics and, like, a coat? It might be cold for a while longer." It's a little hard sometimes to tell what he needs extra explanations on, and what he doesn't.
"I will find satisfactory clothing."
You don't intend on buying anything. you don't have that much money to spend and you're sure that Sully's outfits will end up taking a chunk out of your budget. Instead, you just wander around for a little while and check out the new things that have come in. When you make your way to Sully, tall enough for his head to stick out above the clothing racks, his hands are still empty. He's packing back and forth.
"Have you found anything you like?" He looks to be frowning even harder than usual.
"There are… A lot of choices," he responds slowly. "I will need more time to determine which are the best options."
"Would it help if I gave you some options to choose from?" If he's going to be going through all the clothes here, that'll take him ages. The crease in between his brow seems to relax a little at that and he's nodding.
"Yes. That would help."
You pick out some simple clothes for him, mostly single colours, and fit for the warm weather. They end up pretty big because most of the sizing of the smaller shirts seems fine, until you try to get it to fit over his arms. In the end, it still ends up taking quite a while. You do find a sweater in darker grey colours that you quite like. Your fingers graze over fabric and you're not looking at him, as you ask.
"Your past handlers, they, they didn't often make you decisions for yourself?"
"I am expected to be able to make decisions on my own to ensure the optimal outcome of the mission," he responds. "Clothing is not usually one of my concerns."
You're quiet for a little while. As you follow the motions through the store, with Sully following half a step behind you as you go to pay, you're lost in thought. He doesn't start conversations on his own. It's only on the way back that you ask your question. If he's still acting at this point, it's a convincing one.
"If I told you to leave, what would you do?"
"I would leave."
You wait for any further elaboration, but none comes. He had offered you his arm to link through again as you made your way back over icy sidewalks. Sully's grip on you tightens a little.
"And then?"
"…'To leave' would be my only order? I would stay away and attempt to keep myself alive."
"You wouldn't go and find another handler?"
"I do not choose my handlers, they are chosen for me," he says, and you can once again hear the frown in his voice. "Excuse me, handler, I am not sure what response you are trying to hear. I'm sorry." The words are flat, spoken without actual guilt behind them.
You'd just been, curious, wanted to know whether you could let him go out into the world and he'd be alright.
"Are you implying you want me to leave?"
"No, I—" Saying that you'd like to 'keep him' feels demeaning. He's not some kind of dog, not some kind of weapon, despite what he seems to believe himself. But it seems he doesn't actually want to go ahead and do something with his life if you let him do whatever he wanted. Or maybe you could… Help him better get to that point?"
"I don't have… I don't have a good mission for you right now, would you still want to stay, then? I'll figure something out for you."
"I would stay. I do not judge the missions I receive, I do not have the right…" he trails off. When you look up at him, his mouth is slightly open. He closes it again.
"Go on. Share your thoughts. As a general rule, Sully," you start, your voice taking on steadiness that makes it clear to him how serious you are. "I'd like to hear what is on your mind and what you want, okay?"
"You are a very unusual handler," he says, and you laugh.
"Yeah, that sounds about right. Do you mind?"
"No." Maybe you'll be able to train a sense of humour into him.
The two of you, with some time, manage to settle in some kind of routine. Sully has found a job with irregular hours in a warehouse (how, exactly, you're not sure, it's working out, and that's what matters. You're both happy and a little sad he doesn't hang around your workplace anymore). The pay's not great, but neither of yours is, and you've. always managed to make ends meet. Sully never looks as tired as you do in the mornings. He also keeps the house in order, often even prepares lunches for you. He ignores any and all of your protests. That's another thing that's changed over the months: he's started listening to you a bit less, which you suppose is a good thing.
"You told me I should do what I want, and say what I think," he just responds to your protests. "I want to do this. So, asking me not to won't achieve anything."
You think he'd stop if you ordered him to do so, but you have no intention of doing so. It's only been fun and exciting for you to see more and more of his personality and interests come to light. Sully likes going to the library to pick up old movies, like, half-a-century old, and sometimes watches the same ones over and over again, frowning. You'd managed to pick up an old gramophone from an antique shop after saving up for a while, and he'd been really happy with it. Sully likes to have something to do. He gets restless and one of the few orders you do give is for him to just sit down. Often, he cooks, but that might be because he seems to always be starving.
He's touchy, too. You don't mind, honestly, you're touch-starved and happy for the company. Something you have in common. Neither of your draw attention to it when he wraps an arm around you while sitting on the couch, or how he doesn't even pretend to be going into the guest bedroom anymore. A bigger bed should probably be something to save up for, but you quite like being cosied up next to him. Still, you had offered it to him. It shouldn't all be about what you want.
It only led to you seeing the first glimpses of a teasing side to his personality. "I don't think I'd rather be anywhere else right now," he'd said with a smile. "Or are you going to order me to leave, handler?"
You wouldn't. And he'd known that, of course, much as it amused him. You like his company too much, regardless of the fact that you don't really know what you are to each other. You've never asked him out or really spoken about it, never done anything outright romantic like kiss. Despite the butterflies in your stomach that you get in his presence, you don't dare disturb the equilibrium you've achieved and lose it all in the process. Rathe just 'overly touchy' roommates than to find out he's just acting like this because he still sees you as his superior.
(Occasionally, there is the odd occurrence. There had been some kind of leakage in the roof of the store you worked in and it'd closed hours earlier than you were supposed to. You'll miss the pay, but in the moment you were just happy to be done. When you walked through the door, you'd been smiling, eager to call out for Sully— Only to run into a wall of bleach. The smell was so strong that it burned the inside of your nose as you inhaled.
"What happened? It smells like… You accidentally made chlorine gas, or something."
"Yes… Accidentally mixed something, then spilled it," Sully says, a large garbage bag tucked underneath his arm. "I am cleaning it. I thought you would be home later. Why don't you go to the library, and I'll open the windows until the smell is gone?"
You try not to think about it too hard. It's not worth it.)
On the other end of the spectrum, you'd walked in on Sully sitting on the couch, fly unzipped and belt down, his fist wrapped around his cock. In your shock, your eyes had lingered long enough for your brain to register two things. One, fuck, he's huge, and two, oh god, he's jerking off in the middle of the living room. He'd heard you come in and hadn't even stopped touching himself. You promptly turned around, hands flying up to cover your eyes.
Even then, the slick noise of his hand pumping his erection didn't stop.
"Sully! Oh my god, stop— You can't just do that!" You cried out, because he wasn't stopping due to the social pressure alone. "Stop! Just, just get your clothes back on." Your face is on fire. You swear he'd been looking at you while touching himself.
"Tell me, tell me when you're done and I can turn around," you said next. His clothes showed that his cock hadn't flagged much, the bulge visibly straining against the fabric. "And go wash your hands, please!"
You hadn't mentioned it again, but you'd be lying if you said that the sight of his cock hadn't crossed your mind since. That was only a week ago and it's driving you a little crazy. He also doesn't bring it up, which makes it clear that Sully doesn't want to talk about it either. But it's getting to him too, you think. He's more restless than ever and has started working through a list of '100 hobbies to try' that you'd printed out for him.
It comes to a head about a week later, when you wake up in the middle of the night.
It's not the first time it happens. Sully has plenty of nightmares that he jolts awake from and refuses to talk about. You'll jerk away to him shooting upright in bed, the last chords of a cry still on his lips. Sometimes, it's enough to put a hand on him and soothe him back. Other times, you need to flick on the light on the bedside table to show him exactly where he is, or offer him a glass of water with ice cubes in it. Holding the cubes in his hands seems to ground him even more. But he always calms down, in the end, and Sully thanks you before going back to sleep.
It's different when you wake up this time.
For one, it's not a sudden jolt to the surface. You're warm and cosy underneath your blankets, pressed down into the mattress. Your awakening is slow. A little undecipherable noise slips past your lips and the movement, gentle and steady, like the rocking of a boat, comes to a halt. Ironically enough, it's exactly this change in rhythm that ends up rousing you.
More than just warm, it feels like you're being smothered. Sully is wrapped around you, a leg slipped across over both of yours, his head above yours on the pillow. One of his hands rests on your stomach. Curled up and holding you to his chest. There's been some touching while both of you have shared a bed, it's unavoidable, but it's usually in the realm of getting an elbow in your shoulder. Nothing like this. Nothing like the unmistakable bulge rubbing against your ass.
Your face feels like it's on fire. It's hard to keep your eyes fully closed now, eyelids fighting to flutter open. Sully's breath is heavy and hot against the top of your head. The hand that's on your stomach pinches the skin there a little. You're not sure— This is a lot to take in all at once. You try to keep your breathing as unchanged as if you were still asleep, but your heart is picking up a rapid pace. You can feel that wetness has already gathered in between your legs.
"Sully…" You say slowly, and his arm around you tightens.
"I'm sorry," he breathes out. Rather than slowing, the thrusting of his hips against your ass grows a little more intens. "You can punish me for this, if you want, handler— You do not like them, I know, but… You told me not to touch myself, and this is worse."
"Told you not to touch yourself? When did I— Oh." Of course, it had to have been the one time you mentioned anything like that. And it had only been a week ago. "I didn't mean, I just meant that you shouldn't do it out in the open."
"Well, what am I doing right now?" He asks, breathily, and still he doesn't stop. "If you don't know how to punish me, I have ideas. Force me out into the cold, throw cold water over me, or—"
"I don't do punishments, Sully." A tremor has crept into your voice. Saliva has gathered in your mouth, knowing that you'd been suffering in silence because he wants you he wants you he wants you without any order.
"And I'm not going to start with them now. I was— I was unclear, and I was in the wrong for that."
"Why are you not telling me to stop?" He murmurs, quieter this time. His movements have slowed again.
"Be, because," your voice cracks. You've been making him voice his desires all this time, ordering him to always share what he wanted, and yet you had failed to do the same thing all along. "Because I don't want you stop. I never… I would never ask for something like this, I was scared that you— I don't want to make you do anything you don't want. Couldn't order something like this, on accident."
Sully lets out a groan, drawn-out and rumbling. "You are so odd, handler. One of your first orders was to always do what I want. I wouldn't do this if I didn't, you couldn't have made me."
The problem is, you don't quite believe that. Sully stab himself in the gut, you think, if you asked him to do it. Acting out your orders is something he believes he wants to do, isn't it?
"I don't, I don't think—"
"You didn't ask me to do this," he interjects. "This is all me. I went against your orders, so punish me, or let me keep going. I want you, I have wanted you. Any way you'll let me have you."
You press your face sideways into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut. Those words from him are about the sweetest, most personal thing you've ever heard, and you can't think of anything to say that'll match it. Not with your brain seeming to melt more inside of your skull with each passing moment.
"Don't, don't stop," you whisper and Sully buries his face into your hair. You lift your leg up a little and his knee immediately presses against your crotch, applying pressure as you grind down against it.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he presses his lips to the top of your head, each sentence punctuated by a hot puff of air. "Won't stop, always do what you want—" His hips stutter against your ass, you're pulled flush against him so tight that you're not sure where you end and he begins. Sweat slicks your skin underneath your clothes, but you don't move to take them off. You hardly move at all, terrified of shattering the moment.
You whine at the friction, all-consuming and at the same time by no means enough. "I wanted this," you say, all you can think of. You try to match your movements with his. Your rhythms remain barely out of sync, Sully humping you like an animal in heat, the bed frame creaking with each of his movements.
"I wanted you to do something like this, too."
"You should have asked earlier," is the response you receive. "Tell me what you want now."
You stop being able to speak when the pressure in your stomach, the desire to touch yourself, outweighs all else and you slip a hand in past the front of your pants. They're easily made slick with your arousal and you furiously start rubbing at yourself.
"Kiss, kiss my neck?" You ask shakily. At once, Sully is there, wet lips kissing and sucking on the flesh of your throat. You shudder with pleasure as the tip of his tongue wets the skin.
Egged on by his noises, you let out of a shaky moan of your own as you work yourself to the edge with your fingers. You hardly need any stimulation to get there.
"Please, please." Sully breathes out against the skin of your throat, and you don't need any explanation to know what he's begging for. You still your fingers and focus on moving back against him, prioritizing his pleasure over your own.
"Cum." The word comes out like a command, and Sully trembles behind you, a strangled moan pulled from his throat. His pace becomes stuttered and fragmented. Then, his mouth once again starts to form words of gratitude.
"Thank you, you're the best, best handler— Always so good to me, the best to me, thank you, always." You clench around nothing at his words, panting heavily. "You're, you're my favourite, yes."
Sully never lies to you, and what have you given him in return? You feel selfish, gluttonous. And yet, you can't help yourself, going back to touching yourself, holding your breath as you press your face into the pillow. He's stopped grinding himself against you, instead groping at your chest and thighs. Your fingers are starting to cramp, growing wrinkled with the amount of slick you're coated in, but you couldn't care less right now.
"Don't leave me, okay?" Your real desire spills free from you, pulled loose by your sleepiness and arousal. "Please don't leave me alone again, I—" You let out a half-sob as Sully sucks on your throat.
"Won't. Ever," he growls against you, and it's enough to shove you over the edge, noisy and babbling as pleasure rocks you to your core. If it weren't for the words you just said, you would've immediately drifted off again, limbs deliciously relaxed.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"Don't take it back." He says it so sternly that your mouth immediately snaps back shut again. "Those were your true feelings. I'll stay."
I've updated my commission info for the new year, find everything you need right in this document! Find all the details in there.
Summary:
1.5 eurocent per word, half paid in advance, half paid afterwards. Example: 2000 words is 30 euros.
Minimum is 1000 words, maximum is 8000 words. (More than that will be split over multiple comms.)
Kinky requests very welcome, see a full yes/no list in the doc.
Sponsor an idea that I have been meaning to write but haven't written yet in the document! 35 euros for an idea that is guaranteed to exceed 2500 words.
Fandoms:
Ace Attorney (The original trilogy)
Adventure Time/Fionna and Cake
Boku No Hero Academia
Boyfriend to Death / The Price of Flesh
Date Everything!
(Newer) DCU stuff (Superman 2025, Peacemaker)
Dispatch
Disney movies
Fate/stay night, Fate Zero (I am not familiar with FGO)
Five Nights at Freddy’s
Genshin Impact
Hazbin Hotel
Honkai Star Rail
Marvel Cinematic Universe
Persona 5
Pokémon (Literally all games and most of the movies)
Robert x Reader x Herman
Warnings: Petplay, emotional hurt/comfort
Robert doesn’t really know how he ended up with two cute emotional messes wrapped around his finger, but he’s certainly not complaining. He’s always been helping the greater public, and it’s nice to have people he’s so clearly supporting now. You make cute pets, too. Robert hardly ever takes his own advice though, and perhaps you two take it into your own hands to make him take some well-deserved rest instead!
Sonar x Reader
Warnings: Infantilisation
You’re a communications worker at the Torrance office of SDN, and a bat shifter like Sonar. Instead of turning big and scary, you turn… Well, tiny, and kind of cute. He just can’t help the desire to fuss and look after you (poorly, might I add), it’s just an instinctual thing!
Phenomaman x Reader
Warnings: YandereYou feel really bad for the guy after his breakup and try to offer him emotional support. He continues to be the odd one out in the team, and everyone seems to grow tired of him at some point… So what’s wrong with extending a hand? Well, Phenomaman’s been looking for a new passion and it looks like you fit the bill! But he’s not so eager to allow this relationship to end like the last one.
Date Everything!
Harper x Therapist!Reader
Warnings: Dubious consent, power dynamicsHarper is your most recent client, and a difficult one indeed. You think she stepped into your office with something to prove, rather than a desire to get better. She’s paying you, though, so you’ll make a genuine effort to improve her mental health. It’s never been difficult for her to get attached however and, because you listen to her so genuinely, it doesn’t take her long to fall head over heels for you. And Harper knows how to make someone want her, despite their better judgment.
Honkai Star Rail
Sunday x Reader, Robin x Sunday (no actual sex between the latter)Warnings: Incest, sex workYou’re one of the most famous escorts in all of Penacony. Thanks to having grown up there, and having a talent for manipulating the Dreamscape, you’re particularly skilled at taking on the appearance of others. You make all kinds of dreams come true with this ability. Oftentimes, it’s the desperate, the angry, the ones disgusted with what they want. You have no issues seeing through the disguise of Sunday, head of the Oak Family, and the desire he brings to you is interesting indeed. You’ve never been one for blackmail, but you do wonder how much you’d be able to make by selling the story that Sunday Oak wants to fuck his sister…
Pokemon
First of all, I wanna say please talk to me about pokephilia stuff thank YOU.
Gardevoir x Reader
Warnings: Yandere
Gardevoir is a Pokemon that is incredibly dedicated to its trainer. When you’re not doing well, facing blow after blow after blow of an already shitty life, you suddenly wake up in a world that seems… Too good to be true. Will you let yourself be lulled into the warm embrace of this new reality, or cut yourself open on the cracks in the facade? At the middle of it all, is your Gardevoir. They’ve always been there for you, always loving, always… Affectionate.
I've updated my commission info for the new year, find everything you need right in this document! Find all the details in there.
Summary:
1.5 eurocent per word, half paid in advance, half paid afterwards. Example: 2000 words is 30 euros.
Minimum is 1000 words, maximum is 8000 words. (More than that will be split over multiple comms.)
Kinky requests very welcome, see a full yes/no list in the doc.
Sponsor an idea that I have been meaning to write but haven't written yet in the document! 35 euros for an idea that is guaranteed to exceed 2500 words.
Fandoms:
Ace Attorney (The original trilogy)
Adventure Time/Fionna and Cake
Boku No Hero Academia
Boyfriend to Death / The Price of Flesh
Date Everything!
(Newer) DCU stuff (Superman 2025, Peacemaker)
Dispatch
Disney movies
Fate/stay night, Fate Zero (I am not familiar with FGO)
Five Nights at Freddy’s
Genshin Impact
Hazbin Hotel
Honkai Star Rail
Marvel Cinematic Universe
Persona 5
Pokémon (Literally all games and most of the movies)
For the nsfw alphabet, I would love to see Volo, Emmet and Ingo? I don't really know anything about Dispatch, but please feel free to take your time getting to these if you're inclined to do them :) Thanks!
thank you for sticking around despite not knowing much about dispatch <3!
I just took a few letters for eaech of them cause doing whole alphabets for multiple characters ia loooot of work. If you want any specific letters please let me know!
Notes: pregnancy mentioned in C in Volo’s part (in general. Volo is. Weird.), public sex
Emmet
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Emmet’s honestly willing to try a lot of things at least once, though he doesn’t like to have things thrown at him out of nowhere. Discuss it beforehand and he enjoys experimentation. The pre-sex discussion is usually pretty detailed. He’s got a pretty strong preference for both dominating and topping, but if you’re dating and he trusts you, he might occasionally take on another position. He’d be a total brat who’d needed to be disciplined pretty harshly. Emmet has a bit of an interest in public sex. He might grope you a little in public if no one’s directly looking at you, and has a latent interest in fucking on public transportation. The one thing that takes away from the fantasy for him is knowing exactly how unhygienic everything is.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Emmet can be an absolutely awful tease. Could even just leave you hanging for a day if you let him get away with. It ties back a little into the public sex stuff, where he’d enjoy doing something like making you walk around with a toy inside you… And making sure to keep an eye on you so that you don’t actually get to cum. He’ll keep you needy all day until you crack and go beg him for some attention, which he may or may not give depending on how he feels. So, yes, in short, a very big tease.
Ingo
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Ingo has had sex a couple of times, but he’s found that he doesn’t really enjoy casual sex all that much. He’s been so busy with his job and improving as a trainer that he hasn’t had much time for a long-term relationship either. That does translate him into not being all that experienced. However, that doesn’t mean he’s not eager to learn. At some point in your relationship he’s starting to do genuine research into what might be able to make you feel the best… And, in a roundabout way, because he’s a little embarrassed, he’ll start to ask after your preferences.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
This might be obvious, but Ingo is noisy during sex. There’s absolutely no way you can have a little fun with him in even a semi-public space (like his office) without anyone nearby being able to hear. You’re lucky if you don’t get noise complaints from neighbours. He just can’t help it! Ingo moans a lot and has a tendency to ramble during sex, consistently losing his train of thought about halfway through what he was saying. If you want him to quiet down, you’re actually going to have to gag him. Even then, his lips will start to move around whatever’s in his mouth as soon as he loses his focus and forgets that he’s supposed to be quiet.
Volo
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Volo never fails to cum inside of you. If you’re able to get pregnant, Volo is a little obsessed with cumming inside of you. There’s not much of the way of contraceptives in Hisui, other than simply pulling out. But Volo, most of the time, doesn’t even do that much. Oh, he’ll pretend that it’s a mistake and that it hadn’t been on purpose, but the reality is that it absolutely is. He’s interested in a child more for the sake of carrying on his bloodline, the ancient people of who there are so little left, and the way you’ll be more dependent on him during pregnancy.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Sex is one of the times that Volo’s mask cracks around the edges. With how he usually acts, you might expect sex with him to be a casual affair, all gentle kisses at a decent pace. Instead, he becomes a little feral during it all. He likes taking you from behind the most. Perhaps it’s because you don’t see the look in his eyes then, the shape of his mouth as he constantly mutters words that you can’t quite make out. He’s rough, too. Nails scraping along your skin, lips only stopping their movements when his teeth sink into you instead. Your pleasure is often an afterthought, but Volo is skilled enough that he can make you cum with relative ease regardless.
Most people are hopeful that they can talk Sonar out of being interested in cryptocurrency, the reality is that you probably, unfortunately, cannot. He's too deep in the hole. If you don't want him to chatter your ear off about it, you're going to have to take some measures. Like, genuinely sit him down and tell him to shut up about it, or make a system where you set a timer for thirty minutes where he can ramble to you about it, and otherwise not.
Over time, you can perhaps genuinely listen and engage and convince him that there are way too many pump-and-dump schemes for it to be worth investing in most small coins or, god forbid, coins set up for 'the meme' or based on YouTubers or something. (Good luck trying to convince him not to start such a scheme himself after that.)
I also think it's funny if he's a bit obsessed with the hundreds of bitcoin for example that are sitting untouched in the wallets of people in jail, or of those who have simply forgotten their passkey. I think he'd bother Robert about it because he knows how to hack lol.
I wonder what an all salazzle harem would be like?
It'd be pretty unsustainable, I feel like, HAHA
Whenever Salazzle encounter each other in the wild, fights ensue. They have an instinctual desire to outdo the others as they're all the dominant one in their respective groups. In the wild, they do this by showing off the size of their harem, the winner having the most Salandit. They end up taking some of the loser's Salandit in the process. (They want to provide for the strongest around, after all.)
If you tried to keep a harem of Salazzle, there would be a lot of in-fighting and stress among them I feel like... if you're a human trainer with multiple Salazzle, they would all be vying for your attention in a way that might be detrimental to their health. Probably yours too, you'd be constantly drugged up on a mixture of multiple Salazzle's pheromones. Good luck functioning like that!
I've always wanted specifically Lesbian Salazzle headcanons but basically everything with salazzle is straighter then an arrow and i am starving.
i love this a lot :D!!
Notes: Salazzle x Female!Reader, mildly dubious consent (salazzle's pheromones)
In the wild, Salazzle live with a whole group of Salandit serving their every need. Perhaps a Salazzle exclusively interested in women has pheromones that attracts exclusively female Salandit, or she scares off any males with her flames. Or, perhaps, she does keep any Salandit willing to serve her around, but simply does not mate with them to lay eggs as most others would.
If you're the Trainer of Salazzle, I imagine the way your relationship would unfold would depend somewhat on in what evolution stage you caught it! As mentioned above, Salazzle are used to be the dominant Pokemon in their group, but if you have had your partner since the days of her being a Salandit, this nature will be less obvious. In her first evolution stage, after all, she'd seen you as the one to follow! You're her female trainer, so it only makes sense in her mind.
I quite like the idea of your Salazzle having had feelings for you for a long time. As a Salandit, though, her instincts made it clear that it would be inappropriate to make the first move. (The hierarchy in the 'group', and all that). Her affection would still be obvious, though, both in the way she would hiss and spew fire at other Pokemon if they threatened you, or if she was particularly jealous, and her food-gathering habits! For a Salandit, that is one of the most important way to thank you for looking after her.
However, once she evolved into Salazzle, the nature of your relationship would change. She'd see you more as equals and start making moves. Out of respect for you, she's only microdosing her pheromones. If she really wanted to, she'd be able to bend your mind to her will by making you take a good whiff of them. That doesn't mean even the small dose is without effect. You might feel lighthearted, short of breath, or suddenly aroused whenever she's around.
In general, she tries to lure you in. She'll stand upright instead of one four legs to do so, her tail and whip-like extensions along her back swaying slightly in slow, smooth motions. In general, she would be pretty touchy with you. The familiarity of knowing you for a while would make it so that she has no issue crawling into your lap and sprawling herself over your front, her jaw resting on your chest. And once she's there, good luck peeling her off. Literally. The same stickiness on her hands and feet that allow her to climb on walls, are now used to stick to your clothing.
If you're wondering about what a Salzzle who had evolved prior to catching her would be like, she would be much more on the spoilt end of the spectrum. She may be incredibly attracted to you, but her pride would practically make it impossible for her to actually come on to you instead. She'd also be way more likely to more thorougly drug you up on her pheromones... And, of course, expects you to bring her all her meals and a lot of scritches plus praise after every battle, whether she won or lost.
