#Its been a while since I've done a song fic

[stickyspeckledlight]

Waxing, Waning, My Unraveled Body Beheld By the Moon [Yan!Aventurine x GN!Reader]

The sun is not always shining. But the moon can only shine because of the sun. A companion piece to Sunrise, Sunset, My Destroyed Body in the Onset. This fic assumes you've read it, so I heavily recommend you read it first before reading this. It'll make more sense if you do.

Ao3

Word count: 15.6k

TW: Implied/referenced noncon, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, mild gore, violence against reader, choking/strangulation, Stockholm syndrome, Aventurine's Past shows up, EXTREME tonal whiplash due to the beginning (but frankly it's so you can brace yourselves...the calm before the storm), Reader needs a hug, Ratio where are you my man needs therapy NOW, twisted "happy endings" my beloved

Note: This got so out of hand. Aventurine is the most potent brain worm I've had in a while. Poor reader though. They used to be such a cringefail, now they're a poor little meow meow 😔

(Written before 2.2)

You stand on the top of a tower. 

It’s a modest and small thing, but every second and breath you’ve taken is in its service. Time is its mortar, and actions are its bricks. It is stable, with a wide and strong base, with little deviation. If it had a shaky foundation, then you wouldn’t even bother.

You have no plans to construct it into something grandiose and spectacular. It’s best to keep your ambitions realistic, for it is so very easy to use and dispose of those with dreams bigger than themselves and small enough to be crushed in the palms of those atop skyscrapers. Your tower is modest, and you will keep it that way. You will have to become a cog in the machine for that to happen, but you can meagerly control the stability of your cog. 

It is cruel that it has to be that way, but you aren’t capable enough to change the way things are done. You might as well make the most out of this.

You know this song and dance, by now. The park is closed at this time of night, but, and it might be your greatest achievement of them all, you found a way to sneak in undetected. Granted, there weren't many people to stop you, but you’ll still take your W, thank you very much. 

You park your bike, well hidden in the bushes and trees. This is the noisiest part of your visit since the bike is heavy and you can’t suppress your soft grunts as you weasel it into its spot. But it’s worth it. After that, you walk along the trail, and when you’re far enough away, you stop trying to silence your steps and enjoy the sound of your boots falling onto the dirt. It’s a soft but firm sound, and it brings you a sense of peace. You hike until you reach it: a little trail to the side. Few sets of feet have paved the dirt, and even those who decide to pursue it usually turn back at the impenetrable foliage. But there is an opening in the forest’s defense. It’s tucked away, discovered by a much younger and adventurous you. You’re not sure if you found this place because you wanted to pretend to be a fairy princess or a heroic knight who saves the princess, or if you might’ve always been a little bit lonely. Whatever the case, you found this place, and it has since been your reprieve whenever things become too much. 

You know the area like the back of your hand, turning off your phone’s flashlight as you make your way. It’s a small clearing of forest, but it’s perfect. Bushes and trees surround you in a half-circle from behind, and in front of you is the ledge of a cliff. The sky is in full view here and lends itself to beautiful sunrises and sunsets. Sometimes, when your mind wanders, you wonder how long you’d fall if you tripped over the ledge. But those are just musings you have no intention of acting on. 

The moon does not grace you with its shine, but that’s alright. You’re here to see the world that moonlight blankets, not to be a part of it. You’ll bask in the darkness, and admire the silver sheen on the rest of the world; the world which gets a fraction of the sun, even at night. You settle into your spot against the tree trunk, shaped so it nearly encircles you in its embrace. A silly thought crosses your mind: does this tree love you? Of course not, but it’s just that: a silly little thought. 

You’re not here for any especially soul-crushing reason or anything. It’s the usual: schoolwork ramping up and deadlines creeping up. And the accompanying existentialism of what comes after. It’s just another peaceful night during a stressful time. It will soothe your soul, the comfort within shall ebb and flow, and then it will all fade away when you’ve returned to the world blanketed in the sun’s golden sheen. When it all piles up again, you know you can always come back here: your special place, where you can curl into yourself as much as you want to. And as always, you will fight the urge—so tiny that it’s insignificant but still so omnipresent—to sink your head fully into your stomach and become a mass of unthinking flesh. Becoming smaller and smaller until you aren’t even a speck.

The wind picks up. The cold doesn’t bother you much, but you’re still human. Instinct has you nuzzling into your cotton scarf. It does mean you have to wash it often, but the inconvenience doesn’t outweigh the comfort it provides. Yes, tonight will be a lovely one, spent doing nothing but staring at the moon from the shadows, alone with your thoughts and nocturnal critters that may tussle in the shrubbery. You hear a series of quick rustles—squirrels, maybe? Two of them, considering the frequency of rustling and the fact that it’s their mating season (well, you’re pretty sure spring is mating season. It could be wrong, but it’s useless trivia anyway, isn’t it? In the back of your mind, you imagine someone berating you). Another rustle plays, and you sigh wistfully. And then—

“…Hello,” A voice, shrewd and low sounds out.

Ink makes your vision go black and the only reason you don’t gasp or scream is because you’ve always froze before you ran. But even if you were a runner, where was there to go? You don’t know who this person is, where they are, why they are in your special place and why they’ve come here like a malicious boy kicking down a toddler’s sand castle or could they be here to prevent you from ever coming back to your special—

You swallow your panic and look for an exit before it forces itself back up. It’s not the first time someone’s noticed you, but you never really had to worry; you could just slip into here, and they’d give up when you couldn’t be found. But this is uncharted territory. More importantly, if anyone else were to know about this place, it would be a ranger. And you aren’t very interested in counting empty donut boxes and coffee cups during a run-of-the-mill interrogation. 

Slowly, and as quietly as you can, you make your move. Your hands are clammy, and each step feels like it will cause the earth to crack and send you falling into its molten core. You’ll be melted down, and the idea that you may be reforged sends another surge of panic within you. You cannot let a single brick crack. 

“I’m not here to hurt you if that’s what you’re thinking,” the voice says, much much much closer now. The words themselves should be of relief to you, but the fact that he’s closer means he knows where you are—in fact when you turn to look behind you, you can see a vague silhouette. Still, the few seconds you took to turn around also made it so that rather than relief and panic nulling each other, somewhat cool relief washed over you. Even if this entire situation is very, very, very weird. Maybe the relief you feel is a defense mechanism to prevent you from putting yourself in shit.

Should you just leave? He could just be lying to you. You weren’t great at figuring out people’s intentions, but you’d think that the most likely one in this situation leaned toward the malicious. However, you didn’t even notice his existence until he spoke. It’s the fact that he could weave through mostly undetected. If he could do that, then you think it’s not very likely you can just get away. 

You accept that defeat, so you decide to do something a little stupid. You talk to the stranger. In the event he’s a serial killer or something, maybe a conversation will let you get a good enough handle on him that he might just…let you go. Your heart hammers and you want to do nothing but shake, but you will yourself into a blizzard. If you are there, then you might be able to freeze and delay the ink that begins to drip. 

“I’m pretty shocked,” you mutter. Your voice is still a bit disconnected, still reeling, “I’ve never met someone here. How’d you find this place? Why’d you come to this place?” You ask these questions, and you won’t mind dying as much if they’re answered.

“Work,” he cryptically says. You just barely pick up on a sardonic lilt.

“So you’re a park ranger,” you deflate, and you nuzzle into your scarf as you brace yourself. But levity is powerful, and you’ll tap into it. “Here to arrest little ol’ me, then? You could’ve waited, at least until the moon started to dip. It’s a pretty solid night, methinks.” Your heart feels a little numb from hammering into your ribs so much. 

The ranger hums, “Moon’s the moon. It’s not bad, but the sun’s always pretty nice. But you’re right. It would’ve been better to wait till the sunrise. Alas, my schedule as of late has been a horribly rigid thing. I’m sure you know how it is.”

“Hmph,” you frown. It feels like he’s a cat playing with a mouse. You sigh with defeat, “Oh well. I’m not exactly known for being slippery, so I’m not even going to try and outrun a ranger of all people,” you extend your hand lazily, “Just get the cuffs already,” you decide to pout, to turn the situation around to something more comical and less soul-crushing, “Any longer, and the suspense’ll bury me six feet under. The records might call that cardiac arrest, but I call it embarrassing—the thought of dying like that is a real heartstopper.” Ha, look at you! A true punster, you little rascal. There is no reason for you to defame or attack a guy just doing his job, so if you go down, you’ll at least go down with a slow-witted joke or two. Across from you is a law-abiding Joe, and you are the evil thief mothers warn their children about. Truly, it cannot be more black and white than this, so it’s best for everyone that you don’t make too much of a fuss. See? You are capable of ethics! Or maybe that was more like philosophy? Eh, what’s the difference? You’re still fucked, and you very much want to die. 

“Arrest you?” The ranger’s voice teeters toward, um…you think it’s some mix of sarcastic, mocking, and—oh wait, you’d call it ‘teasing.’ “Do you want to be arrested?” He teases, but it feels like the way an owner would talk down to a beloved puppy. You don’t appreciate it. 

You frown. “No. Why would I want to be arrested?” You deadpan, “Can you please stop skirting around the issue?” More ink blots your sight, as your palms start to clam with unwanted anticipation. You think they could be gushing with your blood, if this guy keeps dragging your arrest out like this. 

The ranger laughs. Laughs. You aren’t sure if you want to join him or shove him off the cliff. Whatever the case, now you know that there is a nonzero chance this ranger has a bit of a sadistic streak. Instinctively, you take a few steps back, as if that could save you from disaster, from plummeting over the edge of your tower. 

“…Please tell me you aren’t planning anything…” The words you were thinking of saying suddenly elude you, but you’re already speaking. You have no choice but to see what haphazard replacements you make, “…goofy silly. Or something.”

The ranger clicks his tongue. It seems he’s fully dipped into a playful veneer; whether that’s his true self, or the mask he thinks you’ll best respond to in the way he wants, it nudges you a little further to the edge. You defensively nuzzle into your scarf, trying but failing to calm your nerves. You’ll give yourself one point, though: you thought you’d be more inclined to be screaming or crying. That’s probably because you are technically doing something illegal, so there’s really no one but yourself to blame for this predicament. Really, why do you still come here like this, when you know it’s against the rules? It’s not the first time you’ve asked yourself that question, but it’s certainly the first time it feels sort of tangible. 

“‘Goofy silly?’” The words seem all at once perfect and dubious when carried in the ranger’s voice, “Hm…you know what? I do feel like I’m in a ‘goofy silly’ mood!” 

Oh. Well, guess you’re double fucked. It was a good life, the clean record, you suppose. But what is life if not change? You’re entering a new era now, you hardened criminal. Crime will be your lifeblood; anything scared shall disintegrate into something depraved at your touch. You’ll do it all: tax evasion, defamation, shoplifting, parking offenses. Society will not be free of your crime sprees—all will fear the Suburban Terror. Karens will cower before you, the neighbors will hate you, the teenagers will prank you, and the children will scream with fear at you. All because the consequences of your actions caught up with you at the behest of the actions of some guy who just so happens to be able to arrest you. 

“So, about that arresting,” the ranger continues, “I won’t be doing that!” he peps.

Everything stands in place. “What?” 

“I’m not gonna arrest you!” 

“W-well, I heard that,” you stammer, “but why? You literally said you’re here for work!” 

You can practically sense the ranger’s lighthearted shrug, “I am. And I’m not arresting you. Simple as that!”

Everything feels like it's going too fast and too slowly. Whiplash isn’t good for the soul, in your opinion. “But…but the law…”

“Who said the law needs to be followed?” 

“The government and state…” and then something clicks, “Hey, if you’re a park ranger, then aren’t you working for the government? Is this corruption?” 

You imagine the ranger smirks. “What is corruption but a tool of the game?” 

“What does that have to do with this conversation?” You find yourself deadpanning. “And why aren’t you answering?”

“Life’s a game,” he breezily purrs, “and conversation is a part of life, so really, it has everything to do with this conversation.” 

“I think I’d rather go through a physics textbook than deconstruct that sentence,” but you find yourself smiling. The ranger has a good sense of humor, you find. You take a few more steps, no longer teetering on the edge. In the back of your mind, you think that he could just be lowering your guard, but honestly? Maybe you shouldn’t doubt a person’s goodwill, even if it’s technically illegal. Well, you don’t care about what’s illegal and not; if hairless monkeys with godless monkey brains are imperfect, then the things they make are imperfect too. Regardless…you don’t know his face, and he doesn’t know yours either. In other words, you’re both complete strangers. If you ever meet each other, you won’t even recognize each other, won’t ever truly register each other’s existence outside this singular shared moment. 

That anonymity, the opportunity to exist without future consequence…it entices you, and you’re drawn into it. Drawn into levity and shedding your superficial guard. 

“Careful, you might insult a doctor of physics or two,” the ranger says with an insinuating lilt. Perhaps he knows a physicist or a student suffering with their doctorate thesis. Information that is all at once useful and impeccably useless. “You might just get a piece of chalk lodged in your skull.”

You shrug. “I’m living my best life while they’re stressing over the mechanics of a rat yawning and how that like. Affects the physics of the air or something.”

That gets a soft huff, like he breathed out a laugh, “I say that too, but then he starts going on about quantum mechanics and wormholes…probably a lot more than that, but the stuff’s so incomprehensible I tune out.”

“Your friend sounds…well, like a scientist,” you unceremoniously blurt. “Sure, they’re called nerds, but for good reason. They can talk your ear off, all the while you nod without understanding a single thing…and then they sigh to go talk to someone who actually knows what they’re talking about.” 

“‘Talk your ear off’ is a bit of an understatement,” the ranger says, “though I think it’s better to say ‘gives a tongue-lashing.’”

You wince at the image. “Oof. Sorry about that.” 

“I’m used to it,” the stranger says. “Besides, I have a quip or two to throw back.”

“Oh.” You aren’t sure how to react. “That…that sucks.” 

“‘That sucks?’” his tone isn’t accusatory; it’s curious, with a hint of what you believe is wariness. 

It flusters you a bit, for some reason. “W-well,” you stammer, “if you’re used to it, then that means you get, uh, ‘tongue-lashings’ a ton, right? I don’t think people should be getting a ton of tongue-lashings…” 

“But what if I do things that deserve a tongue-lashing?” 

“Well, then you’d get a tongue-lashing. But, I dunno. I don’t think people should be mean to each other all the time, I guess,” you try, practically rambling, “Maybe it’s just cuz I know I’d just be on the floor in a sobbing heap if someone so much as raised their voice at me…but…but…w-well, you know what I mean!” You raise your hands, making desperate gestures as if you could telepathically communicate with them. Unfortunately, you do not live in a sci-fi with magical reality-bending wizard monk powers, not unless you devote yourself to a singular concept. “There’s always plenty of room for, um. Positive reinforcement, yeah! In fact, let’s practice!” Shit, your cheeks are heating and at this point you’re just incoherently blabbering but now that you’ve started you just can’t stop oh dear Aeons save you— “Uh…you…you follow your heart! By choosing not to arrest me out of…out of principle or, or, or pity…um, well, point is, you have defied the law of your own choosing, which is a pretty uh, gr~eat show of your super strong will! Your beliefs! They say within all delinquents lies a heart of gold, after all! And you know how to be sneak of super! I mean sneak super! I mean super sneak! Urgh, I mean suppppperrrrrrr sneaky. And I bet that’s really nice and I know that’s really cool! It’s a super power on par with that of uh. Uh. An Aeon? Yeah, an Aeon!”

You’ve lost your steam, and now you’re left blinking. The embarrassment flusters you, and now you’re something in between a fish being choked in the hand of a cruel fisherman and a wonderfully eloquent failing car engine. You truly are the epitome of grace and elegance. There was no way the ranger wasn’t at least cringing. Maybe he’d change his mind and just arrest you; after all, how else to fix cringe if not rehabilitate it? Well, if he did arrest you over this, you’d be back to haunt him with like, cheese, or something. You’d jump that hurdle when you got there. 

Hm…but you think you kind of wanna crawl into a hole and die…but that expression is too cliche, so instead, you think you wanna crawl into a hole and start a society of mole people. It’ll be like LARPing, except you wouldn’t be role-playing! …Actually, yeah…someone should just kill you right now before you start to laugh and then cry as your embarrassment transitions into self-conscious despair……..that’s how it usually went when you got like this….

It’s a good thing you can’t be seen. 

You think the ranger will laugh, stand in baffled silence, mock you, or just walk away, but he chuckles. “Hmmm…you know, I could get used to this; hearing people stumble over their words to compliment me!”

You’re a little dumbfounded, but you’re decent enough at rolling with the punches. You can come up with a headcanon or two on the spot. “Yeah! That’s the spirit! Now that’s what I call some good old-fashioned character development!”

He lets out a soft whistle, “That so? What trope would you say I embody, out of curiosity?”

“Hm…” you tap your chin in thought. You’re in a forest, and there’s a moon, and you get an award-winning idea. “Maybe…hrmmmm…a mysterious vampire, here to whisk the unassuming protagonist away to a forbidden romance, sustaining your very being on their essence…” 

“Oh? Am I really that charming even without a face?” He teases.

You laugh. “Well, you are pretty charming, but I was just kidding. I couldn’t just let that opportunity slip away,” your laugh calms into a soft chuckle. “No, I’d say…a mysterious stranger, with a past unearthed and a charming veneer, but beneath it all lay an affable man…who may or may not heed the word of law. A Robin Hood-esque character of sorts.” Sure, it’s cheesy, but you don’t care if he likes cheese or not. You like cheese, and that’s all that matters in this cruel world! If the world doesn’t like that, it can kiss your ass! (You think all of the is while very aware that the world can just as easily kick your ass)

“So…you’re just saying you don’t have a single clue about what my deal is.” 

You feel a little offended. In hindsight, maybe you wouldn’t have been great at terrorizing Karens. “I mean, I’ve only known you for like, half an hour. All that I know about right now is that you’re some flavor of anarchist. Probably. Maybe.” But the same applies to him! He knows nothing about you! “But if you’re so confident, then it’s time to prove your mettle!” You point towards him challengingly, even though again, he cannot see you, “You tell me what character trope I am!” (And you briefly realize that you feel light and happy, that your smile is wide)

And at that moment, just at the cusp of truly extraordinary conversation (a claim which may or may not be exaggerated), an annoying thing happens. Your phone vibrates and your screen lights up; your alarm has gone off. Your phone always has the best timing, and you don’t want to scream at it and crush its sorry little body into itty bitty pieces. 

“Oh…” you awkwardly exclaim. You’re wearing a light jacket, so the ranger can see the soft glow just as you do. “That’s…yeah, that’s sorta…alarm. Yeah. It’s my alarm. Not me alerting the IPC or the CFSS or something. I…have to go.” 

“I see,” the ranger’s voice is light and airy, entirely unaffected. “A shame. I really did enjoy our conversation.” Your mind tells you it’s all empty, but your heart is aching to soar to heights unseen. Because you are only human, those with lone hearts die first.

You want to ignore it so badly, to just converse with this ranger a little bit longer but…but you really can’t. You must abide by it if you want to mitigate your suffering in the morning (re: you’ve run out of energy drinks and coffee at home and it’ll be hell to start your morning without slugging around like a zombie). And just like that, the ranger and your conversation will fizzle away into a distant memory. And you’ll still live, the same as you’ve ever been. And because you’re both strangers, there is no reason to ask each other for anything. Because if you do, then you will both have to live with the consequences of your words. And who knows? Maybe the ranger has only spared you this night because he was in a good mood. Maybe he won’t be so affable the next time you meet. 

But there’s something to it. Some allure—no, the same allure of your special place. So you offer something, and you think your face might melt off, with how your cheeks fluster to the point its searing. 

“...I come to this place a lot. It’s like…my special little place,” you awkwardly offer. “If…if you were curious about that, er, sorta thing. Yeah. Bye, have a good night.” You stutter awkwardly, stiffly and uncertain. And then you walk away, simultaneously desiring and afraid of hearing what his response to that would be. Of having your fear being validated with rejection. 

If there was one moment you could point to that sealed your fate, it wouldn’t have been that conversation by a longshot, nor was it your second, third, tenth, or even your final conversation before he revealed himself to you; it was your offer. After all, people only think fate is immediate whenever it comes to hit them straight in the face. In truth, fate is gradual, of many bricks stacking up into a skyscraper. That offer led you to swim in ink; to traipse into fields of cotton; to weather against frozen infernos; and then finally, to dance in a flowering meadow, your feet raw and bleeding, sanded against the soft blades of poison ivy and oak. 

—

He sees you’re on the balcony.

(Only right after when he woke up and felt that you weren’t in his arms and nearly tore apart everything and anything with a scream and that you were gone and had left him like everyone else—)

He’s rather taken aback by this. He was sure you wouldn’t even be able stand come the dawn. But you still unwittingly find ways to surprise him even now. You should really give yourself a pat on the back! Even if it seems like you’re leaning onto the railing for dear life. 

The moon covers you in its silken silver sheen. The breeze tussles your hair and makes your robes softly billow. It’s a heart-throbbing serenity, and he finds an iota of respect within him to make his ambush on you gentle. You’ll squeak, pout, insult him, banter, and hiss before you resign and then he can hold you in peace. It’s a predictable song and dance, but he hasn’t tired of it. Seems even he can surprise himself.

(But oh, it’s because it’s something resembling a warm thing he thought was lost to him…and a sturdy rock he can hold onto)

The smile spreads on his face easily (but whenever he’s around you, it’s a little less weighted, a little less about pitiful survival), “Sick of me already?” he adopts his signature lilt, albeit weighed by sleep, as his arms encircle your form. “We’ve only been a couple for a few of months.” You squeak, comically so, and violently flinch as he settles his head in the crook of your neck. Your reaction almost immediately invigorates him, like he’s wide awake in the sun. Your heart rate beats more rapidly, but your tensed muscles relax, just a little. You’ve been practicing, he thinks, to lessen your own burden rather than increase his pleasure. Maybe there’ll come a time when you can mold yourself however you please, and he’ll be none the wiser in your embrace when your hand snakes into his back. 

(Don’t do that. Please, he just asks that you melt in his touch, melt right into him and stay—)

He inhales—his chest expanding into your back, and he feels your own breath hitch as if it slices into you—taking in your scent, all at once overwhelming and (newly) customary. A pungent ink comes to burn his nose at first, but underneath it comes moonlit snow, fresh and cool; dancing within a floral and earthy aroma, a dusty cedar scent with wilting flowers; and the afternotes of a decaying musk, passionate and vying for an end. He hums in appreciation, exhaling with contentment. You shudder in disgust because it’s him and you still aren’t used to the way his breath feathers and scratches your skin, over the bits of dried blood speckled over your neck. 

“Aw, nuts…” you softly curse, but there’s no surprise to be found. Your words are laced with sleep, but there’s something else to them, he’s noticed. Your words still drip with vitriol (though it’s always been measured with ink, and it makes him purr in delight and it makes him feel even more empty—), but they’ve gotten softer, for lack of a better word. Exhausted, the same way one is when they’ve walked through a blizzard or sandstorm for long enough. How one gets frozen in the bowels of hell’s fires, or how one burns in solitary inferno in the frigid arctic. 

And still, you haven’t reached your limit and killed him. 

Surprisingly, you turn to face him, and he turns down the urge to lean in and kiss you. For now, at least. He’ll take it when you’ve said your piece. 

You probably think yourself expressionless, but there’s a certain way your mouth subconsciously curls in displeasure like you want to scream or vomit your organs. Your eyes can host anything from enraged clarity to dull acceptance. The latter has only appeared a few times, but he anticipates that it will be a common sight as the months pass by. He wipes that look from his mind, and smiles wide as he looks intently into your eyes. The scent of ink burns his sinuses. Right now, your eyes are exhausted, disgusted, and a touch confused; nothing he isn’t used to. His smile goes soft, for he is more than willing to swallow the poison you gift him. And as lovers, you’ll have to reciprocate, won’t you?

(Stop. Let him apply thinner to that ink, let him wash it all away and please please stop drowning in it)

“I was sick of you the moment you revealed yourself as the orchestrator.” you bluntly say, as if it’s an obvious fact—it is—and for a moment he feels like he’s touching ice. You shake your head and sigh, looking back to the moon. You don’t want to discuss the matter, so you move on to another. “I just woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. It’s nothing personal. Happens all the time.” 

“‘All the time?’” He echoes and slides his hand into one of yours, where you lean on your arms against the railing. Your hands have been clamming; gosh, he really was something, to get you so worked up in a matter of minutes! His self-restraint is already on a thread when it comes to you. He gives in and gives you a chaste peck. Your lips slightly pucker with disgust, like you’ve sucked on a rancid lemon. But the kiss was meant to be brief, so that’s not an issue he’s too hung up on in the moment. He’ll just work on it with you, later. He trusts that you’ll cooperate, anyway. 

(That you do not immediately hurl in his mere presence is miracle enough. He’ll take what he can get, and work from there. That’s how he got here)

He tilts his head boyishly and gives your cheek a playful pinch, “I mean…lately, you’ve been able to fall asleep without medicine—” your eyes widen and your cheeks flush as you’re caught off guard—but he doesn’t cut open your stomach or slice at your ribs to let your own body be the weapon which kills you—his goal is always to win, but that doesn’t mean you have to fight. Right now, he’s merely having a heart-to-heart with you, sweetheart. So he doesn’t bother to point out the red on your cheeks, because he knows you hate it. Knows you understand it on a logical basis but still hate it so, so, so deeply and intricately. He doesn’t mind pushing you, but he would rather not see you bashing your head on the wall, crushing your skull and mind into lumps of grounded flesh, to try and ‘fix’ it. He sees that you’re mentally dismembering yourself when you locate the opening you gave him anyway. He doesn’t really need to try with you sometimes. It’s not an insult, it’s the truth, and he still loves you so very much despite it. “These nighttime stirrings of yours aren’t going to be the norm, you know. If you’re able to fall asleep in my arms once, you can do so twice.”

Your eyes flit through a captivating kaleidoscope of disgust, intrigue, disgust again, pungent ink, and then victorious confusion. You scoff, but you don’t entirely deny what he said. “Waking up in the middle of the night and not falling asleep is a common thing. You shouldn’t misconstrue these sorta things y’know. Makes you seem desperate.” 

“‘Desperate?’ Coming from you, should I consider that bonafide or just another desperate act?”

You frown. “I was only desperate because of you. The shit you pulled gave me no other choice.”

“Really?” He smirks, letting out a mocking huff, “You weren’t desperate before that?”

You scoff. “If you’re talking about school, then fine, I guess I was desperate to graduate as soon as possible.”

“Errr,” he mimics a buzzer, “two strikes.”

“Are you just projecting?”

“Make that three.”

“Bruh.” You deadpan. You’re quite amazing to be able to momentarily take yourself out of reality, he muses. 

(He’s a bit jealous)

“I’m not desperate,” you insist, practically hissing the words.

“If you weren’t desperate, then why’d you blindly befriend someone whose face you didn’t even know?”

“…I don’t know my online friends’ faces,” you weakly respond. You’ve conceded. Your response was merely for show. For him or for you or for you both. He’s not sure either. 

“Alright,” he pretends to concede, “Putting aside that they could just trace your information and learn everything about you…” his hand strokes your neck, goosebumps blazing in its wake, “They wouldn’t have been able to just…snap your neck, with you none the wiser,” He presses a kiss to your uneven pulse with a soft huff of laughter. 

“It’s not like I didn’t think that,” you shoot back, “I figured at the time that if you could sneak up on me like that, then I’d be helpless to your whims.” 

“Ah, but then…you offered me something: another night, in your special place, underneath the moon…who’s to say that I wouldn’t have been able to carry out any malicious actions? To continue to gain your trust and then stab you in the back?”

You frown. “Well…I…”

“Cat caught your tongue? Well, as I’ve said, the word you’re looking for is ‘desperate.’”

You swallow, and then you say, meekly, softly, like your voice is about to crack, “…I guess. And in the end, you did stab me in the back.”

He did, it’s true. That same iota of respect emerges, which makes him gently kiss you instead of speaking. Anything he’d say would only dampen your mood. You both may know about how disposable—

(Yet when it comes to you, something unpleasant twists his tongue, whenever he calls you disposable. He can’t bring himself to actually vocalize such a statement)

—the two of you are. Nothing more than dots in the universe, nothing more than pawns in another’s game. The hand that moves him is the IPC, and it’s only natural he’s found a pawn of his own: you. Even if you’re not particularly valuable on the grand chessboard. 

[Do you even want them on the chessboard in the first place?] 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises. But you don’t believe him. 

“You can make it up to me by never showing your face to me.” Ice encases his hands, stabbing into him; but it also roots him right at his spot. He is unused to the ice’s painful cold, but for as much as it is a deterrent, ice has a tendency to trap.

“Hmmm…how about no?” 

“You half-ass…” You groan, tired and defeated. He feels a thread fall. “Seriously, people like you who use others to make promises you can’t and don’t keep are just…well, you know just how much you disgust me.” 

(But he admits. He admits that your vitriol is tiring. He admits that he wants to hear you whisper in his ear, the same way he does to you, that he wants you to harbor the same carnal adoration he has for you—that he wants you to tear into him and expose him and then kiss and embrace him and that he wants to feast on you devour you consume you infuse you with his heart and soul so that he knows you’re here and will always be h—)

His jaw expands and closes down. Blood spreads along his tongue like wine, bitter, salty, metallic, and well-aged. You let out a scream of pain, and he only bites harder so that he burns himself into your skin to prove that he has you and that he is hu—

“Ah—ow…ow ow ow owwww—” you hiss, muddied by a sob, “W-why…?” You whimper, “When you already—AH!” His mind is blank, excited by the sweet flesh, only focused on devo—

“S-s-stop! Please!” You beg, and he feels you struggle uselessly, “H-hurts! I-I, what d-did I do to—?! Gh!”

Satisfaction and triumph weave into him. Your screams mean you’re here, means he’s carved himself into you, means he’s indulging in wine. 

(But that’s a bit of a leap. He wishes he was as calculated as he makes himself out in front of you when it comes to you)

He pulls away. You breathe laboriously, looking at him with hate and terror, cradling your weeping neck with your hand. You aren’t completely exhausted, but he has made you even wearier if such a thing was possible. “Sorry,” he emptily apologizes, and presses a soft kiss to irritated skin, before moving on to your tears. Blood quickly smears your skin.

You growl, the pain making way for your unfiltered words. “You keep doing it, and it’s always so fucking painful.”

“It doesn’t help with how irresistible you are, sweetheart,” he smiles, and you bristle. “You know it’s because I love you,” he says, to rile you up a little. It helps that he means it. 

(So you don’t notice the fact that he was in a hypnotic daze) 

“‘Love.’” Your voice shakes. Your eyes are wide, angry, disbelieving, and blank. 

“Yep.” 

You shake slightly with anger. “Eat shit.” You spit. “Whatever the fuck this is, don’t call it that. Don’t you dare twist that word like that.” 

He blinks. It’s not the first time you’ve lashed out over the word or the admission, but he still doesn’t quite know how to answer you. He settles, then, for what he’s always said. “Then what is it?” 

“I don’t know. Obsession. Hate. Sadism. Loneliness. Whatever it’s called, it’s one hell of an insatiable beast. All that matters is that it’s hurting me.” You grunt, and bury your face into your hand, sighing blearily. “It’s late. Let’s…let’s not,” you exhale, tired, “Let’s not,” you repeat as if it were all a hopeless prayer. It might be more fitting to see you as a beggar, however. Leave me alone, you beg. Get buried beneath the sands already you Sigo—

“Why don’t you come back to bed?” he softly mutters, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and presses a kiss to your cheek. The lingering blood on his lips blossoms into a weeping flower, a venomous and invasive species. They can be found throughout your skin, dried and wilting, but they’ll always blossom back. “You can sleep in.” Translation: he’ll still wake you up, but only for a kiss before heading to work. You’ll be free to do as you please for the day! Isn’t that just enticing? Though you’re still hesitant to exercise any bit of freedom he offers you. To be fair to you, you’re so very well aware of where your freedom and “freedom” lie. One has been crucified, and the other is merely its poorly preserved remains. 

His mercy isn’t lost on you, but the hope in your eyes is quickly simmered by your hesitation and dread. You look away and grunt, likely hoping he’ll just shrug and walk away. Or at least delay the inevitable. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, you know. So painfully aware of your complete lack of power, so painfully aware that any outright resistance just isn’t worth it; isn’t worth risking the pain you fear so, so, so much. But that doesn’t mean that a reminder is remiss. Hesitation is fatal for the gambler, after all.

He hums and grins. You shrink, knowing he’s planning something. Like a little fawn, he muses, helpless without its mother. He suddenly pulls you back and flips you around so that your back leans against the railing, slightly hiked up so the tips of your toes just barely press against the ground. It grants him an unfettered view of your expression, almost comical shock morphing into fear as you register your newfound positions. You may not be entirely dangling over the railings…but you’re still at his mercy. You don’t hold onto his hand for dear life because that’s just what he’s decided. Simple instinct has you desperately hoping he doesn’t even fancy the scenario. He can so easily squash you between his fingers, and smear your remains on a handkerchief to be discarded: like a pestering fly.

[You mean…you want to point a gun into their heart, again?]

Fortunately, he has other plans. As much as he loves staring into your eyes, it’s not the only thing he likes about you. He moves his head against your chest, right against that sweet heart of yours. It misses a beat before it resumes its cacophonous rhythm. “Wha…what?” your mortified tongue manages to get out. “Put…put me down!” He gives a content hum in response, nuzzling further into your heartbeat, tracing patterns into your back with one hand and securing you by the waist with the other. His silence only intensifies the cacophony, but he could never bear to shut down any sound of yours. He chuckles. You shiver and let out a helpless sound, a cross between a cry, sob, and whimper. He can see you fight not to struggle, in fear that it would send you plummeting.

“It could be so much worse. You know that, don’t you? You live without chains and in a land where dawn shines, but that’s all my choice.” He finally speaks, when he’s decided you’ve had enough. Sure enough, the sound of screams and crumbling cities joins the cacophony. He pushes so he may discover all of the cacophonies your heart plays. He giggles, to twist the point further, “Relax! You haven’t done anything to warrant that! Yet.” You take a sharp breath. “But you still do things. Small things, but they’re still bad things,” you quiver. “I’ve had a few thoughts. Like a tattoo,” your heart skips a beat, “of a peacock’s feather, maybe, tickling your thigh, or an ace of spades. Nothing too extravagant. Hm, although,” your shaking has turned violent, so he moves his hand up to drift around your chest, clutching your waist tighter, “maybe we can just have my name, somewhere here…or…” he hums, for any and all matters pertaining to you need great care and thought, “....maybe we can just go with them all!” He exclaims. 

(What is he doing what is he doing no he knows what he’s doing yes he needs to see and feel and taste your ink he’ll take what he can get but what is he doing why is he doing why why why is he doing but why is he asking it feels so so so good to be the one towering above to be the one pouring wine)

He resists the urge to look up at your expression. Not yet, he’ll save it for when it’s truly exquisite, for when ink burns up into his skull. “Oh, and now that I think about it, maybe something fancy on your back? Ah, haha, but it can’t be super big. It has to complement you, not overtake you! On that note, a piercing or two wouldn’t be half bad. Your ears are a no-brainer, but…” he takes on a teasing lilt, like he’s a boy unsure how to act around his crush, “...where~ else~ do we go? The belly button? That’d be pretty cute! Or…” his hand drifts further along your chest, “here…” he giggles, “that’d be so awfully adorable, wouldn’t it?” Your unease rolls out in waves. His grin widens further, foxlike. He silently thanks you for giving him so many openings. “Ah, but doing all of that’s like saying you aren’t enough, isn’t it? I’m sorry for implying that,” he purrs the faux apology, “and maybe those kinds of accessories would get in the way of your full resplendence.” He sighs, similar to the way he does whenever he’s done talking. That he’s done torturing you. That your feet will touch the ground. After a few moments, the cacophony quiets down, the ink merely stings, and your breaths steady ever so slightly. Awww…poor thing. He brushes your neck. You think he’s done? “Clothes, too.” Your heart plunges into the depths. His hand teases dipping into your robes, “Why have a wardrobe when it can’t possibly do you justice?” He clicks his tongue. “That just~ won’t~ do~,” he singsongs, and then transitions into a friendly tone, “and hey! You can just think of it likeeee…going full-on commando!” He feels you seize up with disgust drawn out from the very depths of your soul. “That’d be pretty fun, wouldn’t it?” He laughs, “And comfy. A self-proclaimed couch potato’s dream is to endlessly lounge away the days, right? So, then,” he slightly dips his fingers, featherlight against shadowed skin and bitten gifts, “you really should just spend all day in bed. It’s not like you could go outside anyway. And just think about it—” An image pops into his mind, widening his smile, “Wrapped in my blankets, tangled in silk, entrapped into a web of it…” he slides a hand around your trembling wrist, brushing his thumb over your thundering pulse, “this would look so beautiful, in red ribbon,” he presses a chaste kiss to your thundering pulse, “your ankles, waist…a mess of them over your chest, covering your eyes…” he sighs, but he isn’t a negligible man, drifting his touch to lovingly wrap his hand around your neck, “and that pretty little neck goes without saying. You’ll be just like a little gift all for me. And,” he chuckles, “I don’t imagine you’d want to leave, either.” You shudder, tremble, make a sound a cross between disgust and a gasp choking on ink. “Hm, actually, that’s a good question,” And then he finally looks up. He is not disappointed in the slightest. You are choking, and completely pale and the only signs of life on your frozen face are your infrequent blinks and quiet breathing. “Do you want to leave me?” He wonders: what will you do? Say? You both know the answer, but for him to ask it would have you second-guessing yourself on what to say. Should you be honest? Should you give him the answer he wants to be true? Should you merely say that the two of you know that already? Or do you just say nothing, as ink clogs your throat? 

[Do you really think you’re playing a game? With them of all people? How do you think they even ended up here in the first place?]

The cacophony of your heart cracks and twists the earth into pieces. You shake like a leaf, slowly but surely devoured by a caterpillar. Soft and innocent at first glance, but it only knows how to feast and gorge itself. Your breath comes out in short gasps, as burning ink drips through them and into your stomach. It forces itself out violently, as your sensitive skin clams up, as it painfully inches out of your skull, to thrust itself out through your eyes.

You’re beautiful. 

What an honor, he thinks. 

(And stand so highly elevated) 

Although your terrified silence was anticipated, he doesn’t quite appreciate having a one-sided conversation, sweetheart. It seems you need a bit of encouragement, but he’s more than happy to provide. Regrettably, that means fully raising his head, but at least he won’t have to strain his neck to get a look at your face. He hikes you up, and you shriek in with fear, vaulting to wrap your arms around his shoulders as you struggle in vain to give yourself any semblance of contact with the ground. But the tips of your toes just barely graze the smooth concrete. “Dar~ling~,” he sing songs, “don’t keep me waiting, now.” 

He smiles kindly. He takes your left hand into his own, gently rubbing in soothing circles. Your heart beats louder, as you’re forced to rely on him even more. You take in a sharp breath, stifled by a flood of ink. He leans his head down, over that nigh-on unbearably beautiful mark on your neck, placing his lips on it like a fleeting feather brushing past. He looks up into your eyes, blackened and blurred, while his own are rounded and soft. He coos and kisses the few that fall, a delightful flavor of vulnerability flowering on his tongue that he can’t get enough of. He tilts his head when he’s done, his expression lovesick and deviously innocent, and goes caress your cheek, to chain you to place. You stay still so that it doesn’t go from choking to cutting. He gives your hand a maliciously reassuring squeeze.

“I’ve got you,” he reassures, “you’re safe, with me.” The words are heavy and loaded yet he says it like he’s holding you close in the afterglow, whispering sweet nothings that mean everything into your ear. Impressively, a scoff is drawn out of you, yanked out through a sea. 

(It reassures him, in some strange way) 

You clutch at him harder, almost pulling him flush against you in an effort not to fall. Adorable. You’re still enveloped in ink, so looking up at him, you seem little more than a trembling newborn fawn. 

Something dark flickers in your eye; the same dark thing he saw on the luckiest day of his life, as the sun shined so brilliantly on the gun held against your forehead. That dark thing which he didn’t foresee, and hadn’t seen since that day, until now. 

You tremble, but you purse your lips, and, as resolutely as you can, give your answer.

“Yes.” And then you lean back. Your feet do not touch the ground. 

His instincts are honed in ways impossible for you to imagine. Pulling you away and into the room is a simple affair. You whimper in pain, struggling against his hold, but it only takes a slight twist to your wrist, an effortless suggestion, for it to cease. 

(It’s his whole body that trembles, but you never seem to notice, when you tremble so much yourself and are so often a prisoner in your own mind) 

“My friend,” he says, dropping any semblance of emotion in his voice. You nearly shriek as you’re engulfed in an inferno, hyperventilating in vain as smoke from your own burning body clogs your lungs. You’ve brought this upon yourself, though. Did you forget in that moment? There isn’t anywhere for you to go, trapped in the fox’s jaw. He smiles emptily, knowing that it makes you want to die. “Why don’t you come back to bed with me? And we can have a chat.” 

(He hides his arm behind his back)

Just before he opens the balcony door, a drop of rain hits his cheek. The clouds obscure the moon, sealing its light shut. The sun will not shine on you two. 

—

You aren’t shoved onto the bed, to skid across it like a sea of sharp rocks or a river of hot coals. That makes it worse, you think. Though, with how heavy your mind is, with how much ink fills it, you could see a blossoming flower and think that doomsday was nigh. 

Trapped in his hold, out of endless possibilities, Aventurine elects to merely guide your forms to sit on the edge of the bed. He releases you, but whatever relief you felt is burned away when he slots your hand with his own, the other held behind his back. Like this, you two must look like a normal couple. One that had a fight, but then cooled down enough for them to sit and have a serious conversation; to communicate their feelings to one another, leading to a gentle reconciliation and promises to do better. Promises to never undermine the respect they hold for one another. But Aventurine…you’re sure that he holds a butcher knife, hidden behind his back, in moments like these. The hand which holds yours digs its claws, tearing into tender flesh so that you cannot rip it away; not if you’d like to keep your hand.

You almost don’t hear him over the pounding in your ears eyes heart and lungs and everything. “Just what were you thinking, acting like that?” 

Thinking? Thinking? Why would you tell him that? Actually, thinking? Did you even think? You feel your hand get squeezed like a lion clamping its jaw into a gazelle. “I—I, I…I,” you stammer. Any word you can even think of instantly turns to ash.

“‘I don’t know?’” and you almost demand for how he was able to guess your answer. He hums and leans in further and further, boring those terrifying eyes right into you; you fear that he’ll bore a hole right through your eyes and fill it with himself. So that even in death, a part of him would always infect you. 

Your mind, badly addled, nods. 

He hums again, betraying no emotion, “I know what you were thinking. And you will, too. I’m sure the two of us are eager to get back to sleep, so it’s best to cut to the chase.” 

“Cut…to the chase?”

“To the takeaway.”

It happens slowly, or quickly, or something, you don’t know you don’t really know at all everything drowns in ink—

He leans toward you, and gently pushes you on your back. You reactively scramble, but it doesn’t take much for him to make your struggle useless—and your neck is squeezed. Softly, then firmly, then roughly, and then air is gone. He doesn’t butcher you, doesn’t spill your blood, doesn’t dismember you and put you back together, doesn’t meticulously carve himself into your skin. He just squeezes. Nothing more, nothing less. No bloodshed to be seen. That might’ve been the truly shocking thing about this. But you can’t think about that when you breathe and nothing comes in. You gasp, but it comes out as a silent, dying wheeze. You kick, but it’s useless. Your legs drop to the bed like rotting sacks of meat. You try and pull his hands away. It’s about as effective as a mannequin trying to move on its own. Useless. Useless useless useless everything is useless your future and very being are an endless abyss devoid of hope and life and everything you do have done will do is useless meaningless meaningless meaningless you’re dying you’re going to die you are dead you are hopeless and miserable and scared and dying dying dying dying dying he’s bored of you sick of you hates you he hates you hates you hates you hates you hates you stabbed you in the back choking you choking you you cry cry cry cry cry but your tears are searing ink that burns your flesh you’re burning burning burning burning there is no sunlight or moonlight—

You think and think about everything and nothing. You think about your cotton scarf. You think about your parents. You think about your degree and how its been such an waste of time and money. You think about the tiramisu you made earlier, how its setting in the fridge so you could eat it come lunchtime. 

But no matter what you think about, or what you stop thinking about, you cannot stop thinking about Aventurine. About who he was, is, and will continue to be. How he’s permeated himself into your life and very being. How your corpse will be in his hands.

It hurts, but you can’t say that. It hurts so much that you feel like your neck will be sliced off your head. You must look so ugly. You feel your eyes bulge, expand from out of your sockets, just a few seconds away from popping out and hanging by a nerve that could so easily be cut and gushing blood that Aventurine will lap up before throwing your corpse out of the window like trash. Your nose uselessly tries to inhale, but all it does is marginally slow the hideous mucus that leaks. Your mouth is equally useless, and it isn’t long until you give up and your tongue ungracefully lolls from your mouth. You feel all at once overwhelmed—the tears from your eyes burn your flesh, your eyes will become weights that shake with every movement, the snot leaves behind anguishing trails of acid, and your tongue feels like a dumbbell crushing your face—and in a weird way, you feel like you float. You decide to float. You think about your cotton scarf, nuzzling into its comforting—

You dimly realize you’re nuzzling into the grip that’s killing you. 

Your body becomes lead. 

Aventurine’s expression betrays nothing. But you feel something shake—your body? It’s surprising because you can hardly even blink, let alone move. It’s mostly around your neck. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen. Your hands have gone limp, uselessly falling to the side, but you haven’t died yet. Aventurine is still busy killing you, and looking at you like you’re nothing and that he couldn’t care less about your reaction. You don’t want to look at him anymore. You don’t want to die with his face as the last thing you see. You’d rather die looking at the moon. But against his ironclad grip, your head doesn’t move. You struggle, but Aventurine’s face remains. Your eyes start to glaze, and your mind begins to fill with cotton, but it's burned away by a particularly forceful squeeze, which quickly lightens, but the damage has been done. 

Your tongue is drying. Your vision spots. Not with black, not with the shade of ink you’ve grown used to, but it spots with light. Sunlight. You’re being cradled in the sunlight. Warm and soft, but you’re wretched out of that false sense of security when your body begins to blaze.

Something burning and cold and wonderful enters your nostrils and mouth—air, air, air air air air you need air air air air air—

The air doesn’t come rushing in like you’ve seen described in books. It painfully pumps into you, but it’s vastly preferable to the pain you were experiencing just a few moments ago. Your head slumps, turning to the moon's salvation—but you see only the clouds.

When your lungs stop burning, and your breathing returns to normal, Aventurine gently pulls you up into his lap, where he leans against the headboard. A single arm draped over your waist confines you to his chest. His other hand is out of sight. When he’s sure you aren’t getting away, he takes a breath, and his hidden hand comes to tip your head up. 

His eyes all at once resemble an aphotic ocean and a flooding dam. You aren’t sure where it comes from, but you realize that, for this brief moment, he has dropped his facade. 

“If you want to die,” he says, quietly, softly, almost vulnerably. You must have brain damage, if this is how he sounds. “this is how it’ll happen. By my hand. By my choice. And trust me when I say it’s infinitely better than anything you could do with your own hands,” he removes his hand from your chin to intertwine it with your own, all at once invasive and sweet, “I promise, (Name).”

Your chest begins to flood with a sob. It comes out wrangled and inhuman, but he only clutches you closer. Strangely, he doesn’t lap up your tears. Like many nights before and to come, you pass out, weighed by the agony of living with a man so obvious and indecipherable.

Your last thought before finally shutting your eyes is that Aventurine won’t be throwing you out anytime soon. You do not celebrate the thought, not entirely, anymore. It’s only much later that you realize why: he finally succeeded in forcing a small part of himself into you. 

—

When you pass out from complete exhaustion, Aventurine quietly tucks your head deeper into his chest. He thinks about yanking apart his ribcage, forcing you into it, and then pinning you there as he forces it shut. It’s begun to rain outside. It pitter-patters, booming in his ears, and nearly shreds his ears apart.

[But a part of you likes it when you drag them down to your level, right, Kakavasha?]

—

His master swirls a glass of red wine. It may as well have been blood; bought by blood, drank in the wake of blood, and spilled into blood. Kakavasha pursues his lips, to not scream in agony as the wine sears his wound; but it will be okay. He is used to weathering the sun, trudging through heavy sand, with his mouth drier than the sand. He can withstand this searing heat. He’s already withstood iron-hot metal pressed into his skin for minute after agonizing minute, no matter his involuntary cries and tears and pleas to stop. 

But that was an exception. The desert has long dried his tears. 

Besides, this is a ‘reward.’ For triumphing yet again. For surviving yet again. So the master sees it fit to briefly lavish him in luxury. At least it’s fitting for the occasion, Kakvasha thinks, the wine puddling out like blood. He waits for it to end. He’s already battered and bloody, beaten down, and he doesn’t need his neck chaffed and bleeding. Every yank of his chain evaporates energy he cannot afford to lose, cannot sacrifice or else there won’t be a bet he can emerge lucky from.

And, he admits. He’s a little (no, very) afraid of being brought to the edge between life and death again. He doesn’t want to be chained to the wall again, and have the chain around his neck pulled further and further away—

A sneer that would get him tortured spreads across his face. His face is already forced to the ground, so he’s not too worried. 

“My lucky hound,” his master drawls, “stay with me. You did pretty well; it’d be a shame if I had to reevaluate you if you pass out just from this. C’mon, gimme a lil’ bark.” 

He wipes his sneer and looks up with a practiced expression: defiant, but sanded down with fear; feisty, but compliant. Just enough fight to entertain, but not enough to be a nuisance. “Alive and kicking,” he grunts. It’s a strange mix of genuine and manufactured, biting back his cries of pain. It took him a bit to figure out what his master liked, but all that matters is that he got there. It’s fine, he tells himself. He doesn’t need to know how much he’s using him, too. “And savoring your gift.” He’s sure it’s the right answer, but the slight tremor indicates the awful anticipation he has for the results. If it isn’t, then everything he’s done to get here would all have been for nothing. He cannot afford to fumble his gamble now. 

Luckily (ha!), it was the right answer. He’s given something his master can poke and prod at, and he’s gladly taken it. “I thought I asked you to bark,” he snarls, and the flaming wine ceases. But it’s for a reason, for he soon gets a kick to the stomach. It knocks the air out of him, but if his master were truly offended, he would’ve done much, much worse. Kakavasha coughs, just enough to suggest that he’s sorry and begging for forgiveness, but not enough to seem desperate and begging for a release and to stop stop stop— “Speaking is for humans. Honestly, I don’t even know why you Sigonian hounds were born with mouths. Universe’d be a better place if slaves like you were born with their mouths sewn shut—by the Aeons, do you disgust me!” he scratches his chin before a smirk twists his face, “Though, ‘suppose that would mean I wouldn’t be able to hear the dogs whimper.” A shoe grinds into his stomach. He wants to see all of Kakavasha’s face then. “So, you gonna bark, or what?” 

Kakavasha doesn’t need to act much, this time. His face falls into grim acceptance; the face he made when heat emanated from his neck; the face he made when the doors to his cell closed; the face he made when he saw the sand bury his sister’s body. Although the expression this time isn’t genuine, it’s not quite fabricated, either. 

It’s fine. It’s fine. This is but one gamble. Acquiesce to his whims just enough, and then strike. 

Soon, wine pools at his feet. But the wine in his master’s hand hasn’t all spilled, yet. Memories flit by in his mind: his master, flaunting his wealth in front of him. 

“Humans wear clothes, accessories, and jewelry…dream all you want, but an animal can never become what it’s fated not to be.” His master’s voice echoes. 

His limp and cold hand is adorned in rings. His still wrist holsters a beautiful watch and tasteful bangle. Kakvasha takes a sip of the wine. It burns, dripping down his throat. It leaves his tongue rancid and as dry as the desert. 

He supposes that’s what it means to be human, then. 

—

When you wake up, pain radiates throughout your neck and legs. Absently, your hand goes to your neck to relieve it but meets soft cotton. Gauze. He must’ve disinfected your wound (brand, that bastard branded me get him out of me I’ll—) when you passed out.

You close your eyes and try to fall back asleep but to no avail. With a moan, and then a hiss of pain, you roll over on your side. You see a note, a couple of pills, and a glass of water have been placed on your nightstand. With concentrated effort, you sit up and read the note. 

Darling, dearest, love of my life, (you’d scoff if it didn’t hurt like hell to even breathe)

A painkiller. One every three hours. I suggest you take it if you want to get through the day comfortably, so please don’t spend your day staring at them in contempt like they’ve killed your dog. Contrary to what you might think, I do care for your comfort. (You feel a jolt of anger through your spine) I’ll try to be back a half hour or so earlier, but if fortune’s on my side, I’ll be back to you a full hour earlier. Wouldn’t that just be amazing? Actually, let me do a coin flip to gauge today’s fortune—oh! Look at that! Seems that it’s an hour. You won’t be lonely for long, I promise. (You frown) Business is wrapping up, so we’re leaving today, but I’ve already packed your bags. Focus on yourself, sweetheart, and get plenty of rest. And before you start overthinking things, I’m not worried at all. You won’t be forgetting anytime soon, and you’re not going anywhere. (You grit your teeth)

Use lots of ice on your neck! It helps a ton. And eat soft foods that go down easy; broth, oatmeal, the works. Now that’s what I call a good excuse to gorge on ice cream; not too much though, you *might* just throw up. And no, you can’t break the windows. Literally. I know you have your impulsive moments, but you’ve gotta be conservative with your energy today. I’ll make sure you are. If not…well, you like guessing games, right? Haha, now I really do have to go. I can’t believe you got me writing such a long letter! Alright, see you later, sweetheart. 

Love, Aventurine. 

You stare at the signature. Love, Aventurine sounding over and over in your mind, hitting the walls and coming back in a cracking echo. Love—a knife impales you—Aventurine—and you’re eaten alive.

Love, love, love, love, love.

You force yourself to look at the painkillers. You have no reason to believe him, but he doesn’t have any reason to lie to you. You decide not to take them.

Instead, you take a few slow sips of water, letting it coat your throat and tongue thoroughly. Then you force your sore body to the kitchen. You stumble, you trip, but you still make it to the countertop. It’s not complicated. Your mind can’t process complexity in its current state anyway. 

It’s simple. You yank a knife from the block and plunge it into your chest, through your ribs, and into your heart. Blood gushes out like a waterfall, glistening like a ruby in the light of the dawn. You grin, pain wobbling your mouth, and swiftly cut open your stomach. Bile creeps up your throat as you gag violently, until you finally retch on the elongated mess of your intestines, unraveling into a bunch. You laugh hysterically when you notice that it looks like a horribly butchered plate of spaghetti—hilarious. It’s all nearly too much to bear, but there’s more work to be done. You’re still thinking; that just won’t do. You raise your knife, the tip shining in the sun and sparkling through your tears, and slam your forehead into it, finally putting an end to your existence.

That’s what should’ve happened. But the knife hasn’t taken that first plunge, yet. You will your arm to rectify the mistake. It only shakes harder. And then everything from the night before rushes to your head, and ink clouds everything and everything and—

You can’t do it. Not by your own hand.

You violently throw the knife into the sink and collapse to the ground in a brutal sob.

You never attempt it again.

—

He was wrong about something. Your shattered limit would never end with his demise—it was yours. 

(Is he really surprised? Or was he in denial this whole time?)

He’s not sure how to feel, that you’d rather destroy yourself than kill when backed into a corner. But he can at least understand that urge of yours to take someone else down with you; only, that person isn’t him, this time. 

The wall you have built crumbles, and he wonders if you care if your destruction ends up killing another unintentionally; if that part of yourself has been killed, or if it has been so twisted that you are born anew. But that’s a bit silly. You can destroy yourself, but you won’t ever lose yourself, even if you become fractured. That’s what experience has taught him, and it is both excruciatingly painful and relieving. 

You’ve pinned him down. Your eyes are wide and dilated, and that spark of life within them is just nearly dimmed out; and yet, beneath that spark, something awful and alive pulsates. They hold an unabashed focus, yet they also look past him. For a rare moment, he is completely taken aback, and cannot conceal his surprise and dubious, almost hesitant delight. But he drops the hesitation. It’s fatal for him.

(His heart nearly stops. Is he pinned to the ground, or is he looking into a mirror? He almost feels like he’s been turned inside out)

“What. Were. You. Thinking?” It’s your voice, but he can’t help but think it takes on a cadence similar to his own. He can see that awful creature brandish its claws.

As much as he enjoys seeing such a creature, he cannot allow himself to be ripped apart by it. He’ll assert his control, and you’ll back off, the same as it’s always been. But he doesn’t quite mind being pinned down by you, so he’ll allow it for the moment. “You watch me gamble all the time, dearest.” He tilts his head, knowing just how much it pisses you off. “I don’t see how that’s gotten you so worked up—and you’ve been so sweet lately.”

Your jaw trembles, like a dog, he thinks, on the verge of barking and biting an intruder. Yet, a part of him also tells him that isn’t quite right. “You played Russian Roulette.” Drip, drip, sounds the blood of his challenger, but such a sound has been white noise all his life. 

He smirks. “Are you jealous?” he teases, “Did you want to kill me, or were you hoping to take the bullet yourself?” 

You, ever so slightly, begin to shake. “No,” you respond, without any sense of the word. “Answer my question,” you demand. He’s a little surprised because you so rarely make demands. He can see the beast grind its teeth, gnashing at the mere idea of his flesh, drooling its filth in gluttonous anticipation. But he knows you so, so, so very well. He can smell your fear—but of what? Fear that you might not be able to personally exact vengeance? He’s a little lost, for once. But he’ll know soon enough, he supposes. He continues with his usual demeanor.

“Mmm,” he hums nonchalantly, making you shake in agitation. “Well, I suppose I’m in no position to refuse. It was a good gamble with a good thrill, of course! I thought you knew this.” He knows you don’t believe that entirely, having spent so much time with him. The look in your eyes tells him it was the answer you were expecting. But you still aren’t satisfied. You still haven’t strewn his guts about the floor, to join the foolish challenger. 

You do not respond, remaining as still as you can be. He decides to encourage you; you can’t just lead him on like this, you know. 

He cups your cheek. “What’s wrong?” he goads. “Or have you finally come around to just how irresistible I am?” 

The blood’s aroma has wafted over. Your eyes glaze impossibly further. The beast breaks its chains. 

“I want to hollow out your chest,” you admit. His heart stops, and it’s only through years of practice that his face doesn’t instantly break out in shock. “And burrow into it, so I can listen to your heartbeat and feel the expanse of your lungs pressing into me with your every breath,” you shake, near violently, and you take each breath as if it’ll be your last. His own heart begins to beat erratically; he’s excited, he doesn’t know what’ll happen, but whatever it is he needs to have have have it— “I want to breathe in your blood, taste your heart, blood, sustain myself on nothing—” Aventurine feels a thread be pulled apart. “—on nothing but you!” You cry out, leaning in closer as you collapse to your knees and elbows, practically exchanging air with him. You’ve finally begun to cry, and with it, the beast has come—

No, he thinks. It’s already ripping apart his flesh. Your tears fall onto his face. His heart beats faster and faster; just as fast as when he hid in those bloody puddles all those years ago. 

“If you die…I might just join you, because…there’s really nothing else for me…” you sob, face contorting in a way he finds so breathtakingly pathetic and beautiful. For a moment, your mouth curls down, not maliciously, but with a determined promise. “If you die…I’m pulling the trigger, not some random sap in a casino.”

Oh. You…you remembered. Of course, you did. You never would forget. You couldn’t ever forget. His chest feels numb with how brutally his heart has beaten it. 

He feels something cool seep into his pants and legs. Blood. So familiar it’s like a second skin.

He is well acquainted with the touch of ice. How could he not? The time spent with you feels like a (fragile) eternity, and in it, he has glued himself to you; and you’ve, however unwittingly, froze him in place. Even if he’s always been able to force you into the desert with him, there are still those moments when a nigh unbearable cold seeps down into his bones, threatening to kill him, to preserve his dead body to be dusted and ogled at whenever the master of the house needs to show off their private collection to guests. But he feels it melting. He feels the cold you’ve desperately embraced crackle. 

You sob, a sound of euphoric despair that has him resisting his every urge to cradle you, and confess the truth; confess your want.

“I love you, Aventurine,” you take in a shuddering gasp. 

His heart explodes. It is then he realizes that he, too, has gasped, and is breathing irregularly. That his composure has shattered without his realization. 

“I love you…” you cough, no longer able to hold back your breakdown, the volcano of your emotions erupting in a destructive blaze that killed a part of you; the part of you that’d been holding on. Flora and flowers burn, snow becomes hellfire, and any and all life is replaced by a hungering beast desperate to keep itself satiated. 

But only Aventurine can satiate it. A blush dusts his cheeks.

“I love you, I love you,” you hiccup and sob, repeating the mantra like a prayer (to a devil in velvet), “I love you I love you I love you I love you.” And then you finally collapse on him, a pile of bricks and rubble and dust. You curl into his chest, over his violet heartbeat. “Don’t throw me away…don’t l-leave me…” he immediately secures your waist. It’s a disgusting implication. Why would he do that to you of all people? “I need you,” and his heart soars. A smile finally cracks his face, shattering something deep inside of him. 

[No, no, Kakavasha, that’s really quite wrong. You haven’t been whole for a very, very long time.] 

And then something brief surfaces in you, a small piece of useless reasoning, “and it’s your f-fault I’m like this…” That’s very true, which is why he needs to take responsibility. Which is why he has to continue keeping you, caring for you, and brutalizing you. The blood has trailed down to his back.

And then you’re back to sobbing, and practically howl, “Please, please Aventurine, tell me you love me and won’t ever let me go!” you beg, and entirely break down into a concentrated sob, distant from reality. You blabber, likely unaware, utterly lovely and incoherent words. The blood has reached the back his head.

His entire body shudders, rapturing him into a pile of broken flesh. He can’t hold back. He holds you tighter than before. It snaps you out of your daze, your body instinctively flinching away, but his grip doesn’t cease; it can’t cease, because if it does you two may never truly meld with one another. He sits up, positioning you so you straddle and completely rely on him for support. He looks at you. His long-lasting appetite has finally been satiated, but now a new one takes hold of his shaking form, his excitement electric and bloody.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he shudders breathlessly, just barely keeping himself from pouncing, “that was beautiful—you’re beautiful,” he pants, as his hunger grows painful, “how could I refuse such a heartfelt and adorable confession? You’re so perfect. You’re the other side of my coin…”

[Took you long enough.]

“...yes,” he groans, “I’d love to bring you down with me, and to tear you apart if I’m back in that dawnless land.” Because you aren’t leaving him, nor could you survive if he plummets back into that land. But you’re still coming with him because you need him (and so does he).

The dawn shines on the two of you, and finally, he kisses you. You’re too dazed to reciprocate, but you offer no resistance at all. But it’s a (relatively) chaste kiss, as he pulls back to whisper against your lips, wholly reverent. “I knew you were the one,” he confesses, and he sees your blush deepen, your eyes widen, “Thank you, for destroying yourself for me,” he brushes your cheek, “It’s truly an honor, sweetheart.”

You blink, eyes wide with tears, and just as he’s about to caress them away your mouth twitches—almost like you’re glitching as if the very expression was some bug in a game—and then you laugh. And it isn’t crazed, it isn’t weighed by madness, nor does it carry that familiar undertone of despair and fear he’s become so used to hearing from you—it’s warm like the dawn has cut through the rain to shine on him.

It’s that lovely laugh which the sun shines overhead and erases any shadow of doubt:

You’re insane. You’ve frozen over in hell, and have shattered yourself into pieces to melt into it.

If ‘I love you, Aventurine’ was the straw that broke the camel’s back, then your laughter is what made the camel burst and seep into searing, soulless sand.

It makes sense. Only someone destroyed and insane could love Aventurine.

(Kakavasha was dead. His hands are sticky, his chains rusty with blood and his throat burns)

[Is he? Or do you just need him to be dead? No matter how you slice it, I still see that same boy who clung to his Big Sis till the very end.]

But he’s a selfish man. If you give him your love, then he’ll gladly take it. 

[Tsk, tsk. A desperate man, Kakavasha.]

But more importantly, there’s a feeling in his heart. It’s the feeling of a peaceful day beneath the scorching sun, of when he wins a game, of when he and his sister were just themselves with each other. All of it coalesces into something he hasn’t felt in—no, something he may have never truly felt until now:

Happiness. 

[The closet thing you can call happiness, you mean.]

And is that feeling that has him lift you up, and spin and twirl with you in his arms. It is sheer elation, a hedonism that is so self-serving yet selfless all at once—sheer bliss—that fills him. This: this is what he wants to feel. Your laughter is infectious, permeating his body and sapping it of rationality, but he does not try to fight this virus. For he is happy. The corner of his eyes crinkle; he is unused to the feeling.

He laughs and laughs with you. His clothes and shoes are tracking blood. Normally the thought of even rain getting on his clothes disgusts him, but now, all he can think about is basking in this crimson victory. The dawn shines on you both, commemorating your unholy union. 

You really are perfect for him, he thinks. Because he must be insane too, when he laughs like a crazed dog—the same dogs he nearly drowned in bloodied water to get away from. 

—

You both deserved a treat. He whisked you away to a room—he can deal with the casino room later, call on a few favors—because you deserve his utmost attention, as he does yours. The prospect of your complete attention, entirely unfettered, excites him.

It’s a fine room. The bed is large and soft, the bath is large and pleasant, and the view is utterly breathtaking. But neither of you cares about that. You could be rolling in sewage and shit and you’d still look at him the way he looks at you, still enter demented laughter and twisted joy, still parade under that veneer of love. 

He gets his fill, as do you—but you both know neither of you will ever be sated, not when you two can’t be joined together in the ways you want to. 

The dawn is rich and bright, shining on the waking and sending the begging crawling away into the shadows. You breathe softly, utterly exhausted. A complete 180 from just a few moments ago. Your arms wrap weakly around him, tucking yourself into him snugly. His kisses, imprinted with your blood, create a field of flowers on your face. As does his own. …He makes a note to tip room service extra for the bloodied sheets. There’s a reason he doesn’t dress (as) extravagantly for when he needs to get his hands dirty. 

Perhaps after this, he’ll gift you something truly special, he thinks. His earring’s twin has just been gathering dust, and that just wouldn’t do. And it would be quite romantic to get your ears pierced by him, too. His heart beats at the thought. He’s sure you’ll agree to it if it’s by his hand; perhaps you can make a date out of it~? Maybe, after this, you’ll wear his gifts of your own accord. Small things, for when you go out, a modest bracelet or watch, a tasteful necklace (of ownership). Nothing overt so as to not draw any thieving eyes, but something to signify to those that know what to look for that you aren’t to be messed with. As for when you’re inside and home…he still remembers how red your face got, and the curses you threw at him. And then you’ll finally concede that his taste is actually pretty solid (don’t worry, it's not a sore spot in the slightest! He’s more mature than that). 

He feels a bit of pride at your exhaustion, smiling as he recalls the beginning of your tryst: 

“I…erm…wanna…well, I can d-do some of the work,” you said, flustered and embarrassed by the mere admission. He found it endearing, that you could confess your desire to burrow into him and then stammer when asking him for something. You really did hate the idea of using him, didn’t you?

(He doesn’t bother dissecting what kind of smile he makes)

However, a single moment is on repeat in his mind. His hand absently drifts to the crook of his neck, weeping but a few minutes ago. Your teeth, sinking in so deeply, intimately, just on the verge of ripping a chunk of his flesh out; you were practically dining on him. It sent him over the edge. 

When you pulled away and looked at him, he was again taken aback at what he saw.

Your lips, slightly parted and utterly breathless, speckled with rouge. Your cheeks were red hot with adoration. Your eyes, brimming with love and care and everything he couldn’t believe someone besides his own family could direct toward him.

(But your love is very different from his family’s. They wanted to nourish. You want to devour. But he sees nothing to criticize there—indulge, and he will gladly indulge back, until there’s nothing left of either of you)

But what truly pushes him over the edge, is the smile you give, softly stained in crimson. It is pure and untainted, angelic and sweet, soft and warm like how the dawn kisses his cheek. It is as if this love of yours was born not of a tower’s rubble but of whispered secrets and touches shared in the shadow of moonlight. It’s as if the love you show him now would’ve been what he got if he was a more selfless man (if he were any other man). You both know he does not deserve the love in your eyes—it is the last thing you owe him. Yet you give it to him anyway.

You are utterly insane. And now that he knows what insanity on you looks like,

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

But before he can shut his eyes for an hour or two of respite, there’s something he has to do. He promised many things as you both feasted, but there are two absolute ones he has to reaffirm. Two absolute ones you wanted so badly that you unleashed a frozen inferno. 

“I’ll never leave you,” he promises, “And never would. I admit, it stung a bit for you to fear that from me, but…I’ll make it up to you tenfold, sweetheart. I’ll make sure you don’t feel that way ever again,” He kisses your cheek gently. He pictures your response and giggles. “Yeah, I’m being sappy, but you’re,” he boops your nose with each following word, “just~. As~. Guilty~.” You stir with a soft groan, but it’s not enough to rouse you. After a short while, you nuzzle your head further into his neck with a sleepy sigh. Something tells him that even asleep, you’ll somehow know what he’s telling you. Your lips come to rest on the gift you gave him, as if even in sleep you’d rip him apart. His heart flutters. “You’re so sweet…” he exhales with a shudder, “seriously, how do you manage it? Not that I mind, of course…anything but…” he plays with a strand of your hair. Candy and clouds and raw flesh burst on his tongue all at once; a flavor of sickly sweet rot he can’t get enough of. He smiles, a soft and predatory thing, and his lips drift to his favorite spot.

But don’t get him wrong—every part of you is lovely and he would kill to vivisect you if only it didn’t mean killing you and putting you in extreme pain. It’s those two latter thoughts that largely quell his desire to do so. 

(Maybe he would enjoy it, but only for a moment, only for so as long as the euphoria and awe of seeing all of you lasts. If you did die—especially with cries and shrieks of pain—he would sob, curling around your body…and then he would take you with him, so when he goes to that place, you’d be with him on that very first step)

It’s where he first bit you on the luckiest day of his life; a lucky charm. It’s bruised and tender, red and ugly and scarred. Renewed countless times, it is beyond repair. Moments ago it held a crimson sheen, but its been smeared throughout your collarbone and shoulder. It looks like a red mist, a curling wisp of smoke that dirties clouds and infects rainwater. He brings you impossibly closer, to keep you from becoming red mist. But he also realizes that should he squeeze too hard, you might end up as mist anyway. But if that’s how you become mist, at least you’ll have been in his arms; be with him.

(As if to keep you far, far, far away from the rainwater which had swirled with a thick, red mist—to keep you from breathing in it, from having to hide so you don’t end up like the cold bodies which float beside you)

His lips seemingly slot in with the spot perfectly. It only makes sense. It was today where you’ve melded yourself to him.

(And he’s melded himself to you for a long time. Against his better judgment and sense, he melded himself to you; at the time it was only the idea of you, but it didn’t take long for it to be you.)

He sighs in content, but he still has another promise to make. 

“We’ll be together, you and I. Two sides of a single coin can face away from each other, but they can’t exist separate from each other. You’re pretty smart, so I’m sure you get it,” yes, he has plenty of faith in you, sweet thing, but he can’t help but ramble, “and it’s because I love you, (Name).” He says it so tenderly, your name, and unexpectedly (or very expectedly) something he thought he’d never feel ever again invades his chest, and it forces itself out, “I love you, I love you,” he thinks his grip has tightened and that his heart has started to race and that he’s shaking but he doesn’t care about that right now and he doesn’t care if he has been losing composure without his notice. “I love you I love you I love you. You have no idea just how much I want to devour you, just how much I want you tethered to me. How much I need you to be unable to live without me. If I’m alive, you’re alive. If I’m dead…you said it yourself. You’ll follow me. It just needs to be by my hand, and you’ll follow me. You won’t have to worry about being alone, being without me. And it’s all because…

I love you.” 

He dimly realizes that something salty has trailed to his lips. Are you awake? Or are you having a nightmare? Either way, he moves like he has so many other times, to remind you that he’d be there, even at your most vulnerable. He goes up to kiss your eyes and lick your cheek, but nothing’s there. 

Something flutters against his cheek. You’re awake, and he feels something warm and wet travel on his cheek. He’s not sure what he feels, when he looks up to you.

(What does his face look like?)

You blink, eyes bleary with sleep and weighted with content. But tinged with the sleep and contentment, there’s another thing, which makes everything within him burn. Which makes him shake and his heart nearly explodes.

Dimly, he realizes that the fallout of your destruction wasn’t just limited to you. He’s buried beneath the fire and rubble, too. 

[And it’s lovely.]

And then (at that moment), for some reason (for all the reasons), he buries his head in your chest (into your heart), 

To sob in the sunlight, soothed by the hands that unraveled him.

[chelscait]

bad idea right? | Leah Williamson.

category: song fic / angst-ish.

summary: it’s a bad idea, right?

word count: 5k.

warnings: mentions and hints of smut. tbh I have no idea where this went, forgot it was a song fic LOL.

Getting fucked up seemed to be a weekly occurrence by now, Fridays, Saturdays, sometimes Sundays with a cheeky Monday off work but you never intended for it to become like this.

It had been months since it ended and all the alcohol, that had taken minutes off your life with every shot, has seemed to have subdued the feelings, the thoughts and the emotions. Focusing on your friends as well as new friendly faces at times, the ones you found in your bed in the early morning as well as a banging headache, made you forget all about a certain blonde.

Thats where you find yourself now, stumbling from side to side as the music pumped all around you with no idea whether you were dreaming or living reality. You were that pissed. All night you had been trying to find someone to distract you, give you what you really craved on these nights. It wasn't just the alcohol, well, it does make the sex a tiny bit better, especially when you have no idea who it really is exploring your body. Sex, sex is the other reason.

You slumped into an empty booth you found in the corner, finding yourself alone with no idea where the others have relocated. You don't think you could find them even if you tried, in your state, it could take a while, and then you'd end up further than you were. Necking down the drink in hand, your eyes once again scanned the room. Hot, sticky and horny and you were nowhere near able to describe yourself as the three. Just wasted.

You couldn't stay here much longer, it was boring. Too boring to admit that it was the worst night out in a while and it hasn't done anything to benefit you. At all.

About to give up and dash, two of your friends piled down beside you and they were definitely apart of the three adjective category. Hot, sticky and horny.nNot to mention, those two do love sucking each others face off whilst continuously broadcasting that they were straight.

Definitely not.

Your eyebrow raised as they practically climbed on top of each other, shuffling to the side slightly to not seem like you were in a throuple and sticking to the arm of the booth as if you were caught in a fly trap.

They were most definitely not making you feel any better.

"Alright?" Another voice was heard, well one that is talking words instead of moans. She was just as fucked, like you. Although she was having more fun.

"Does it look like it?" You groaned as you got nudged by a stray elbow, deciding it was best to crawl under the table to the other side to sit next to her instead.

"Not having fun?"

"Weirdly, no. I don't know."

"You need to find someone, even if its a quick shag in the bathroom. You need a release."

"Do you not think I've been trying, theres literally no gay women in here i find attractive.. or me attractive." You complain as you saw your phone light up from your bag, slipping it out of its space to find a name you didn't expect to see, eyes widening as you struggled to look away. "Its like so homophobic.."

Words slurring, you read the name over again. Shaking your head slightly, you tossed your phone on the table, unsure on what to do. The heat of the room and the unexpected text made you sweat slightly, head finally becoming noticeably fuzzy.

"Who was that?"

"No one."

Her eyes squinted and you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion before it was all revealed when she snatched your phone quicker than the speed of light from your side of the table, gasping as she managed to unlock it.

"Holy shit! Is that the Leah, Leah?" She squealed as if it was the most ideal thing to happen right now, completely ignoring the things that went down which you had told her about.

Things, was nothing. It was mutual.

"Y/N.." Her voice toned down as she turned your phone to you, the red and green buttons the first thing you saw. "Answer!"

"I cant, its too loud in here.."

Your mind begged for you to do so but you didn't want to give into her that easily, you knew how arrogant she was and, most likely, still is. You always liked to edge her anyway, in all circumstances.

After grabbing your phone back, you noticed you still had a photo of you both as the background, remembering when you set it. It was a mirror selfie, the mirror that you both found in the expensive looking bathroom, in the expensive restaurant she took you to. On the third date. She spoiled you and you loved to be spoiled rotten.

The girl next to you changed the subject a while ago, waffling your ear off as you sat staring, daydreaming as your phone lit up every few minutes. Your brought your thumb up to your mouth, biting your nail slightly as your thought process whirled. You wanted so desperately to take a peak, a look at what she wanted. All notifications were from her, you could tell.

You liked this possessive, toxic side of her. She never allowed you to go out without her and if you did, she'd be blowing up your phone like she was right now. On about the 10th notification, you gave in. Reaching eagerly for your abandoned device.

'I miss you..' 'Come to mine. I need you.' 'I'm alone.' 'Why are you not answering me?' 'Come on, Y/N. I know you want to.' 'Don't be a bitch.'

From that, you could tell she had also been drinking which was a rare occasion seeming as she was a professional footballer. You knew how she was like drunk…

'I can see you've read my messages.'

You bit your lip as you struggled to reply, drunken mind in the midst. You should probably, probably not. Your focus dropped at what she sent next, eyes bulging out of their sockets nearly at the sheer audacity she had. You didn't have much time to prepare for the salivating photo she sent, it bugged you so much so that you had to clear your throat even when you hadn't spoken for about 20 minutes.

The confidence that irradiated was not unusual, but this was better than you remembered. Sending a nude on imessages was risky.

'Like what you see? Come. Over.' 'Or at least send me one back.. don't be boring.'

Your stomach was fluttering so much you had to hold an arm over it and with your pupils fully dilated, you conjured up a reply;

'What's your address?'

'Bold to have claimed i've moved, you stalking me?'

She replied back ravenously quick, she must be desperate but she can never help but tease into it.

'Maybe. That didn't answer my question though, i thought you wanted me over?'

'I do.'

'Well then don't mess around.'

You smirked slightly as you took hold of the reigns, waiting as Leah typed her address out, the heat getting to you. Your friend had disappeared without your acknowledgment, giving you a clear way out without any suspicion, not before said girl pushed you back down in your seat.

"Where do you think you're going in such a rush?"

"I was.."

"You were going to see Leah, weren't you?" She raised her eyebrows as she mixed her drink with her straw, shimmying slightly before nudging you with her shoulder.

"I.. it's bad idea, right?" You spoke as you watched her through the lids of your eyes, scratching the side of your head as the thoughts came trailing back but they were too blurred to exactly understand.

"Fuck no! You want this Y/N, you need it. You need her.." She teased, posture so upright as she sipped through her straw.

"But.. what about the others.."

That was an excuse and a question you already knew the answer too.

"Look at them. I think they're okay." She nodded towards the dance floor, spotting the two other girls basically fucking in public. "Besides, I met a guy at the bar, so, I'm busy. Go."

She stood up and scurried off, leaving you back to where you were. You knew what she said was right, you were drunk and you have suspected Leah was too. All could be worked out in the morning.

As you were getting up, your phone buzzed once more;

'You're taking too long, hurry up otherwise you'll be down an orgasm.'

You scoffed at the threat, who does she think she is? She is the one that is begging for you.

Rolling your eyes, you left her on read before turning your way through the puzzle of littered people and towards the exit. The anticipation of the night ahead having already sobered you up a little but not enough to make you rethink your choice.

After you flagged cab down and got into it, you hesitantly read out your ex's address to the driver and you watched with intent as he typed it into his satnav.

This is a bad idea, right?

You felt a bit queasy as he started to drive, said satnav displaying the journey to only be 10 minutes, the slowest yet mind consuming 10 minutes. Looking out the window with your hand over your mouth, you came to realise how stupid this all was. How easy it was just to fall right back into her arms after being uncommunicative with each other for 4 months. One simple text and show of possession.

But it was mostly just the nag at the back of your head as you imagined Leah, her body and her touch. Her voice.. the mix of masculinity and femininity that she adorned.

The car came to a halt abruptly, breaking you out of your provocative daydream;

"We are here, love."

You almost gagged at the pet name used by the middle aged man sat in the front seat, only Leah could call you that. At least for tonight. She'd be seething if she was there to witness that.

With a quick 'thanks' you hastily got out of the car, rounding to his window to slip him some cash. Not bothering with the change as you stepped up to the modern apartment complex. You checked the number of her flat and pressed the button that lived next to it, no one answered but you heard the complaint of the door as it unlocked and you stepped right in.

As you climbed the stairs to her floor, you ruffled your hair out a bit and adjusted your dress to show off the right attributes. You know you didn't need to make any changes, it was Leah after all.

Once you reached the floor, you heard a captivating wolf-whistle echo down the hallway, looking to find a certain blonde leaning against the door way with just a large jumper and her panties on.

"Expecting something?" You asked and stopped in the middle of the hallway, noticing her eyes give in to look at where she missed most; your boobs.

"Yeah, a parcel about 15 minutes ago. I'll let it slide if you're the exchange to what i ordered."

"Am i an object to you, hey?" You questioned, walking antagonisingly slow towards her, placing the palm of your hands on her chest as you found yourself in reach.

"Not complaining." She muttered as she bit her lip, eyes fully dilated as her fingers trailed round to your back to undo a quarter of your zip. Only doing the rest once she pulled you inside. Her touch on you was rough, as you remembered, and the kiss was sloppy. Both of you trying to get the most of each other, indulging in each others closeness in the most disgusting way.

After slamming the door closed, she had you squashed up against it, continuing her rampage.

This isn't exactly how you thought your night would end.

The eagerness inside her was more than you interpreted and you found yourself wanting her more, even closer to you than she already was. She had managed to tug your dress down half way, exposing more of your skin, and her lips travelled with her touch until she was planted fully on her knees in front of you.

Your mouth was half open as you both kept your stare on each other, addressing your consent through your gaze. She was about to fuck you and you had barely made it into her home yet. You guessed a new house called for a christening.

It shouldn't have shocked you that you both lasted to the early hours of the morning, finding yourself laying down next to her in the now sweaty sheets of her extremely comfy bed. You had guessed it was new. All that was heard in the dim room was both your heavy breathing, deep sighs occasionally heard as you struggled to find the words. Now this was slightly awkward.

You found your stuff was all over the floor as you peered over, trying to reach over for your bag without moving from your spot. The energy had completely left your soul, let alone your body.

Grabbing hold of the strap with the tips of your fingers, you dragged it towards you and plucked your phone out whilst a warm hand laid down on the naked skin of your back, making you jump and nearly fall off. She snuck her arm around your waist and laid you back down before you could do so, shuffling closer as her fingers kept their trail on your waist.

Her head rested on your shoulder as you unlocked your phone, revealing tons of messages on your 'besties' group chat that have grouped together on your lock screen. Either asking where you were and who you were with.

Leah's head nuzzled against your skin and you knew you had to be careful whilst replying;

'I'm at home, i was asleep.'

After you sent the message, you threw it back on the floor and settled back down next to the blonde, facing each other. You both didn't say anything, nor touched. Not before you reached out and tucked her sprawled hair behind her ear.

"I've always loved when you have your hair down, makes you ten times hotter." You whispered as you leant closer to her face, your lips dangerously close that you could feel each others hitched breaths.

"Yeah? Is that the only reason?" She teased, moving her face away from yours to gradually sit up, leg wrapping around your waist to straddle you before leaning back down.

Your hands instinctively moved to the back of her neck, fingertips buried in the roots of her blonde strands.

"Maybe because i can pull it too," You pulled at it slightly, a faint moan spilling from her lips that still stroked against your own. "run my fingers through it and tell you where i want-"

She crashed her lips onto yours, cutting you off. Teeth clashing against each others and you both didn't give in to the oxygen that was needed momentarily, causing you to yank her back by her hair. She smirked slightly in her daze whilst you held her back, slowly sitting up with her still in your lap.

You kept your grasp as you rounded your lips to her neck, whispering in her ear. "You never told me you had a hair pulling kink.."

"Oh, baby.. i have more than just that you were yet to figure out.."

You awoke a few hours later with only a mere headache, the only real protruding ache coming from elsewhere. You hadn't had this feeling in a while, it made you want to stay wrapped up in her arms for the rest of the day. Life even. As you were laying on your stomach, you turned your head to face her, the mix of sunlight and sticky mascara blurring your eyesight but you could just about make out that she was still asleep.

You pushed yourself up by the palm of your hands and got out from under the sheets, picking your phone up from off the floor and going on the hunt for the bathroom, not before pulling on Leah's jumper.

Completely disarrayed, you didn't think to realise your surroundings, trodding round the corner to find one of Leah's teammates in the kitchen who had already noticed your arrival.

"Holy shit." You pressed your hand on your heart as she came to view, recognising her as Lia Walti who you knew all to well from over the years.

"Hi Y/N.." She raised an eyebrow as she spoke, voice full of confusion, not forgetting to look you up and down. "Had fun?"

"Are you roommates? She didn't say. You weren't-"

"No, just got back from Switzerland." She nodded towards the pile of bags as she sipped her tea. "Good job i didn't come back last night, it seems."

"We're just friends." You blurted, covering one foot with the other as you stayed stood in the doorway.

"I didn't mention.. or ask.. but okay, if you say so."

"Last night didn't mean anything.. we were drunk." You continued, disheveled with the moment.

"Liebe, i wasn't the one you fucked." She giggled at your ramble. "You weren't that drunk to realise you were with Leah, right?"

"Oh. I know it was Leah."

"Ew. Where is she anyway?"

"Asleep.. do you know where the bathroom is?" You asked as your head pounded, rubbing a hand across your forehead.

"Down the hall, on the left." She nodded.

Muttering a quick 'thank you', you turned back around and eventually found the toilet, doing your business as well as searching for a packet of paracetamol to ease the ache that accumulated over the last hours. Swallowing them dry, you noticed yourself in the mirror and realised the state of yourself. The affect of the alcohol releasing the anxieties you were supposed to feel before the whole ordeal, creating a sense of regret.

Even though you didn't want to regret it.

You stalked back into Leah's bedroom, waking the girl up with your loud presence as you collected your clothes, muttering to yourself.

"What's the rush?" Her voice was hoarse and she cleared it slightly, she did make a lot of noise last night so you weren't an inch surprised.

After stripping off her jumper, you chucked it at her, covering her bare chest which was exposed to you. "This was a bad idea."

She scoffed, throwing her head back at the stubbornness as she leant back on her elbows. She watched as you tried to wiggle on your dress from the night before, raising an eyebrow at the way you struggled, frustrating yourself to points end.

"Okay, Y/N. Stop, you can borrow some of my clothes." She sighed, standing up without an insecurity shown, full body on display as she opened her slightly overfilled wardrobe and chucked you a pair of joggers as well as the jumper you had just thrown back.

You couldn't help yourself but let yours eye's travel, her body painted with marks you had created and the scratches on her back made your eyes widen. As a lesbian, you didn't think your nails were that long enough to cause such a profound mark.

"What?"

"When do you next have training?" You nervously giggled.

"Tomorrow.. why?"

"No reason."

She'll find out for herself, or Lia will tell her.

Getting home was when things really hit you. You had promised yourself that you were going to stay away that time, considering you didn't all the other times it was not surprising but that was the furthest you had gotten without her. And you failed once again.

It was like failing rehab, you relapsed and now your transition period starts again.

What makes it worse was that it was really good sex, too good- mind blowing. Now, you would't stop thinking about it, and her, and your relationship. It was toxic to even be thinking like this, so you made the sacrifice and got rid of her number. She had messaged you a few times beforehand, clearly unsatisfied by your ghosting to the point where it was pissing her off and she continuously spammed you. Every moment so, you did what you had to do even if your heart said differently.

Your friends didn't need to have the conversation with you, it was obvious you lied to them with that message, considering you basically ran after your friends confirmation to go to her, to Leah. They now find you insistently down in the dumps, like they usually did after a run in with your ex. That meant, more drink and more random hook ups. This time without Leah unblocked and able to access your communication. At all.

"That girl is cute." Your friend pointed behind you but you had no expectation whatsoever, turning your head slightly to see a very straight looking girl. You rose your eyebrow at her telling her to be for real before you sipped at your drink. "What she is?"

"Yes, and the straightest looking in the fucking room. Not to mention, extremely basic. Cough, straight." You responded sarcastically, scoffing slightly as you rolled your eyes, your friend mirroring your expression to get back at your mocking.

"Well, you definitely need more gay friends then."

"I would if you both came out" You nodded your head to your other friend sitting close beside her, those were the two snogging their faces off the night you went to see you know who.

"We're straight!" The both exclaimed leaving them with their mouths hanging open, shuffling away from each other slightly. Oops.

"Not even close girls, snap out of it." You laughed, using the palms of your hands to escape the scene and scoot out of your seat. "Drinks?"

You were hoarded with a bunch of different beverages names before you puzzled your way to the bar, weirdly feeling a heavy stare on you as you did so. Choosing to ignore it, you straightened your posture as you approached the bar, finding a not so bad looking bartender in the process.

"Hey, what can I get you, pretty?" She smirked as she wiped clean the glass that was in her hand, her white shirt sleeves rolled up to her elbows-veins revealed, now thats gay.

You couldn't help the blush that coated your cheeks, tucking your hair behind you ear as you began to order, leaning closer for her to be able to hear better. She leant in that tiny bit closer also, eyes drifting across your features.

She made you your drinks and you were in awe, leaning your chin against your knuckles as you stared at her and every aspect. Still feeling an intense sense of someone prying behind you, trying to ignore it as you kept your focus on her for a distraction. The collection of glasses were laid out in front of you in a matter of minutes as well as one napkin she laid down too, picking it up gently to find an inked scribble on the other side- you winked at her and stuffed it into your bra before digging into your purse to find your phone (to pay.)

You attention was caught off guard as an arm leant over you with their card, your eyes widening as you noticed the rings clad on the persons long, and skilled, fingers as they tapped it against the card machine. Your eyes peaked from under your eyelids to see the bartenders face drop, moving onto another customer and you huffed at the unwanted attention.

"Fancy seeing you here, pretty." She exaggerated the nickname as she nestled her mouth close to the side of your head, hands falling inconspicuously onto your waist.

"What are you doing here, Leah."

"Same reason as you- partying, flirting.." You felt her tense from behind you, glaring daggers at the poor girl behind the bar as she turned to look at you both again. Your breath hitched as Leah moved her hand to tuck her fingers in your bra, ultimately pulling out the crumbled bit of tissue and chucking it back on the bar all whilst looking at her.

You slapped her hand away as she teased, not wanting to move any time soon. "Don't touch me."

Not looking back, you began to walk away, you didn't need to fall into her trap again- not this soon. Just as you thought you had escaped, your hand was yanked back and you were suddenly flushed against her body once again, your heart racing with nerves and curiosity.

"I miss you." Her accent came out deep, groping at any bit of skin.

"Leah.."

"I miss you, Y/N."

"You don't, you miss the sex and the idea of me." You used your elbows in between you both to struggle yourself out of her grip, face stern as you replied. You're trying to be the bigger person. For yourself. "I shouldn't have gone back to you that night."

"That's a lie-"

"Shut up." You spat, for once putting Leah in her place. "We have tried this multiple times before and we always, always end up in the same position. On what earth are you thinking that this is going to end up differently this time?" The blonde was gobsmacked, unusual for her usual exterior- you almost felt bad for how she looked so vulnerable. "Move on, Lee."

Seeing the cogs whirling in Leah's face, you try to make an exit once again, thinking this time you were surely alone- no more Leah in your life before you were pulled back once more.

"No."

"Leah, for fuck sake.." You placed your fingers on the bridge of your nose, sighing for what felt the millionth time that night.

"No, listen to me. Let me talk, please." Her voice sounded like it wobbled if you didn't think mishear it over the thumping of the music, her eyes shone with need and necessity. This wasn't the usual Leah, she looked defenceless- helpless. As much as you hated it, your heart clenched and you nodded, herself eagerly taking your hand to lead you out of the club towards a quiet place.

The chill in the air had your different intakes of oxygen reveal into the night sky, you shivered slightly and Leah stepped closer, hoping the warmth radiating from her could hit you in some way.

"I'm not lying when I say I miss you." She started, voice quiet as the cloud full the words evaporated into the air. "I mean it, when I called you and texted you that night it wasn't because I was drunk and horny.. well I was but that wasn't all of it. I wouldn't of asked anyone else of the sort-"

"Thanks for letting me know, I really appreciate that." The sarcasm spilled- you couldn't help it.

"Just, please.."

"Sorry, carry on."

"What I'm trying to say is that, the way I was in our relationship is something I regret everyday. I took advantage of you, I pretended to be someone that I never was and now it's the only way people know me and I hate it. I really did love you, Y/N, as much as I didn't say it that much it became a habit where I didn't let myself say it- for some reason, I liked the way I became and now coming to think of it, it was so fucking stupid. I cared more about some made up personality than the love of my life and I want to punish myself every fucking day for losing you. I miss you, I love you and I hate myself for making you think differently about yourself. I hate that I manipulated you, downgraded you, everything that I said or did that made you cry, made you leave with a hurt expression and your heart broken.. I would kill to bring back the time to redo my wrongs with you, I never should have felt the need to be such a dick especially not to someone as precious as you are. I know you've probably already made your mind up about me and never want to see or hear from me again, I promise that will happen but I just needed you to know that I am sorry. I miss you Y/N, but I will respect your wishes."

The tears streamed down your face like every bit of fluid inside you wanted an escape, you never though such words could fall out of a mouth like your exes, the state of vulnerably of hers was confusing and you didn't know what to do, usually it was the other way round- yet you were the one still in tears. Leah's had only just glossed over as she leant back against the brick wall behind her, covering her face with her hands.

"Did or do?" You sobbed, fiddling with your hands.

Her face peaked out of her hands to find you were still there, in fact closer to her than you were. The threatening tears finally broke the barrier Leah held and you quickly swiped them away as you caught their entrance, keeping your hands on her cheeks as you looked over her.

"What?"

"Did love me or do love me?" You whispered, thumbs tracing her cheek bones, swiping up a stray eyelash of hers in the meanwhile. Her eyes were wide with hope as she looked you over, hands reaching out to pull you closer in fear of letting you go.

"I love you. I love you, Y/N. So much." Her voice cracked with a sob following, lips contorting from a frown to a smile as she wrapped her arms around your neck and buried herself into you as much as she could. You snaked your arms around her back, one hand moving to hold the back of her head as you tried to soothe her with pressing light kisses into her hair. She relished in your hold as she was before leaning back, sniffling before attaching her lips to yours in a delicate kiss.

This felt more right than never before, you think this time, it might work out in the end.

[meo-on-prairie]

Keep it Lowkey

Sukuna x Reader

Prompt: “Be as quiet as you can ‘cause if anyone sees they’ll just blow shit up” - Lowkey by NIKI

Words count: 1.1k

Tags: bodyguard!sukuna x Popstar!reader, fluff, coworkers to lovers (????), just pure indulgence, pure fluff

Rambling: it’s a little fluffy Sukuna fic inspired by “lowkey”-NIKI. Full fantasizing. I’m writing while I still have the time lmao. If i was in this situation, my brain would become mush.

Note to self: get a new bodyguard. You mentally note as you stare at Sukuna, your current bodyguard, in all his glory. You have to fire him. He’s not bad at this job by any means. On the contrary, he’s excellent at his job. With his nearly 7ft build, his… well trained body, and his tattoos, he looks very intimidating. Ever since your team hired him, you have encountered much much less crazy fans, in fact you feel safe enough to post pictures while on vacations instead of having to wait until you’re back at home to post them. But lately, he has been a distraction to your work.

You didn’t pay much attention to Sukuna when your security team first introduced him to you. You were too busy prepping for your performance at a music festival. You just greeted him quickly, thanked him for joining the team, and hurried on stage. Sukuna has been working for you for about 2 years now, and you hate it. You hate it because you’re pinning after your bodyguard. And the smug fucker knows it.

The way he smirks at you when he shields you from the flashing light of cameras. The way his hand casually grazes your back and hip, lingering a little longer than he should but not long enough to be noticeable. The way he leans in a little too close to whisper in your ears about potential danger in a large crowd. This fucker know how his actions make you blushing and knees weak. He knows and he’s teasing you. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Sukuna teases, snapping you out of your train of thoughts.

“Why would I need to take a picture of someone I've been seeing everyday for 2 years? I’m tired of seeing your face.” you reply nonchalantly, redirecting your focus on the notebook in your lap. You’re currently in the artist lounge, alone with Sukuna. The music show won’t start for another 3 hours, but you like to be early. You’re waiting on your makeup artist as you work on writing another song for your album, but it’s looking hopeless ‘cause you have no clue what to write.

“The way you’ve been staring at me says otherwise, Little Star.” Sukuna pressed on with a smirk. 

“Please, do tell, how have I been staring at you?” You said sarcastically. Closing your notebook, you ain’t getting anything done with Sukuna in the same room as you. You get up to pour yourself a glass of wine that the music show provides to its VIP artists. 

“Like you’re mentally undressing me in your head. I’m surprised none of your fans or paparazzi notice it.” He shrugged. Sukuna eyes your form as you pour your wine. You look good enough to devour, he thinks. The sparkly, skimpy outfit leaves little for the imagination.

“Because I’m a professional, Sukuna.” you side-eyes him, sipping on your wine. 

“Oh, so you do undress me with your eyes” Sukuna is full on smirking now. You fucked up. 

As your mind races to find a good response to his remark, you feel a pair of arms snaking around your waist. You look up to see Sukuna towering over you. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This isn’t good, your heart is beating too loud, you feel like even he can hear it. Your mind is turning white. You want to run away right this second. You feel like a mouse being trapped under a tiger’s paw.

“Come on, Little Star. You could’ve been more honest with yourself… With me…” His voice dropped to a low volume, you can feel the rumbling of his chest, he leaned down to whisper into your ear. “Come on now, what do you want?”

His breath fanned your ears and your brain short circuit. This isn’t good. This is down right dangerous. You can feel your self restraint slipping. “Whatever deity above, whoever you are, give me power.”. Clearly whatever deity above is not on your side because you can’t take your eyes off the way his collarbone look at this angle. Now that he’s leaning down to your height, you are finally able to see the way the muscles on his shoulder flex with his arm on your hip. His tone biceps. And oh god, his chest, they look so incredibly⸻

“Come on, Little Star, tell me.”

You feel his lip nibbling on your ear. You’re done for. 

“Y-y-you. I want you.” you are barely able to choke out. There is no turning back now.

“That’s more like it.” Sukuna breathes out right before he presses his lips against yours. 

You melt into him as soon as your lips make contact with his. Your knees finally give out under you, if not for his hands that were on your waist, you would be on the ground. He holds you up and against his body and you wrap your legs around his torso. His hand moves from your waist to your thigh so he can hold you up better. 

Your hand slides from shoulders to his nape to the back of his head, tugging on his hair as you kiss him back. He kisses you like your lips are the sweetest nectar and he’s a starved man.  Hungrily, ferociously, desperately. His hand glides from your thigh to your ass, slipping under your skimpy stage outfit. If Sukuna could have it his way, he would tear the outfit off of you right then and there. But that could wait till after the music show.

You don’t know how long you were kissing him. It felt like time stopped. The world stopped. There is no one else but him, nothing else but his kiss. So this is what you've been denying yourself of for so long. Sukuna was right, you should’ve been more honest. You hate that he's right.

A knock on the door, snap you both out of the haze. Your makeup artist. You forgot that you were waiting for her. In fact, you forgot you were at a music show and is about to go on stage. The thing this man does to you. He’s dangerous. 

“We’ll continue this later. I’ll let you undress me with your hands this time.” He said with a smirk as blood rushed to your cheeks and ears, tinting them red. 

Sukuna leans down to give you a quick peck on your forehead before turning around to open the door for your makeup artist. 

Maybe you don’t need to fire him after all. You’ll have to keep your relationship a secret though, if you want to keep your fan base. It’s not easy being famous. Fortunately, like you said, you’re a professional.

[starry-bi-sky]

ive been hesitating to ask this bc youve been on a roll with the clone^2au (which i am frothing over) but could i poke you for some childhood friend au? bc GOD i wanna see how danny reacts to reuniting w jason or how the rest of the batfam react to learning jason never told danny of his resurrection or wondering if dannys gonna put jokers dead body on a display/offering to jasons grave. i havent been normal about this since i first read it and was wondering. thank you for your writing.

RAAAAHHHH DON'T BE HESITANT I AM JUST AS FERAL OVER MY CHILDHOOD FRIENDS AU AS I AM WITH CLONE^2 I AM DELIGHTED BY THIS. Like.,,,, i literally love them,,, so much. I can't listen to The Crane Wives without thinking of them.

(which is my fault - the ao3 fic of them has literally only crane wives lyrics for each chapter title and summary (posted AND the ones not written) so of course im gonna associate with them.)

(if you wanna listen to some of their songs while thinking of cfau here are my recommendations: "Once & for All", "Here I Am", "Hollow Moon" is a Danny AND Jason song to me, this would be my go-to song for an animatic of CFAU if i had the skills for it. "Tongues and Teeth", "Curses" and "take me to war" is a heavy cfau danny song to me, and of course, "the moon will sing")

Like they're BEST friends dude, they're two sides of the same coin and when they were kids they would do this thing where their 'fingers crossed'/'double-crossed' was them hooking their index fingers in the fingers crossed gesture.

and i'm actually currently rewriting my original post into a more fic-like format, and when I'm done I'll post it on here under the cfau tag - with the original post still in tact. But its,,, gonna be so long dude,,,, the original behemoth was just over 9000 words,,, and I've written 3k words already of the new one and we haven't even reached Jason and Danny reuniting at the gala yet,,, i need to get back to that,,,

and then to answer your questions!! god im almost hesitant to answer because i dont wanna spoil the little fic i had planned for it but also like,, its not like im gonna spoil everything, right? and answering the questions isnt the same as writing the scene down so!!

i love danny and jason's reuniting, like i've thought about it SO much and I've thought about it happening after Danny kills the Joker. I know the reveal could have been before that, and it could have been equally just as dramatic but like??? Thematically, doing it after danny kills the joker is SO good. To me at least.

Because like?? Jason's been in somewhat denial about danny's plan to kill the joker for months. ever since danny told him that he wanted to at the gala. And from Jason's pov its not even technically a plan. He sees his best friend for the first time after five years and his best friend still isn't over his death. He hasn't stepped foot in Gotham since his funeral and now suddenly he's here.

And he's still so full of grief over his death that he tells a masked vigilante that he's going to kill the guy that did it, who lives in said masked vigilante's city. And danny's got that look in his eyes that Jason knows so well that means he's being serious. And yet he still doesn't know if he should believe him or not.

And then he does. Danny kills him. And Jason can't fucking believe it. And when he goes and sees Danny, Danny's hands are still covered in blood. And that reunion? God like a fucking firework show. Danny's so fucking angry, and pissed, and hurt, and so goddamn overjoyed that he's alive and here that he sends them both to the ground, and if he doesn't calm down he's gonna take out the power in a five block radius.

there's just so, so much yelling on Danny's end. And then so much crying, first from Danny and then them both. because god, you're alive. you're here. i've missed you so much. i'm never letting you out of my sights again.

and Joker's death! God I don't want to actually say too much about that, but the way I have it set up thematically makes me actually not want danny to take any part of the joker with him as an offering. and he may actually forego that particular ghost etiquette and offer something else as an offering to Jason in substitute to not bringing him the Joker's heart/head/ritualistic body part.

Because you know what the last thing a man whose been spending the last two decades of his life building himself up to be larger than life would want? A death that's unremarkable. :) and that's all i'll put on the matter for now.

and the batfam!! they technically already know that jason hasn't told danny he was resurrected, and plenty of them have mixed feelings on them. largely bruce and dick i think, considering they saw firsthand how close jason and danny were when they were kids.

Dick was honestly surprised at first when he found out that Jason hadn't told Danny he was alive - and on one hand he understands the reasoning for it, and on the other hand he isn't sure if it was such a good idea. Especially after he sees Danny again after he arrives back in Gotham and sees just how badly Jason's death was still affecting him. But it's not like he's going to try and convince Jason to tell him - he can make his own choices, even if Dick has questions about them.

Bruce has much the same thoughts as Dick, so there's not really much to add here other than he might bring it up once or twice to Jason like, vaguely. And then immediately drops it when Jason shuts him down. He might actually somewhat...?? prefer that Jason hasn't told Danny because that raises a lot of questions and could jeopardize their identities. However, again, Jason can make his own choices and there's not much Bruce can do about it other than disapprove from afar.

Tim who knew of Danny from stalking the Wayne family shares similars sentiments of being surprised that Jason didn't tell Danny, but again, yeah, understands the thought process to some extent. Doesn't bring it up ever.

Everyone else who hadn't seen firsthand how close Danny and Jason are don't really have much opinion on it -- Jason didn't tell his best friend he was alive, great, he also didn't tell them either so it's not like its that much of a surprise. It would've been more of a surprise to them if Jason had told Danny before he told Bruce and co. Damian may make a comment or two about Jason not telling Danny, but its not about how he can't believe he didn't tell him or anything like it.

[flightfoot]

Miraculous movie review

Just watched the movie. Overall, I'm pretty mixed on it. There were some things I thought it did well and others I thought it was pretty poor at, especially with how the constraints of its runtime meant it couldn't build relationships as well. Ultimately, I prefer the show, though the movie definitely had some things going for it.

More details below the break, warning there will be SPOILERS below.

What I liked about the movie:

It had some really nice music and song sequences, they were my favorite part of the movie! I thought the singing was top-notch, and I loved the visuals they brought out for them, even if it was clearly non-diagetic most of the time. I adore musicals and sadly there haven't been enough of them lately.

The movie was more consistent with its tone and theming than the show usually is. Granted, that's a LOT easier to do in a single movie than in a show spanning 100+ episodes over seven years. They really leaned into the "Marinette has low self-confidence and just considers herself a useless mess who causes disasters all the time, so she needs to learn that she IS capable and heroic."

This movie BELONGED to Ladynoir, specifically with the song sequences with both of them, I adored them singing duets and dancing together.

ADRIEN GOT TO FIND OUT GABRIEL WAS HAWK MOTH AND REALLY REACT TO IT. Gabriel gave a genuine, heartfelt apology for everything, and gave up when he realized he'd been hurting his son. Since this version of Gabriel had only been avoiding Adrien out of grief and hadn't seemed to ever go out of his way to hurt him or subjugate him, Adrien forgiving him worked, I thought. This version of Gabriel jives nicely with most Gabenath fics I've read.

---

What I didn't like about the movie:

While I enjoyed the song sequences the most, they did feel kind of jarring with the rest of the movie, especially since Marinette and Adrien had different voice actors for the singing parts.

Adrien's and Marinette's relationship was barely developed in the Adrienette dynamic. I was actually surprised when Ladybug told Chat that her heart belonged to someone else, given that she'd only had like, two scenes with him as a civilian? And neither one was THAT meaningful. The library scene was nowhere NEAR the level of the umbrella scene.

This movie had beautiful music... for the singing parts. But then they tried to bring out the opening chords of "Careless Whisper" for some bits that were supposed to be romantic and... yeah no, that didn't work at all. It felt like a parody. The show uses its OST WAY better, especially "In The Rain".

While this movie emphasized the Ladynoir dynamic, it didn't actually work for me? It was nice to see them sparring, but I didn't like their actual interactions - mostly because of how Chat was portrayed.

Which leads to a point about Chat: he got done dirty here, with his over-the-top bravado getting to the point of arrogance and it even seeming like he was putting Ladybug down sometimes, with him calling her a "sidekick" several times (which Plagg joined in on for some reason) and a watermelon and while that seems to have been in order to show how his and Ladybug's relationship strengthened and became more playful over time, the shortened length of the movie didn't really allow that to be conveyed well. He was mostly just annoying, and it didn't feel like he actually got to do much in fights. We didn't get to follow him much so there wasn't much reason to get attached to Adrien, either.

Were the fart scenes with Plagg really necessary?

---

Overall I'm happy I watched it, but I wouldn't call it the definitive version of Miraculous by any means. For all its flaws and foibles, I far prefer the show, with the relationships and characters its built, and the creative, intelligent superhero fights it showcases. Just watched the movie wouldn't have gotten me into Miraculous's world, but the show entranced me after only two episodes.

[muzzlemouths]

I know the meaning of the words ever after

This was a small oneshot I wrote up for the DCAH server's writing contest, which I've since tidied up some to post here! It takes place somewhere between 1940-1950 — which isn't super relevant to the story, but it's important to me that you know. lol.

There is a song mentioned in the fic that I feel really adds to the atmosphere when listened to while reading. I am so insistent on you listening to this song that I've linked it in the fic's wording below. please do this one thing for me I promise it's worth it

Sun&Moon centric // wordcount: 1109

This house is full of ghosts.

Nothing ghoulish, mind you. The floors have been swept of evil fiends long before now. Rather, these old, yellow walls are haunted by the ghosts of memory. Like dust embraces the morning as it pours through open blinds, here before your eyes and gone by the afternoon, so, too, do the inhabitants of this old home move within it.

Even now, your hands buried in the kitchen sink and worrying over a piece of china, can you see them dawdling your peripheral vision. The sunflowers on your table dance on invisible strings and arrange themselves with endless repetition.

You hum, “Leave them be,” your words undeniably hidden behind the fondness of laughter. The arrangement stills, its orchestrator caught red handed. You settle the rinsed teacup on a cloth to your left and return to the sink for the two that remain. “They’re already perfect, Sun,” your insistence brings with it a smile, “stop fussing and help me set the table, won’t you? I’m almost done with this.”

Though normally eager to lend you a hand, today it seems they are all too happy to ignore your request. The gentle ting of a bell precedes their arrival at your back, instead, where they waste no time in stealing the cup right out from under your fingers.

“Hey,” you make a lazy grab for it only to see the cup raised just out of reach, a lighthearted taunt that doesn’t go unheard, “that’s not what I asked you to do, mister,” you tut. There’s no real anger behind your words. You know this, and they certainly know it, too, because the cup remains where it’s at. “Fine, fine, be that way. You can finish washing up, then.”

You expect to be thwarted for a second time, teased a while longer. They answer with the song of more bells, instead, the noise like a windchime carried through an open window, and — to your pleasant surprise — it’s followed by the unmistakable sound of your china dipping beneath the faucet.

Offering them a satisfied thrum, you begin to collect the readied teacups from where they rest, dry and ready to find their way to the table. One by one you arrange them until each cup is in its place. Sun offers you the final cup a moment later, patted dry by hand, and you hesitate in setting this one down. Its starry pattern catches your eye and for a moment, only a moment, you’re brought back to a time when these cups held more than memories.

Sun grounds you with a sympathetic touch to your shoulder. It’s impossible to miss the expression you know is there. To worry is their second nature.

You wave them off with a dull smile, “just getting sentimental,” you promise, and the cup is settled into place a minute after. With this, the table is finally set just how you like it. The centerpiece breathes life into the picturesque assembly of it all. Life that is welcomed as much as it is necessary, for the bread bin is only stale crumbs and the door creaks with the weight of a decade. Your pantry has gone stale over the years. 

The frames that hold up this home of yours have forgotten what it feels like to keep a gift which is new — alive, but you remember, and you aren’t going to let yourself forget any time soon.

Having already noticed your dwelling again, you find Sun’s hand has slipped its way into your own and, just like that, the thoughts pass quickly as they came before they’re given the chance to become anything worse. All too soon are they leading you out of the kitchen, an insistence in each step that has you tripping over your own feet with anticipation and laughter.

The fireplace roars to life following your arrival to the livingroom. Though the wood in its castiron mouth has long since been devoured, your chime-tongued companions somehow find a way to recreate the wonderful flame time and time again.

Across the room, your zenith radio clicks and coughs through a thick layer of dust, untouched by any hand. It chugs along, filtering through countless voices before landing on something specific; Frank Sinatra's Polka Dots and Moonbeams.

“I love this song,” you croon. But they already know. They know you like no one else. “We used to dance to this song, do you remember?” Your chest warms as nostalgia plays the memories for you like an old record. The many times you’ve spun circles over this same carpet, ragged now beneath weightless feet, and the first time you heard its wonderful tune. That day they helped you fold new wallpaper into place, the way in which it peels away after all this time now something like small petals along the wall.

“Do you remember?” You repeat yourself with more insistence this time, a breathless whisper. Tears begin to stray from the corner of your eyes — not anguished, but grateful. You can’t imagine anyone else you would rather spend the rest of your days left, regardless of if those days are few or forever.

You’re answered with a hollower bell’s ting and the wonderful scent of lavender. The tattered blinds fold together on their own, enveloping the room in a darkness only broken by the fireplace at your back. Cool, lithe hands sneak beneath your palms, fingers curling between your own. 

You’re lead a step backwards, then forwards once more, a graceful motion that is all too familiar. 

“You do remember,” said in such a whisper, tucked behind a smile, you aren’t sure they even hear you. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Moon guides you across the room in small, rhythmic circles, your footsteps leaving no trace in their wake. The voice in your radio sings of lilacs and laughter. When your dance slows and your cheek rests pleasantly against their chest, you come to decide the only thing that matters is already right here in front of you.

One day, inevitably, this house will no longer have the strength to stand. It will crumble and it will fall, and it will take with it your teacups, and your music, and your fancy vase with its old, dried flowers, but it will never steal away this moment. All too soon the day will come when someone stumbles upon the ruins of this home, when the tap has run dry and the frame is brittle as an elder tree, and beneath the garden, between the roots, they might just find each of you forever in each other’s reach. After all…

this house is full of ghosts.

[haloxsaisha]

So Good.

[Lewis Hamilton x Actress!Reader]

Based on: So Good by Halsey.

Warnings: Angst, Abu Dhabi and Monza 2021 (I'm so sorry), some fluff, few cheesy dialogues (cause I'm a dumbass), depression, insomnia, eating disorder and weight loss.

Word Count: 15.5K words (I've never written this much in my life so far, I'm so proud of myself).

A/N: My first Lewis fic, I wasn't expecting it to be done with during the Abu Dhabi race week but oh well💀 I'm personally quite happy with how this turned out! I hope y'all like it <33

Bold and italicized font: song lyrics.

Italicized font: flashbacks.

“I remember the night, I was so frustrated.”

You could only bury your hands, head filled with shock and completely blank.

You never thought this would ever happen to anybody, let alone just him. Nobody who had watched the sport did.

Everything inside you began to sink in the moment the whole mess about unlapping the cars started and as the rest of the race unfolded, you felt yourself crumbling.

Lewis staying in his car in silence, in disbelief at the parc ferme had been playing on your mind again and again.

You were supposed to be there. You had to be there for him.

You had apologized to him multiple times for not being there in a championship decider race, especially at a win that was so historically important but he dismissed your countless apologies saying that he could understand. You had been shooting for a movie in London since November, which also meant that you hadn't met each other in more than a month, work and COVID restrictions making its way in. There was one thing that you and Lewis always stood by, which was that your jobs would be given the first priority. Understandable from both sides because your works usually involve a lot of people, meaning that compromising on it was quite hard and it was also very important to both of you from an emotional perspective, although you had to admit the Formula 1 driver was reaching an equivalent position to your work in your heart.

You watched him speak in the post race interview and then the moment he shared with his father, leaning his head as he took in the encouraging words being whispered in his ear. He had always been so strong and it was something you admired about him.

You sent him a message (which you hoped would provide a bit of comfort), mentioning that what happened was unfair, he deserved that win after everything he'd been through the entire season and that night and how proud you were of him. Also adding that he could call you when he felt like doing so because he wouldn't be in the headspace to talk to people at the time.

Seven hours later, you were done with your scenes for the day at ten in the night. The first thing you did after entering the vanity was checking your phone and your message to him was still at 'delivered', which increased your worry and anxiety.

After a bit, you got the idea of dropping a message to Angela, who was somebody you were close to too. You knew the Wolffs, Miles and Daniel, you even met his parents, stepmum and his siblings too when you'd been to the Silverstone race but Angela was somebody you bonded along with very well. She was one of the sweetest persons you'd met and also took care of you like an older sister would whenever you were around.

But you'll only get a response a while later since it's probably the wee hours at Abu Dhabi right now, you thought as you sighed. The race and your work has already drained out all your energy and despite your mind being absolutely restless because of how anxious you felt, but you had to drive yourself to sleep somehow. The director wouldn't be happy seeing her lead actress with puffy eyes and barely any energy the next day.

By the time you landed on your bed, it struck midnight and your phone let out the notification sound, showing the message from Angela which said that Lewis wasn't doing great and hadn't spoken to anybody yet.

Now how were you going to be able to sleep after knowing that?

“I touch your hand for the first time, I see it on your face, then another lifetime's flashin' by.”

"You see the star there? That one's called Sirius." he tells you, pointing to a specific region in the night sky.

"I didn't peg you to be somebody who was familiar with Harry Potter references, Hamilton." you give him a surprised, yet impressed look.

"There's a lot more to me than meets the eye darling, you'll see." he tells you cockily and you playfully rolled your eyes, shaking your head.

"This might just be one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen." you said in awe, your eyes fixed at the sparkling stars laid on an endless canvas of the dark blue sky.

"Mhm yeah, it definitely is." the sweet and distracted voice of the man who'd been surrounding you and your thoughts for the past couple of months came through and you turned your head towards him, finding him looking at you.

You felt your cheeks heat and you could only let out a giggle in response, not knowing how to respond because of how flustered he made you feel.

Lewis Hamilton was definitely a lot more cheesy than one would ever assume.

"I'm sorry I couldn't plan anything fun, there's pandemic restrictions so everything around is almost shut." he apologizes and you melt at how heartful he sounds about it.

"Don't be ridiculous Lew, I've loved every moment of this date so far." you assure him with a soft smile. Star gazing with somebody you've admired for so long as a first date was something that nobody could beat.

"Well, how can I make the date better?" he asks and your eyes light up in silent laughter thinking he's joking but then you look at him, it turns out that he was actually being serious.

Dear god, what type of dates had this man been on?

"Well that's a hard one because I feel like the date has already met the standards." you pretend to think for a moment "Maybe you could let Roscoe join us?" you ask him, giving him a grin which made him fall for you even more.

"Now that's not fair." he playfully whines "This time is for us. He loves you too much, will take away all your attention from me." he said, referring to all the times the both of you spend with your mutual friends. He was right, the bulldog did take a lot of your time.

"Well I've at least gotta win over one heart right?" you said, reflecting your doubts about him considering if the thing between the both you was anything serious or not.

"Well in that case, his heart will be the second one you've won over from this house." he said and you looked at him, your eyes softening with warmth and your cheeks turning red as you move closer to him.

He feels it too, you thought as he wrapped his arm around you, making you sigh in bliss.

Nearly two years later, the morning after the catastrophic race, the first thing you saw after waking up were the words "I don't think I can do this anymore, I need some space and time away." on your phone and at that moment, you had been absolutely destroyed.

It felt like everything in you had just been dropped down and shattered without any noise, you just feel so hollow and empty on the inside.

You couldn't ridicule him for feeling devastated, anybody would understand how much yesterday meant to him and how it affected him even if they didn't know him personally.

But you believed that you were comfortable enough to be with each other through any situation, happiness or despair. You believed that he found the same comfort, solace and safety that you found in him.

But it turns out that he didn't. The both of you went all the way from a video call like a regular couple would before the race to a text like somebody that didn't really mean anything to him a later, he pushed you out.

“I bet you're happy and that's fine. But I regret just one thing, I never got to change your mind”

He'd been back on the screens for the next season. Despite all the news about him discontinuing racing, you knew he'd go back.

Racing was everything to him, it was quite literally everything he'd known. He'd spoken openly about the struggles that him and his dad faced to reach where he was in the racing industry.

He knew how to rise up from the worst moments, he always had it in him.

You were still a mess. It had been almost three months since the text which broke everything in you. But there he was, having interviews with his teammate, a happy grin on his face.

Being an F1 fan for a long time, you always kept up with whatever news was on about the grid and Lewis had quite the spotlight when it came to headlines about his professional life or personal life.

You knew that he wasn't really the person for serious relationships after a point in his career. All of his focus was on Formula 1, rightfully so, which was why one night stands and short flings were what he went for.

You knew that even before you met him, you knew it whilst being friends but you still agreed to date him despite that one thing freaking you out. He had a hold on you, such an aura around him. You were always in this bubble of happiness, positivity and peace when you were with him.

Although his past relationships made you think about a lot of 'what if-s', how could you say no to a guy who made you feel like that?

Well, this was the consequence of giving in to emotions rather than logic. Your heart had been shattered like fritted glass, while he was back to normal like the break up was nothing but a minor collateral damage.

Work was always a top priority but all those moments that the both of you shared had a lot of meaning right?

“And I'm doin' okay. In the back of my mind, all I hear is your name”

The last time you slept well was the night before the Abu Dhabi race. You were normally a light sleeper, which gave you a pretty decent amount of sleep to feel good the next day.

But ever since that night, your sleep had come down only a few hours every week. You'd just walk about the room feeling restless, scroll through your phone or laptop or the television to pass time, there were some days where you just stared at the ceiling, the thoughts in your head just rushing in with memories of Lewis and you'd end up bursting into tears, sleeping over taking you after your eyes would turn red and puffy. And after two or three hours, you'd be awake again, tossing and turning around the bed.

And it was safe to say the sight of food started making you feel sick, your face would literally scrunch at the sight of it. But you still had to eat a minimum amount of food that would help you survive a day at work. Completely cutting out on food, which you had the urge to do, would completely affect the image on you and your career, which you felt was too risky.

Everybody had noticed you spiralled down, you could feel it too but you just stopped caring about anything after a point, you just felt so empty in your head to push yourself. Acting was the only thing that had you taking steps forward in life.

Soon enough, there were articles out on the news about you, commenting on the drastic weight loss that had been noticed in you, caused by the change in your eating habits. Your fans also began to notice how your use of social media had come down drastically, since you always had the habit of interacting with them frequently and also shared random pictures and videos from your day at work, especially if it was in a place far from home.

And that made the pressure from the people close to you increase. After getting to know about your break up with Lewis, your parents and close friends urged you to talk more, to let out how you were feeling. But you always convinced them by saying that you were alright, that you understood why he needed the break up and you just went along with life, your work satisfying you at the moment.

The moment you came back home after you were done with the movie you were working on for the past couple of months, the first thing your mum did was make you sit next to her and reminded you of all the hard times you'd been through, of all the people you had in your life who still cared for you and loved you, about how there were people out there who admired your work.

And that's when it struck you, that yes, you did lose a particular feeling love in your life. But there was so much more to life that made living your life whole heartedly rather than making it more painful for you, more that you'd already been through because of your heart getting broken by a certain British man.

You took a small break from your work and the fast life around you, spending the time with your family and friends, parallelly going to therapy as well. Although the scar of that heartbreak was always going to remain, the slow paced yet quality time helped your wounds heal little by little.

And then you were back to work, feeling better than you'd been for the past couple of months. You were able to breathe freely, feeling the light weighted space in you.

But there were still certain things that reminded you of him. One day, you saw a bull dog being taken on a walk by its owner, your mind would fly to how Roscoe would lie down in between you and Lewis, snuggling in the night. The smell or sight of tea would remind you about how the both of you would keep arguing about whether tea or coffee was better, you loving coffee and him being always so British and loving tea. But nevertheless he knew how to make coffee the way you liked it and you knew the same for his tea. The sound of a piano would remind you of the times he would play it and sing his favourite songs, even teaching you the basics of how to play it sometimes. Stargazing and watching Formula 1 was something you just stopped altogether, not being able to handle the intensity of the emotions it brought in you.

If there was anything that made you feel relieved now, it was about how it didn't hurt as much as it used to and how the control he had your thoughts had come down.

"Talkin' wildly out of context, I wish things were different. But I'll never know”

What the hell just happened, you thought as you looked at the screen of the TV in the garage.

It took you everything to not break into a string of curse words but if anything, you were really worried if Lewis was okay.

The man literally had a car on top of his with the tyres nearly touching his head, dear god.

And you had no clue how he would react after coming back to the garage. He wasn't the one to tantrums but was he somebody who just stayed quiet? Did he deal with the anger he felt? Would he like having anybody around him to comfort him? Or did he prefer being alone?

You had spent a good number of days with him, an amount of time that could turn into a bunch of months if you added them up, but all the races you'd been to for the past year were always good ones. You were there when he won his seventh world championship but this was the first time you were around during a bad race, a one with a scary DNF.

He didn't know you were here for the race. Due to the COVID protocols, you had to quarantine for a few days before being able to meet Lewis and you didn't have a break or gap of that many days that often which made being at his races quite hard. So you thought that you could surprise him at the Monza GP, coming into the garage after he got into the car.

What you planned was to hide in some corner of the Mercedes garage and meet him in his driver's room after he went there, yelling a cheerful "surprise!". But you obviously couldn't do that now, considering what just happened. How you would meet him was barely on your mind now, you were scared about how he was after the crash.

"Hey, he's back in his driver's room. You can go and meet him now." Angela came and told you, a few minutes after you were restlessly tapping your feet up and down.

"Oh thank god, how is he? No injuries right?" you ask her anxiously, a shaky breath leaving your body.

"He's alright now, nothing serious has happened to him. He has some headache and pain in the neck, he'll be back to normal in a matter of some time." she assures you, giving you a comforting smile and places her around your shoulder, knowing how worried you get about him.

"Would he be alright with having me around now Ange? I think he'd want some silence for now." you said, giving her an unconvincing smile.

"Don't be ridiculous, he just had a scary race. None of his family and close friends are around now either, he'll obviously love to have you around now. You'll make his day better and he'll calm down." Angela convinces you and you walk towards his driver's room, still debating in your mind if you should step in or not.

Angela knocks the door and speaks out so that Lewis thinks it her, rushing towards the team before Lewis opens the door so that the both of you can have your space.

The sound of the room's door opening brings you out of your over thinking. "Um, hey?" you tell him in a shaky voice, eyes scanning over him to see if he was alright. Of course Angela wouldn't lie to you but for some reason, it wasn't sinking in your mind until you saw him.

His eyes widened in surprise "You're here? Wait a minute- you're actually here." he says and his reaction made your nerves calmed down a bit.

"Well, the plan was to keep a rather happy surprise." you say, giving him a weak smile "If you want to be alone for some time, I'll go back and sit with Ange, I totally understand-" he cut off your rambling by taking your hand in his and pulling you in for a hug.

"Don't be ridiculous, I'm glad you're here. C'mon in." he said, wrapping his arms around your waist and placing his forehead on your shoulder "missed you and that scent so much." he mumbles as you place your hand through his braids, running your fingers through his hair to calm him down, like he always liked it.

"I can feel your heartbeat and it's going crazy. We've been together for a year and I still scare you?" he teases you, referring to the initial days of knowing him. Timid was an understatement. Having been a huge fan of the sport and him for years before you first met him, you always shared many shy smiles and few words with him, scared that your rather talkative side which always went on rambling would annoy him.

"I don't know- that just, that was scary. I'm so worried baby, the tyre was literally so close to your head." you sighed as he sat on the couch, placing you on his lap.

"Stuff like this happens time and again in racing, you've watched it over the years. At that moment I tried to shuffle inside the car as much as possible and lowered my head down, so nothing from the car reached my head. Don't worry sweetheart, I'm totally alright." he says, rubbing circles on your waist in the hopes of calming you down.

"Ange told me you have a headache and neck pain though, don't lie to me." you mumbled, pushing away the braids to a side and placing a small kiss on his forehead. He just gives you a reassuring smile, his eyes signifying that it'll be gone soon and he places his head on your shoulder, snuggling in for comfort as you placed your hand on his back and rubbing it up and down.

Thinking of the memory from that day made you wonder only one thing. Would the both of you still be together if you were together? If he would've seeked your comfort or just push you away nevertheless.

You guess you'd never know, Monza was one DNF while what happened at Abu Dhabi was something brought in such loss and affected his perspective about his career and life.

You knew it didn't end well, there were so many things left unspoken between the two of you. It was bad, but both of you would've been so good together.

[four-leaf-loco]

I've seen absolutely not enough Omegaverse Gale/reader (or Tav) fics and so I will becometh the giver of fruits.

A Breath Forever Kept

Gale/Reader (NSFW | 🔞)

Tags under cut

Breeding kink, heats, pitifully short sex cause lets be real if the effects of heat were real sex would be so short... BUT ITS NOT ABOUT THAT it's about the DEVOTION, gender neutral terms but also not beta read I wrote this on my phone in one go so read at own hornyyy risk friends

Act2 spoilers too so BEWARE

You poke at the fire from under the blanket you stole from Gale's tent. It still smells like him, parchment of looted books and his musk. The part you have tucked over your scraped knees is easily sniffed at absently. The iron fire poker you hold grows heavy while the crickets and frogs chirp with their delicate songs of love.

"Growing comfortable, my love? Are you in need of any more nesting materials? Blankets, capes, robes-" Gale pauses as you pull him down to kneel besides you in the dirt.

Karlach whistles teasingly and the two of you blush. "Just sit with me." You ask of him.

"Easily, and may I say: enthusiastically done." He smiles, pulling closer to you and wrapping his arm around your waist. You smile back at him feeling warmer already. "And your heat? Has it erupted yet?" He asks hushed, the twinge of barely concealed eagerness in his voice making your insides twist and squeeze. His pupils blow wide, no doubt getting a whiff of your fresh release of pheromones.

"Not quite yet..." You murmur, nose burying into his soft tunic collar. Setting the poker down to wrap around completely against Gale's torso. It's so soft and warm, his body sturdy like most alphas. He pets your back and runs his other hand over your forehead to check your temperature. His every touch pulls a shiver from your core.

You can hear Karlach lament about wanting the touch of an omega, and Astarion scoffing. Lae'zel offers a comment from her infinite githyanki wisdom, "Quiet, beta, for the touch of even an istik omega can quell a gith alpha. You know not of the power held-"

"That's quite enough, we're already disturbing those two love birds from their little courting ritual." Shadowheart scoffs. The conversation ensues to other albeit similar topics and easy laughter.

You relax at the banter of your friends, feeling safe despite the lack of a truly safe nest. Gale's tent will have to do. Being the only omega in the party is difficult, well asides from Isobel, but her heats are well managed by her goddess' will over cycles. Isobel's alpha lover, Aylin, gave Gale a stern warning, something about Selune's wrath if he fails to protect those Selune blesses most, especially since you had saved her and Shadowheart from the grasp of Shar. Gale gave her a full hearted promise to never betray your heart. A promise he gave to you earlier under Moonrise.

It was quite handsome of him, to assert himself against the threat of Aylin's wrath. She could easily break him but alas...

"Take us to your tent, Gale." You whisper into his neck. His hands exit the blanket, scooping you up into his arms. He smiles charmingly as ever as you wrap your arms around his neck to stroke his locks and aching glands. His pheromones puff out in excitement, "I promise you a night of fully fulfilled needs and freely granted wants in our tent." He whispers.

You kiss his neck glands and his hands tighten around the softness of your thigh. Your muscles are relaxed from his ministrations. He's all you need in this moment, through the night, and forever beyond that.

The tent had been set up further away than usual to give the two of you more privacy. You can still see the glow of the fire from this distance but the escalating conversation can only vaguely be heard. Everyone begrudgingly agreed that leaving the real vicinity of camp was dangerous seeing as their enemies still lurk. With the two of you distracted by passions driven by heat it would leave you two unawares.

"Ready, my love? Anything else you need from me before we begin our intrepid night of bonding?" He asks and you shake your head. You had set up refreshments and food with Gale earlier as he dote on you.

"I'm ready." You whisper, nibbling his neck, "Anything you'll give me."

"Gods, you're everything. I'd give you the yolk of the world to consume, if only you'd ask for it."

"I don't want the world, I just want you." You sigh, "You are a greater treasure than you think, Gale Dekarios." The man in question blushes and squeezes his eyes shut; pushing his face into your neck. When he reconstitutes his tempered arousal he sets you and himself into the tent. You're set on the small nest Gale had secretly made for you, and you huff. This man is truly a romantic. He takes your hand in his, kissing each finger and several times on your palm. He trails his finger down you wrist, then holding your hand. His other hand moves up to stroke with a single deft finger to your chin and down your neck.

It pulls waves of heat from your core like the moon and tides. His cock twitches in his night pants, and you see it in your lower periphery. You touch the bulge, pulling Gale further into your orbit. He falls on his hands and knees over you, sniffing at your neck desperately. His warm breath puffs in time with your pounding hearts. You want to steal his breath, kissing him voraciously like a starving artist trying to please the Goddess Sune with your new masterpiece. You leave your bite marks on his neck, marking him with your love and your claim. He returns the favor, hands working to undo the buttons of your shirt and pants. He's ravenous, and you tell him so, pulling a laugh from him so husky and sweet.

You free his cock from his pants. It springs up and the heat from it radiates onto your stomach. His own shudders at your touch. His muscles clench and release.

"Let go, take me, breed me. Make me yours completely Gale." You pray to him, beg him like you're on death's door, your last hope looming over you with equal need and devotion. He gives into instinct, lifting your hips to meet his and nudge his head against your wet hole. It's so slick due to your heat, already marking your nest with it. The slick cooling against your thighs. "The one folly of heats is that I do not need to worship you." He laments, "But Gods-" he cuts off as he enters you, for once his thoughts interrupted and stolen from him, mind smothered by you.

His nose buried into your hair he presses further until his hips greet yours and his hands press divots into your flesh. They flex in time with your thighs shaking around Gale's own as they propel his cock into your willing, no, eager form. The tadpoles in your brains link your minds and share the pleasure you're feeling. His hips stutter out feeling the warmth of your gut in his, and the plain need for him to claim you as his omega. He bites into your neck glands, the tips of his canines sending bliss through you, and orgasm shaking your core and bringing him to his own end. Returning the claim makes his hips buck uselessly as he gasps, hands gripping your hips to grind your bodies together as he knots your hole. It's extra warm when he fills you with his seed, forgetting for a moment the herbs you'll take come morning to be enveloped by the bliss of being bred by your alpha.

"When we reach Waterdeep, when this is all over;" he pauses to catch his breath, "I'll make sure to treat you to the mating you deserve. Our lovemaking accompanied by the piano and the aroma of our favorite candles. A proper nest I'll make for you." Panting he kisses your hand, starting with your pinky and making his way lazily over to your thumb. Kissing your palm, then your wrist. "I've never been as utterly devoted as I am to you. Look at me, for the second time tonight wishing to put a ring on your finger."

"Gale..." You respond weakly, wishing nothing but to return the sentiment but words escape you. All you can do is give a dreamy smile. Gods, it feels like a dream.

He helps you get the most comfortable in the nest you can be as the knot calms. The stretch is intense, but the pain is indiscernible with the addled state of your mind due to heat. All you know is a foggy state of euphoria.

He situates you on top, secure in his arms and your weight pressing downwards, further connecting your cores. His arms make sure the connection is comfortable, as lax for you as possible.

The night wanders onwards as you enjoy your heat with your mate. Over and over again you'll make love. Whimper and scream out your devotion as the others try to sleep. Gale quiets you with kisses though it pains him to have to do so. To silence such a beautiful creature, a handsome visage.

When morning comes your heat extinguishes with the night. You wake with Gale fast asleep. His arms are around you, protecting you best he can with his body against the entrance to the tent. The morning light is bright and warm, casting liquid gold onto your forms. You feel his seed dried against your thighs and hole, sighing in bliss at the knowledge that he had come inside many times, knotting you. Loving you. He stirs as you do, his instincts in tuned with yours now more acutely now that you're mated. He smiles as his eyes crack open.

"The light of morning illuminates your welcome sight." He says with a handsome morning grumble. His scent smells chuffed, happy. Content.

"We should get married." You blurt.

Gale coughs in surprise.

"You said you wanted to last night." You tease, hand reaching up to playfully tug at a lock of hair.

"Of course I'd want nothing more than to marry you. But perhaps we wait for a more opportune time. Back at my tower at Waterdeep- wait until it's our tower. Until we are properly settled." He placates as he grooms your hair with his fingers.

You give a fake pout, tugging a bit harder than you maybe should. "That's acceptable, I suppose... But you can't stop me from ring shopping when we reach Baldur's Gate proper." You tease.

"I can't say I would be upset at that prospect. I for one will be waiting to commission you a respectable Waterdhavian proposal ring." He says with a playful, but equally serious, lift to his voice.

You sigh in bliss. "What more could I ever ask for?"

"Maybe-" he starts, but you catch him in a kiss.

It continues until Halsin comes to check in on the two of you.

"I was sent to ask if you are interested in joining the group to Rivington? Though, I doubt it if last night was any indication." He chuckles and you groan.

"Thank you, friend, but we will be staying in today." Gale answers, stroking your head with a bit of a chuckle. You know he's eager to show off his claim to the other alphas, it's only natural. But it's also natural to want to keep you safe in the nest until you have recovered.

Gale sighs, content. His body fully relaxes again but awake and aware. He stares down at you. You look at him. The urge to mate has largely subsided, the heat short because of the bonding. His eyes gleam with warmth of the sun, like beautiful cracked marbles filled with hopes and dreams. He reaches to close the tent fully, keeping your scents trapt inside and his eyes darkened like endless pools of devotion.

He arches a brow at your silent observation, kissing you again to steal your breath.

You count it stolen, and forever kept.

[znerac]

Hey (I never know how to start asking stuff)

Could I have a fic base on this cover version I think it make a great Pedro pascal fic (or one of his characters)(I think the cover sound more heartbreaking)

https://youtu.be/aQ-vU28uPb0

(King of Leon-dancing on my own)

Thank u

From abby

Got a good angst idea from this!! Hope it was what you were going for!

No pronouns except they/them were used for a reader-friendly Experience :)

Song cover

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Reader. Warning: heavy angst, abandoning, abandonment issues, crying, hurt/comfort, mutual pining. Summary: Pedro invites his best friend to a bar, who has had a thing for him for years. Pedro inevitably forgets about the readers existance as he talk to a girl on the other side of the club. Where the reader gets feels and breaks down. A/N: i LOVE me some good angst! Hopefully the little spark of romance at the end fits nicely :) I've been conjuring up this idea since the ping!

Dancing On My Own

You and Pedro have been friends for ages, early in your teen years you guys had met. Secretly, you had always had a bit of a crush on your guy-friend. But in fear of rejection, you had kept those feelings for over twenty years. And he never made a move on you so you assumed he didn't feel like you did.

You sat on the island stool as Pedro shrugged on a jacket, smiling over at you. "Excited? We haven't been out in a few weeks." he chimed, planting his palms on the island counter. You gave him a warm smile, nodding. "Oh, yeah. I've been looking forward to some Pedrito time" you hummed, hopping off the stool. He snickered at the name, brushing his hands on his jeans before heading to the door. "Think we'll need to get an uber tonight?" you ask, and he shook his head. "Nahh, I'm not plannin on getting that drunk. Just loose and dancy" he said with a grin. Those beautiful brown eyes staring into yours. You were glad to have such an opportunity to have him look at you so often.

Walking to his car, you called dibs on the aux. Knowing he would of handed it to you anyways, but you liked the spunk in your step. Hopping into the passenger seat, and snatching the aux. Giddily changing it to your favorite playlist and looking over at Pedro with a smile as he did with you. Sinking his foot on the pedal and getting out of the driveway.

"Jesus, you've been playing this song since we were teenagers" Pedro said, chuckling softly. "Oh please, says the man who puts on the same chilean song on repeat for hours" you teased, making him bat his hand at you playfully. "Its a good song!!" he defended, ultimately accepting the defeat and stopping at a red light. "Wanna grab a bite to eat before we hit the club?" he asks, and you nod. "I could definitely eat some five guys right now" you said with a knowing glare, Pedro let out a fake moan, "God you know me so welll.." he said with a smile, the thought of his favorite fast food restaurant filling his senses. "Alright. Five guys and then the club. On it" you say with a tap to the dash.

Dinner was great, you laughed as Pedro took his sweet time eating his burger and drinking that strawberry milkshake of his. While you were done and snacking on the complimentary peanuts. You didn't mind though, soaking up every second with your best friend. After all, his work is busy and you were missing having time with him.

Once you both were happy and full, Pedro drove the two of you to the bar he had in mind. One that was usually not so crowded, but tonight was apparently different, there was a good crowd.

You and pedro sat at the bar and ordered a couple drinks, sipping at them and chatting, like the good old days when you first turned 20. The memories planting a sweet smile on your face. Pedro furrowed his brows, "what are you smiling about?" he teases, nudging your shoulder. Snapping from your trance, you hummed "thinkin about when we first turned twenty and came to a bar like this" you said, sipping on the bitter drink you had. Pedro nodded "reminicing? Jesus your old" he joked, making you roll your eyes and sip on your drink.

There was a good hour where you two sat, chatted and drank. Occasionally speaking with the occasional stranger. Until a song that came on that made you both spring up to your feet. "Shit, Pedro, this is our song!!" you yipped, dragging him to the dance floor. He laughs, "Our song? You mean the song that-" you interrupted "-That was playing when i crashed into you during the valentines day dance! Yes! The day we met" you said with a playful wink, taking his hands and twirling the man in front of you. "Right, the night you ultimately ruined my life with your presence" he joked back, shaking his hips and pulling from your grip.

You laughed, "oh shut up! I made your life better you little ass" you yelled, the music and chatter making it hard to hear each other. Pedro chuckled, "sure you did" he retorts, then looks over as a pretty woman taps his shoulder. "Hey, can i dance with ya?" she asks, Pedro looking over at you to make sure you were alright with it. You gave him a simple nod, "I'll grab another drink, check in when your done dancing" you said, giving Pedro an honest smile before walking off the dance floor and getting to the bar. It was nice seeing Pedro get along with people, and he was good with checking in on you. So you weren't worried. Ordering another drink as you sat on a stool and chatted up the bar tender.

Well, Half an hour went on and Pedro hadn't come to say anything. But you brushed it off, ordering another drink. And then another when he didn't show an hour later. You bit your lip, anxious that he'd maybe gotton kidnapped or something. But with a simple turn of your stool you saw the opposite. Pedro was in the corner with the same chick, Talking her up with a grand smile, even gently touching her arm in an attempt to flirt. You held your breath, you weren't against him meeting some new girl or whatever. But it just itched at you that maybe he forgot about you.

You glanced at the bartender, asking for a few shots to loosen yourself up more. And when you glanced back at pedro, your stomach dropped seeing him all over her. Kissing and touching one another like they were the only ones in the room. Your gut made your voice crack as you asked for a few more shots. Downing them all at once. Sure, it was dumb to drink your feelings out. But it just hurt seeing him so interested in somebody like that. Especially after hiding your feelings for him for so long. You sat on your stool, fighting back the burning of tears threatening to fall. And you looked at the bartender, sliding your card over to pay for your drinks. Pedro wasn't going to come back, you knew that.

It felt like a sharp object impaled your stomach, taking your card back and getting to your feet, feeling your stomach twist as you saw pedro in the corner booth with that woman. You swallowed the lump in your throat and left the bar, unsure of where you were exactly going, but you couldn't be in there. Knowing that he forgot about you, knowing he wouldn't come back and likely take that chick to bed. You felt like throwing up. Holding your stomach as you walked down the sidewalk, tears streaming down your cheeks and falling to the cement.

The alcohol quickly rutted into your system, making you dizzy. You needed to sit somewhere, finding a bench and sitting as you held your stomach. You felt alone, sad, and heartbroken. A sob catching in your throat, erupting as tears fell out of your eyes. Eventually you saw a cop car pull up, and a male officer stepped out. Anxiety crept through your throat as you wiped your tears away and looked up at the officer now standing above you. "You alright there bud?" he asked, full well knowing you weren't. You shook your head. "I'm drunk, sad, and i just, i don't know what i want" you shuddered. The officer nodded, putting a hand out. "I'll give you a ride home. Its dangerous bein out this late." he said, and you deliberately took his hand, uncaring if this was unsafe. Stepping into a cops car. It was likely to turn out fine, but you still had to play the 'what if' game.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you sniffed as you buckled yourself in. The officer taking the drivers seat. "Alright, where do ya live? I'll take you home nice and safe" he said, looking over at you. For some reason the officers caring eyes made you break a small smile, telling him your address. Thanking the universe for an easy way home.

"Whats got you all upset?" he asked, eyes keen on the road, "boy problems?" he joked softly, trying to up the mood. You frowned and let out a small sob, to which he frowned at. "Sorry." he mumbled out. The rest of the ride silent, but comfortable. You sincerely thanked him before stumbling inside of your house, kicking your shoes off and heading upstairs. Falling into your bed and letting your tears take over. Sobbing as you felt broken, being forgotton was a fear of yours. And when it came to life, with your best friend.. You couldn't help but feel worse.

At some point you fell asleep, but woke up around three in the morning to hear your phone dinging and vibrating. Deliriously picking it up and answering the phone call. Humming to indicate you were there.

"Fuck, finally! Where did you go? I've been trying to call you for ages!"

You knew that voice. Pedro's concerned tone made you choke out a sob, remembering how he left you alone for hours. "I- are you okay? Whats wrong?" he asked, but you couldn't get yourself to answer, croaking out an 'im sorry' before hanging up.

Around half an hour went by before you heard your front door swing open. You didn't care to get up, laying helplessly in bed as your thoughts took over you. But moments later, Pedro stood in your doorframe, soft eyes looking over at you. "Oh honey-" he said softly, walking to your side and sitting on the bed, hand coming to rest on your leg. "What happened? Did some guy hurt ya? Whats wrong-"

"Pedro" you mumbled out, not even bothering to wipe your tears this time. "You left me for hours.. Didn't say anything to me" you said weakly, "then you were all over that chick.. Obviously you wanted nothing to do with me.. So i left" you whispered, catching a sob in your throat. Pedro looked down at you, his eyes saddening. "I'm sorry.. I- just got distracted-" he said, noticing how his excused meant nothing. "I.. Really am sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel forgotten. Please forgive me" he said, feeling his own gut drop and swirl around.

You whimpered, covering yourself more with the blanket you had covering yourself. "Pedro.. Have you ever.. Like, Liked me?" you asked, avoiding his gaze. When he said nothing, you let out a shaky sigh. "I-i've been in love with you for years.. Pedro.. But you never seemed interested so i didn't say anything" you started, "but you always made sure i was there, made sure you had time for me. Maybe thats why i stuck to you"

You bit your lip, looking over at his soft face. Pedro sighed, "look i.. I didn't know. I should of though about you." he says, "if I'm being completely honest i thought you were never interested in me, so i never tried to say something.. But your on my mind every single day. I promise." he admitted, laying down next to you and pulling you into his chest. "I love you, so much. And i.. Want to make it up to you. What i did was shitty. I don't know why i was so blind." he stated, running his fingers through your hair.

You sobbed quietly, "do you really mean it?" you croaked, looking up at him. Pedro nodded, hand caressing and resting on your cheek. "I love you. I have been in love with you for so long.. Hearing you say how you feel just makes me realize how dumb i was for not taking my chances with such an amazing and gorgeous person like you" he said with a soft smile.

You couldn't help but crack a smile, "i-i love you to" you said softly, then eyes shifting to his lips. He chuckled, "I'm not going to make another mistake like that. I'm gonna treat you right.." he said, brushing your bottom lip with his thumb. "Starting now.." he mumbles, leaning down and connecting your lips in a soft and loving kiss.

*****

A/N: okay i might of been half asleep writing this but i hope you enjoyed at least! I know i enjoyed writing this! Not proofread because im tired and want this out ××

[illwynd]

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern

Tagged by @berlynn-wohl. Ty!! It's been a while since I've done this one. Probably a whole new crop.

The Agreement (Blood Brothers!thorki) It hasn’t been going on more than six months when they agree to stop.

A Song in the Key of Death (thorki AU spookyfic) Hero worship is easy when you’re a high school outcast. Especially when your hero is Thor.

LMD (thorki) The world held its breath.

Still you lead me and I follow (thorki for bottomThoruary) Thor likes it hard.

What You Are in the Dark (thorki spookyfic) Anyone else, maybe, would have been grateful.

Illegal (thorki crack) “Brother, look at this!” Thor calls out (far louder than necessary, if one is being honest), hurriedly shoving the screen of his Starkphone in front of his brother’s face, where Loki lounges on the bed beside him.

Lokabrenna (Loki, Norse myth) He doesn’t know where the fire came into it. But it somehow always does, doesn’t it?

Alligator Tears (thorki, lokicest, alligathorki) In his own timeline, everything was different.

Unsaid (thorki) “Damn you,” Loki hissed, pulling at this bonds, the metal cuffs that pinned his wrists, the shackles on his feet, even the chains that always seemed to end up wrapped ludicrously about his waist whenever anyone meant to restrain him and wanted to make entirely sure of the fact.

The Bold One (thorki) “Give us a kiss,” Thor said, grinning while he bled, stretched out upon the cot with his tunic cut away while the healers hovered over him and Loki stayed near, trying not to worry.

So lol yeah I think there might be some trends there XD

Tagging, oh, @gorgeousgalatea, @philosopherking1887, @seamayweed, and anyone else who feels like doing the meme, I blanket-tag you :D

[myloveforhergoeson]

Hiya! 😊 You're now a writer for the show. What three episode storylines are you gonna write? (In other words, what are you gonna make the boys do?)

ohm y god i literally have so many episode ideas but i'll try not to repeat any of the ones i've made posts about (except my first bullet bc im so passionate about it) so i'll give you my big list. most if not all will likely be something i DO end up writing about in my own story because ehehe i love making them do things

ones i think i've mentioned before:

a returning to minnesota chapter!! not for anything but nostalgia, getting to see the guy's favorite places, seeing their friends and families, bringing them back to realize how far they'd come. not so shy spon for my fic but i wrote a chapter like this last month and it's probably one of my favorite things i've written to date. it let me explore some of the boys' past, family dynamics, a little bit about Katie and agh i can't believe btr didn't capitalize on that at least once. ik its expensive to fund sets and hire new actors but idk i imagine it like an hour special where they could afford to shell out a bit more. idc when it happens, could be after they sign their record contract or the last episode or whatever :)

sketch comedy episode, something akin to saturday night live or so random

graduation! like you and i talked about lol i think it would be sweet

get me in the writers room stat:

originally i'd planned a "home alone lost in new york" like chapter for my story around thanksgiving where the boys are going to perform at the parade in town but they end up having their own adventure around the city beforehand. boyish antics, screaming gustavo, beautiful scenes, the works. i was just in too much of a slump to actually put it to paper :)

more tour-focused chapters (again, spon for my own fic lol) the episode in Canada was cute and the one on the bus was fun but idk there's just so many elements toward touring that i think they could've capitalized on; homesickness (for CA or MN), hardship of a go go go schedule, or fun things like being able to travel with your best friends and not ending up on the world's most wanted list lol. i know they tried really hard with this one so i don't blame them too much but my vision is just different and that's okay!

crossovers! while i'm so very happy dan schnider didn't have either of his disgusting hands in big time rush, i do remember watching the icarly/victorious crossover for the first time and wishing big time rush were there. it takes place in LA! the victorious kids are singers! carly, sam, and Freddie are pop culture experts! it would've worked really well :) so i'm writing that as a chapter for my fic LMAO

generally either an episode focusing in on or more scenes including james and lucy since the writers wanted them to be together so bad. inherently there's nothing wrong with them being together, but i do not think the relationship was given enough time to develop. give me lucy discovering her feelings for him, give me james not being creepy and obsessive about her; something more needed to be done on both of their parts to make me believe in it

additionally on that note more with jo/kendall and logan/camille; i love them both but they also had little development, just more than james/lucy. maybe they give carlos a gf (not alexa IMO, sorry. that got into weird territory for me idk why they made him be with a "real" person when he isn't other than they were already together irl) earlier and they can all have like conversations about their gfs and how much they love being together idk

and another generally, there were many songs btr put out that i love so much and feel like deserved their own episodes for hehe. i know not all of them have storylines easily transposed but i think they used confetti falling like four different times in the last season when any other love song from their third album could have been placed instead

and also another generally, and i know the early 2000s would've never allowed this for children's television but they should have and i'm the writer now!!!, but more representation all around. maybe some episodes about cultural heritage that didn't make stereotypes the main focus, canon LGBTQIA+ characters, holidays that aren't christmas, aspects like that where all kids can see themselves represented... LA is such a huge melting pot, it's not all white kids trying to make their dreams come true!

good god that was long SORRY AKJBSKJGBAB i have a lot to say and there's a lot im trying to incorporate into my story to add in what i think enhances the already present storyline. that's what's so beautiful about fandom, i love that we can have conversations like this :)

but what about you? anything you'd like to add in? i'd love to know <3 thank you for the question!

ask me a question! save my life!

[brainworms-all-night-long]

alright brainworms haver . can i hear about prime bros :]c

Hohoho, so since this is as broad of a prompt as I could've been given I've decided I will now proceed to uncontrollably ramble for half a thousand words about the relationships and their slow building!!

As established, Nine is an invasive brain fungus that has replaced my thinking organ entirely so it's all from his perspective.

While he's...not mad about his current living situation (he enjoys not being unceremoniously erased from existance, thank you very much) he's also not exactly thrilled either. With everything that recently happened (whatever the hell will that be in season 3), he's not in the best place mentally and most of the time would prefer to just dig himself a hole and hide in it until he feels better (might or might not have done that once already)

But no matter how alright he thinks he's in a current moment, having to interact with either Tails or Sonic (Chaos forbid if they're both in the same room) he's automatically and always on the defensive.

Nine may or may not have tried to and almost ended up killing Sonic, so there's everpresent guilt regarding that. And it flares up pretty bad whenever the hedgehog shows him even the tiniest bit of unconditional love because what the fuck, he doesnt seserve any of that after all the prblems he's caused, stop that.

He's, unsurprisingly, also not the biggest fan of Tails. The fox being a reminder of everything that's presumably wrong with him as well as the general jelaousy of his overal much healthier presentation, Nine does not enjoy having him around. So he also may or may not have tried to kill Tails as well after all of his pent-up emotion resulted in blind action. (and Nine got his ass handed back to him pretty badly actually, he didnt think the other would stand a chance and yet.)

The whole debacle silently blew over eventually and after a lot, and I mean a lot of time the two began to see eye to eye, or rather, Nine let that be the case. Realizing that being able to technobable around each other and compete in the field only the two of them are highly competent in is very welcomed form of enrichment.

Sails is a mixed bag because at first Nine absolutely despised his high energy and annoying fight-picking attitude. Also the accent, the goddamn accent (Duke of Soleana fandub voice: I can't fucking understand you) but while everyone else walks on eggshells around Nine, Sails has a habit of uh, pretty bluntly saying things to his face. Which usually manages to snap Nine back to his senses and also giving him a necessary vibe check from time to time. So Nine might not say it ever, but he ends up being grateful for the pirate.

And on Mangey, he didn't have any strong opinions besides being glad he's not another over-the-top smart-ass or insufferable quipper. Letting him do whatever, because Nine couldn't care less honestly, unknowingly endeared the other fox to him. Aaand than Nine had a panic attack around the time he attempted to put Tails 6ft below the ground in the middle of the night and Mangey, being the lightest sleeper of them for now, broke into Nine's room and calmed him down (you should check out my head, there's a really banger fic about this in there) Mangey is also the only one that doesn't evoke the need for Nine to prove himself while in his presence, so most of the time they just end up silently vibing together.

Also a song I found buried in my 8 years old playlist me thinks sums up the first couple of weeks pretty well (its not a rickroll dw/srs)

[just-some-random-blogger]

Songbird

Dream of the Endless x Musician!Reader

Summary: Ever since the Apollo incident, you haven't gotten a good night's sleep. It was not because of the anxiousness that came after that horrible encounter, it was by design. After all, you would not have to fall on your knees and beg to the King of Dreams again if you do not enter his domain. Boy, did that backfire.

Word Count: 5k+

Warnings: BRUH I WROTE 5k SMUT AGAIN BYE, no feminism in sight, themes of polytheism, fem!reader, egyptian goddess insert, possessive!dream, smut (dom!dream to soft!dream, hair pulling, begging, thigh riding ig, vaginal penetration, cock warming), typos, etc.

A/N: yeah so 🫶 today we get on our knees So this is a continuation to Left In Hell (p1) and Sounds Like Heaven (p2). You do not need to read them to understand, but I highly suggest you read part 2 at least to get the reference of the summary and to understand why dream's so mad HAHAHA I feel like i've made yn into this mystical, immortal-esque being but i dont actually know whats going on with her so just roll with it. who knows maybe i'll keep writing for musician!reader Also @aralezinspace gave me some ideas for this fic. TY LOVEY. And I'm tagging @rosaren2498 cause i said i would if i continued

"You look horrible," Meret judges.

I dart my tired eyes at her silky black hair and perfectly smooth skin. She crosses her toned arms and not a wrinkle interrupts her face as she knits her brows at me.

"I will always look horrible in comparison to you, my goddess," I retort as I press my hands together and mutter a solemn greeting to her.

She raises her nose, "no. Usually, the mere entrance in my shrine makes you glow," she nears me and places a hand on my cheek, "but you have damaged yourself, as you have clearly been avoiding the master of dreams."

The heat of her gaze makes me gulp.

Meret hums, "why is that, my love?"

"There is a reason why I have been more devoted to you these days," I force a smile on my tired features.

Meret pulls her hand away and raises a brow, "and here I thought you've finally grown tired of that bacchanal Apollo."

The goddess of rejoicing strides to her throne. I find some clarity at the sight of her swaying hips.

I clear my throat, "you are thinking of his brother, my lady."

Meret sits on her throne and waves a hand. She crosses her legs and her pale blue chiffon skirt slips to the side, revealing her shapely legs, "they are all the same to me." She drops her hands to her armrest and tilts her head, "did you not bring an instrument with you?"

I tent my hands in front of me and push away the face that springs up in my head, "I thought you would enjoy if I recounted the Songs of the Nile for you today instead."

"Oh," she smiles, "well, it has been a while since I have heard its tune."

I bow before her then lift up my voice with the song I had learned ages ago. I sing to her until her dwelling blooms with flowers by her own delight to the worship. My voice echoes in her chamber and time passes gently as I finish my tale.

Once I am done, Meret stands from her throne and applauds me, her entire being left with a glow, as, I find, is my own.

I am in a way revitalized, my eyelids don't feel as heavy, yet there is a lingering fog in my mind.

She praises me in ancient Egyptian, and I curtsy at the words, though I do not understand.

Meret walks over to me and places a joyous kiss on my lips. Once she pulls away, my head spins at her sentiment.

She grabs my face, "another song, my child."

I nod enthusiastically, "as you command, oh goddess."

By the time I finish my 10th song, I meekly decline her pleas to continue with another selection. Her encompassing essence in the snug realm had forced all my tiredness away after all the worship. But it was not because I had gotten reinvigorated now that I wanted to leave. It was because I knew the trickle of time may seem slow here, but that did not mean the same thing to the waking world.

"Will you have your goddess get on her knees for you to sing once more?" Meret offers.

I then me drop to my knees and I shake my hands in defeat, "I would not, oh Meret, I-"

"I understand," she sighs, waving her hands, "you fear the passing of time in your realm," she adds, "time is annoying, is it not?"

I merely nod.

She, who had gone back to the throne, walks back to me and pulls me to my feet, "it is a pity that you are so loyal that man."

I suck in a breath, "Apollo is-"

"But I do not mean the sun child," she presses a finger to my lips, "the Endless you are fleeing from has been whispering for me to release you after I declined his request to enter my domain."

"Dream..." I shiver, "has been calling for me," my shoulders tense.

Meret narrows her eyes, "if my daughter is being harassed by the King of Dreams, then I shall have you stay here with me until he tires."

I grab her hands. She feels me shudder as I say, "no! No!" I even my breathing, "that would not be necessary."

"But it is," she takes rubs her thumbs on my skin, "I am your patron, and I-"

"He is also my patron!" I quip nervously, "and I-" I blink rapidly and force out a smile, "-should not chose to anger him any more than I have already."

Meret's face begins to darken.

"The King of Dreams is why Apollo is stuck still in a void," I nervously chuckle, "I would not have another one of my precious divinities answer to the same fate," I choke on my saliva momentarily, "nor do I want to wake up in a darkness I cannot escape."

Before Meret could speak, I urge her with a shaky voice, "please let me go back home. Please. I beg of you."

She weighs the sincerity of my voice.

"My goddess, please," I drag out desperately.

She huffs, "as you wish."

With a wave of her hand, a portal appears to my side. I give her one last curtsy and step into the vortex.

A shiver runs down my spine when I make it to the cold hallway in front of the door to my apartment. The temperature was not a good sign.

I enter my home and immediately look for my phone and check my phone for the date.

I release a shudder at the sight of the digital calendar, "it's fine." I heave, "it's only been a month." I drop my phone to the coffee table and stretch my back, "I thought it would have been at least two, considering the one aria was so-"

"You have been avoiding me."

I turn behind me and gasp at darkness that suddenly cloaks my room. At the heart of it was Dream's pale and angered face, towering over me as though I was an ant, which would not be so far from how someone like him would see me anyway.

I tear my gaze away from him as he calls my name out in a warning.

I clear my throat, willing the fear out of my system, and point to nowhere in particular, "I had... errands."

I make the mistake of turning back to him and my very soul nearly leaves me.

When I tear away from him again, he stops me. His large hand traps my jaw and turns me back to him. He does not apply force, he does not need to. I do as he wishes as behold the searing heat of his glorious face.

My chew my lower lip as he steps forward and peers down at me with his cold blue eyes, "you will look at me when you are speaking to me and I am speaking to you," he lifts my head up higher that my lips nearly touch his as he leans forward, "am I understood?"

I nod.

"Good," he breathes out, sending a shiver down my spine.

Dream examines my expression and blinks before he speaks, "these errands of yours, they have forced you to lose sleep?"

"I-" I can't tell him the truth, "I am busy."

He tilts his head, "that does not answer my question."

I find great difficulty in keeping his gaze.

He calls out my name again, and I turn to him and freeze.

"These errands you have to your gods and goddesses," he words carefully, "have they forced you to lose sleep?"

My lack of better judgement gets the better of me, "y-yes."

He hums so gutturally I feel it echo in my thorax. Dream finally releases me then allows a fraction of space between us, "then I will exact a punishment to Meret, who-"

"NO!" I grab his coat and hang my head low in shame, "I-" I stutter and feel goosebumps rise on my skin when his hands find my arms.

I lift my head up to him and heave at the expectant and hard gaze he held.

"I-I... was lying," I mutter so lowly that the sound barely leaves my lips. I knew he heard it though, seeing how his lips pursed.

"The truth is, my lord," I gulp, "I have been avoiding you."

"Yes," he retorts, "as I said moments ago."

Dream prompts me to straighten myself up, and once I do, his hands travel to my sides and pulls me close to him.

As I am sure the sound of my pulse echos in his ears, he leans down and nearly chokes me with the look of his glassy blue eyes, "I wonder why you wasted great efforts in losing sleep, as though there is a realm I could not reach you-" his hands travel up my ribs, "-could not hear my songbird's sweet voice."

A sharp shudder escapes me when he bends down and sucks in a deep breath against my cheek. My hands instinctively dart to his own, and the moment I do so, he grabs my wrists and pulls away. He is disgusted, "you smell like your goddess."

I open my mouth but find no reply.

Dream's eyes dart down, "she even made it a point to stain your lips with her rouge," his eyes slowly dart back up, "or perhaps this was your scheme," he raises his brows.

I dawns upon me that there was most definitely lipstick stains on my lips.

I open my mouth, but speak not a single word when his fingers brush on my lips, "there is something to be done about this," he mutters, "don't you agree?"

I squeak an undiscernible response.

"I have just worn out your ears with my chastising, did I not?" Dream questions, "and your voice tired after repeating your pleas of mercy."

His fingers rake my back, just below my shoulder blades, "and yet," his other hand cups my jaw, "you insult me worse than you did before, in a way that tells me you do not place value to my words."

"My king, I- I-"

He raises his brows.

"I-"

I cannot continue.

He visibly does not enjoy this.

I whine, feeling tears cloud my eyes, "I-"

"Save your voice," he commands, swiftly drawing away from me, "you will need it when I wear out your entire body with my chastising."

I am sent reeling but his severe words, left as still as a statue.

I watch him as he walks over to my sofa and sits upon it, as though it was his throne. Dream turns to me and my frozen state, "have you any complaints, songbird?"

I choke on my spit and clear my throat.

He awaits my response and feel my palms sweat.

"Do you not think it is fair of me to seek retribution of your spite?"

I shake my head.

"Very good," he speaks plainly.

I fidget with my hands while Dream relaxes against the cushions.

"If your goddess can make her most devoted musician sing, then I expect nothing less for myself," the King of Dreams states with finality.

I release a breath and point a finger, "would you like me to bring out an instrument, my lord?"

He hums, "you are willing to play so suddenly?"

His tone was laced with an accusing knowledge, knowledge of the fact I did not bring any instruments to Meret's shrine, lest I trigger more jealousy out of him.

If I had played his Harp of Dreamlight, then he would hear me and demand audience, as it was his right. But if I had played any other instrument, say the Flute of the Desperation, or my Marimba of the Tides, then he would have still heard and made reason to scorn me over the fact I am not using the precious gift he mended with his bare hands.

I do not make the mistake of noting any of this.

"I am always willing to please my patrons," I curtsy.

He merely blinks, "then play Death's piano," the said piano materializes in front of me, "and sing me her lullaby?"

I turn to the seat in front of the instrument then back to Dream, "you want me to sing Death's Lullaby?"

"I have yet to hear your rendition of it."

I shudder under his gaze then turn to the piano, "as you command, Dream Lord."

I open the fallboard once I sit before the piano. I straighten my back as I close my eyes. I begin to play the chords and the melody of the song, giving myself a moment to recount all the lyrics as I do.

I feel agitation build inside me when I am unable to recount all the words in my head.

"Dream," I mutter, opening my eyes to look at the black and white keys under my fingers.

The hair on my nape rises when he speaks my name out in response.

"I don't think I remember all the words."

"I will not hold it against you if you hum the part you cannot recall."

With the reassurance, I start by humming the lullaby's tune before attempting to sing it. Once I do, I sway my head in beat and find myself finally relaxing even with the Endless' presence.

This does not last as I, not only cease my singing, but also my playing when I feel hands come upon my shoulders. With a shaky grunt, I regain composure and continue my performance, tensing against him before easing myself back to calmness.

"Very good," Dream praises, brushing my hair away before placing a kiss on the side of my neck.

I breathily rasp out the lyrics and forget the rest when he begins to suck and lick my skin.

He does not seem to mind that I only manage to play the tune on the piano while I shakily breathe when I feel him wrap his arms around me.

As far as lullabies go, this one was as short and briefly meets its end. I do not mention it to him however and decide to simply repeat the lullaby over and over again until he asks me to stop.

I press on a few wrong notes when Dream's hands begin to massage my breasts. I am unable to hold back my moan when he does.

He ceases his kisses then hotly whispers, "now play me the Ballad of Nightmares."

Like a true puppet, I quickly transpose and restraighten my back as my fingers climb up and down the keys.

He hums and pulls away from me fully, leaving my head spinning at the loss of his tender touches. I crane my neck up at him and feel my stomach tighten at the sight of his pleased expression.

Before I could reach the section where I would sing, Dream's deep voice causes me to freeze, "I would prefer if you only sang to me this time."

I immediately nod and stand from my seat.

The next moment, the piano is gone and Dream pulls me against him.

I look up at him, open mouthed, and blink rapidly at the sight of his moistened lips. I gulp when he leans closer.

"Well," Dream starts, hands taking my hips, "sing for me."

He begins to push me back, and so I walk backwards as he directs. I gasp when I am pushed on the sofa. I bounce slightly when Dream sits to my side.

I steal a quick look before turning away and closing my eyes. I begin to sing the first verse but choke on my words feel his fingers on my abdomen, tugging my top off.

He raises his brows at me when I turn to him, "you do not require clothes to sing, do you?"

My voice goes silent and my breathing quickens.

Dream's expectant look makes me stutter, "I- no-"

"Then do not stop on my account," he dismisses as he frees me off my top.

I continue the song, goosebumps and all, as Dream brushes his fingers on my collarbones and then works to rid of my bra. I try not to think about how warm and large his hands are when he frees my breasts and massages them. I especially try not to think of how my core throbs when he bends down in front of me and takes my pert nipple into his eager mouth.

My hand darts to his messy hair and my thighs press tightly against each other. I reach the chorus when he wordlessly instructs me to stand before him.

I am severely aware of how his eyes are glued on my chest as make my way between his legs. His hands grab my sensitive lumps before travelling down to pull my bottoms off.

I am proud of myself that I do not even hitch when the cool air hits my bare thighs. I do, however, not fault myself for needing a moment to gulp when he squeezes my thighs and brings a finger up to my soaking heat.

I stop all together when he stands before me and grabs my hands. I feel blood rise up my neck as he towers over me.

The king tilts his head, "did I tell you to stop?"

I shake my head quickly. I continue my song.

He guides my hands onto his shoulders, "you can sing and strip me, can you not?"

I nod eagerly as I continue with the second verse.

He places a quick kiss on the pulse point on my wrist, "very good."

I pull off his trench coat hastily and drop it to the floor. I then take my time brushing my fingers up his toned stomach as I rid him of his shirt. I am glad he does not deny me this pleasure.

When my hands grab onto his waistband, he moves away and grabs the area himself, "eyes on mine, pretty girl," he mutters, making me turn back to his crystal blue eyes.

"I will do this myself," he says undoing the button on his pants, "I do not need you more distracted than you already are."

It was a chore to keep my eyes on him when I could still see him in my peripherals.

When I begin to mess up the chorus, Dream clicks his tongue. My heart is too loud for me to even hear myself properly at this point, if I'm being honest. Once he is as bare as I am, he sits down on the couch and grabs me by the hips, forcing me in front of him.

This time, he pushes my legs apart with his knees and sneaks in between my soft thighs, "you sung so beautifully the words moments ago. I am disappointed you cannot remember them now."

I screw my eyes shut as I try to rejog my memory. It is futile when Dream grabs the back of my thighs and urges me toward him. My hands grab his shoulders as I climb on him.

I release a moan when my wetness lands against his toned thigh. He allows me the courtesy of continuing my lewd desires as I stammer over whatever the fuck I was singing in the first place.

The next moment, he reels me close to him and I hiss when I feel his hardened length rub against me.

His hands grip my sides tightly as he rocks against me, "I did not tell you to stop."

"D-Dream-"

"I did not ask you to beg," his voice falls deeper.

Heaving deeply, I test my voice before continuing with the rest of the song, but I rip my eyes open when and fall silent when Dream stills and blurts, "from the beginning."

I whine, chest inflating and deflating with reluctance.

"You are in no position to decline me," he leans in, pushing his pulsing hard-on against me, making me bite my lips to conceal my whine.

"I will burn traces of your devotion to others," he mutters as he brushes his nose on my neck. Dream feels bitterness rise up his throat as he speaks, "will you dare deny your king of this?"

"I-"

He pulls my head back by the roots of my hair, causing me to whimper and grip him tightly, "I will not have you agree, only to shirk me and pray tribute to your false gods."

"My lord, I-"

"You are my music maker," he mutters, "you owe your allegiance to whom gifted you your talents," he growls, biting the throbbing pulse on my neck, "I am your master."

His one hand moves to my core, "your maker," this thumb massages my sensitive nub, "who will make you come undone all over me."

"Morpheus, my lord, please!" I whine out.

He chuckles darkly, "you do not even know what you beg for."

"Exact your punishment on me, I swear I will not answer to anyone else's calls but yours."

He finally releases his grip on my hair and places both his hands on my waist, rubbing the surface up and down, "then sing for me," he grips my hips and elicits a whine from me once he sheathes himself in my slickened folds, "while I relieve my frustrations in your heat."

I catch my breath at the feel of the stretch, "Dream, please."

He purrs, hips barely rolling beneath me, "what are you begging for this time?"

"I-" I lean close to his face, "I don't think I can sing everything."

I bite my lips when he stills and looks at me, "then shall I stop?"

I shake my head furiously, causing him to chuckle, causing me to squeak at the feel of him.

"You must not fall mute while you sing," he brushes my hair behind my ear, "or else it would not be singing, would it?"

I whine in a mix of worry and need, "but what if I forget the words," I mutter, grabbing his wrists that were by my sides as I rut against him.

He growls in protest, hands flying off me before he seals me tightly against him, hindering any further movements, "you are too audacious for your own good, girl."

I pant against him heavily.

Dream eyes me darkly, "fine. In the nature of your punishment, for every time you fall silent, you will repeat the ballad from the top and I will not allow you relief until you finish every word."

I whine, "Morpheus-"

"Or," he cuts me of, "you can speak my name with every ounce of adoration in the moments you forget the lyrics."

I nod eagerly to his words.

"Do not be so quick to agree," he mutters, leaning back on the cushion as his hands find my hips again, "I can tell if you speak my name in vain."

"Morpheus," I drawl instinctively as he begins to move underneath me.

"Very good," he croons, leading my hips with his hands, "but that is not the opening words to the song, little one."

And so I draw in a deep breath and rack my brain for the start of the words, lest my Dream maker stop his ministrations.

I begin my singing and Dream rewards me by rocking more eagerly and allowing me to I rock in sync against him. For the most part, I manage my musings clear enough to make out the words and the tune. If it was your first time to hear the song though, I'm sure it would not have made sense to you.

There is a slight hitch in my voice when Dream begins to latch his lips on my collar bones and graze the area. My hands find his nape and my fingers dig into the roots of his hair.

I feel glorious on him, especially with how successful I am with my singing.

I persevere all the way to the chorus, but then that was when Morpheus shifts and flips us over. He pushes my back on the cushioned seat and my head props on the arm chest.

At this point, I struggle with my lyrics and he seems to enjoy it. I end up a sputtering mess and don't have the wits to say anything but his name.

He smiles as I grab his face and whine. He rolls his hips deliciously into my and my legs anchor him in the perfect position.

"Dream, oh, Dream, you feel so good."

His thrusts bring unholy sounds to my mouth.

"I don't remember that part of the song, pretty girl."

Fuck the song, I could care less about a stupid ass-

"Will you continue your tune, or shall I withdraw and use my hands instead of your throbbing-"

"No, please!" I whine and shake my head as I latch my fingers around his neck. "Morpheus, please, please, give me a chance."

"Well, when you say my name so sweetly," he sighs, quickening his actions, "I would hate to see my favorite songbird suffer," he grips my legs tightly, "not when she's submit to me willingly."

I moan out his name while I finally remember the next words to the song. I hit all the wrong notes and even modulate to a different key when he maneuvers me up. My body is trapped in the corner of the couch and he begins to brutally ram into me.

My head falls back and my voice strains as my tongue helplessly hangs out. I gasp for air as he grows relentless.

Oh Morpheus. Morpheus. Morpheus. Morpheus. Morpheus. Morpheus. Morpheus. Morpheus. Morpheus. Morpheus. Morpheus.

That's all that could come out of my lips at this point.

He hums and steals one gasp of his name from my lips. It does not end my holy mantra though.

Dream utters, "I quite like this song."

I do nothing but squirm, especially when one of his hands begin to fiddle with my sopping heat.

The sounds of me are absolutely obscene.

It is music to his ears.

"Do you think your beloved Meret or Apollo would enjoy this song as much as I?" he quips harshly, though his voice is not strained at all.

For once he does not enjoy the fact my only response is his name.

He snaps his hips particularly harshly, "I am asking you a question, my dear."

I dumbly whine as I gain the wits to look at him. My jaw hangs low at the sight of his dark gaze while he absolutely annihilates me.

"If that poses too hard to answer, then I'll ask something simpler," he leans his forehead against me, "who is making you feel this good?"

My legs tighten around him, "you."

"And what is my name, dearest?"

"Morpheus," I whine, "my- my Dream, my king of dreams and nightmares, my-" I squeal, "my king, my love, my -"

He hums and rewards me with a kiss on my jaw though my response is all very messy, "very good." He licks my throat as he thrusts, "and again-"

"Morpheus-"

"Again-

"Morpheus-"

Dream continues like this, making sport of burning his name on my throat, up until my words are muffled and my breathing escapes me.

All at once, I am wild with pleasure, burning from the core of my very being, as I coil tightly around him, both with my limbs and from within. I can barely make out any coherent sounds as I am blinded by my undoing. I come around him with a noise I'm sure my neighbors are not enjoying.

"Very good, my girl," he praises, "very good for me, indeed," he kisses my neck, "will you allow me a few moments to chase after release?"

I nod furiously and grab his face, "fuck, Morpheus, please, come inside me. Please, please, please."

He only groans in response as he chases his own high.

I cry out when I feel him spasm inside of me. He draws out a prolonged sigh as he thrashes his hips. I'm merely a moaning, boneless, mess as he draws every last grain of delight out of him and into me.

Even though I am helplessly shaking beneath him as his movements heavily persist, I am utterly pleased by the feel of him coming undone in me.

Once he finally slacks, I manage to catch my voice and my breath as my toes curl and my belly rolls.

I attack his neck, eager to mark him the way he surely marked me.

Dream moans and snakes his arms around my torso, pressing me closer against him, if that were possible, "pretty girl, this is your punishment, remember?"

"Wanna make you feel good," I mutter against his skin.

He lifts his head as he groans, raising a brow at me, "I can practically hear the aching of your core. You cannot possibly take me now."

I attempt to kiss him but end up pouting when he dodges me, "I thought you were punishing me, my king."

"You make me out to be so cruel," he croons, brushing his nose against mine, "I did not even hold true to my threats," he ghosts his lips on mine.

He rolls his lips against me and I am unable to mask my sharp whine.

"You've proved it to yourself, girl," he mutters, "you would break against me."

My stomach flutters at the idea, "then break me."

He draws my name out in a warning and feels the shiver that runs down my spine because of it. Dream lifts face to look down on me with disappointment, "you are more insolent than you have proved."

I nibble my lip, "I can be a good girl for you," I release my lip and offer a soft smile, "or a really, really bad girl."

"I wonder how much worse you can become."

"I can show-" I gasp and tighten my arms around him when he begins to move, "no wait, I'm sorry, please don't leave," I press my cheek on his shoulder and quickly beg, "please don't leave."

Dream shifts before he stills, "but is this not uncomfortable for you?"

"I like the way you feel," I admit, "I don't want you to pull away."

I relax when he rearranges me in his arms.

Effortlessly, Dream keeps me cradled in his arms as he rearranges us on the sofa. He is back beneath me and my legs are straddling his.

We both release a sigh of relief.

I lean back on the crook of his neck and begin to work on his hickies.

"Do not test me, girl," he warns so fervently I feel my womb quiver.

I whimper as he wraps his arms around me and moves his head to hinder my actions.

"I'm not testing you, my lord," I complain, taking his face in my hands, opting to kiss his face instead, "I'm worshiping you, adoring you, loving you."

Dream relaxes at the notion, then chuckles. The vibrations of his laugh leave me whining. He leans back and exposes his milky neck to me. I eagerly attack throat as he says, "very good."

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want: III, Part Eight

so uh yeah… smut warning. first time ever writing smut im so sorry and also i feel like the second smut scene is better than the first but Moonshard gave me an idea and i ran with it. sorry if its unrealistic too, im a single, virgin cisgender woman sorryyyyy

word count: 15.5k

ao3 version

Masterlist

Part Seven (previous)

Part Nine (Next)

Fic under cut <3

Things do not seem to change much after that night. Vessel feels as though he is walking on eggshells around the other vessels, trying to be so careful about asking for too much affection even if he craves it like oxygen. III has been relentless in his affections, though. Asking at all hours of the day for kisses that steal Vessel's breath and leave him aching for more. Vessel finds II and III in the kitchen making breakfast in the mornings as III hangs off II's back, arms wrapped around his waist and aches for that same closeness. His empty chest aches when III coaxes II into a short dance that II tries to shy away from, stumbling awkwardly as III hums along to the radio he brought down from their room. III's boisterous laughter and encouragement to have some fun with them, even as II complains about the food beginning to burn is endearing and Vessel feels like an outsider, lingering at the kitchen door trying his hardest not to be noticed.

He wonders what would have happened if he'd had the courage to join them.

II and III have picked up a brand new routine of giving each other, and then Vessel, in no particular order, kisses when they wake in the morning. None of them have seemed to sleep in their own rooms since they officially started dating, which wasn't too far off from the way things were before. He aches for the way those two cuddle close at night or just lazing about, II's head on III's chest or the other way around, unafraid to be that vulnerable with someone else.

Vessel is happy when II and III ask to kiss him. So, so happy. He never refuses, always eagerly agrees. He wants to soak in every ounce of affection they'll give him like a sponge. Vessel knows he will never tire of it, needs to take in all of it he can while they still wish to give it.

Just a few days after Vessel got revenge for III, he sits on his piano bench, writing down chord changes as he works on a song with his guitar. Already, he has a few ideas for lyrics inspired by a certain bassist, though Vessel isn't sure the song will ever see the light of day. It's no where near completed, merely a base melody and a couple lyric lines he needs to work off of. A knock on the doorframe startles him from his concentration, and lo' and behold, one of the objects of his desire stands at the door with a smile.

"Hey, Sugar, y'wanna head out to see my garden? I started it the day you were... gone. I was thinking we could go on a walk after, see if Two wants to join?"

There's a nervous flush to III's cheeks that Vessel doesn't usually see. Vessel nods, already beginning to put his guitar away. III lights up, smile growing wider as he practically vibrates in place, trying to keep still to not make Vessel too nervous. III meets Vessel halfway to the door, eagerly offering up their hand that Vessel takes with a smile, swinging their hands between them gently as III practically pulls Vessel towards the living room.

II lays on the couch playing on his phone, tired eyes watching the screen with a furrow between his brow as he scrolls through something with utmost concentration. "Doll, did you wanna go on a walk with Vessel and I after I get done showing him the garden?"

"Are you asking me out on your date with Ves?" II inquires curiously, turning away from his screen, and Vessel startles a little, faltering behind III.

"Yes! I don't really want to go outside of Sleep's realm yet so this is all I've come up with." III grins, nodding along with II's words.

Vessel splutters, eyes a little wide, not realizing that this is what III was aiming for. They were asking him on a date? Vessel didn't realize, didn't even think-

Feeling Vessel's surprise over the bond, III turns his sheepish smile on to Vessel, as they nervously run a hand through their hair. "I thought you realized. My bad, Sugar. I would like to take you out on a date, if that's alright?"

Vessel is nodding before he can think better of it, and III grins, bringing Vessel's hand up to plant a kiss over his knuckles. "Still not talking much, sweetheart?" II asks, watching the both of them fondly.

"Voice..." Vessel's voice peters out as he continues, clearing his throat, "Does not want to work sometimes, still. I apologize."

"Don't apologize, pretty. Its not your fault. You're doing so well." III refutes, pressing another kiss to Vessel's knuckles.

III enjoys the way Vessel's face goes pink at the term, at the praise. He hates how easy it is, just a little bit of affection goes so far with him, and yet he loves it at the same time.

Who made him like this?

What tragedy led Vessel to becoming entangled with Sleep in the first place?

And is there a way Sleep can give III the chance to snap their necks after kicking their teeth in?

"I might join you later. I've been trying to figure out where we are in the country now, and if there are any small places we can play at." II says, shaking his phone a little for emphasis.

"Do you think we're ready to play a show?" III asks, curious.

Even as II says that he thinks they are, as they have at least three songs they can play, and III fits with them so naturally and is well on his way to perfecting his parts, Vessel wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

"Will you be able to sing, sweetheart?"

Vessel nods slowly, even if he isn't sure himself. "Mask- helps."

"Have you heard him sing much, Three?" II asks, suddenly not quite sure.

"A little. His voice has been failing him a lot, whenever we practice so I'm not sure I've heard him clearly. We'll be keeping our masks on, right? I've never seen Vessel sing without his."

"Can't without it." Vessel says, feeling ashamed of his cowardice.

"That's alright. It's better we all wear the masks anyway. Anonymity seems to be the best choice for us, with our Sleep given features and all." II is quick to reassure, not liking the self-deprecation in Vessel's tone.

III is putting a little braid in his hair as they all talk, cursing when they realize they lost their rubber band. Vessel taps their shoulder, handing them one of the rubber bands he keeps in his pockets just for a situation like this. III smiles, thanking him with a peck on the cheek as he ties the braid off.

"Will you be playing the guitar, Ves, or will we need to find a guitarist?" III asks curiously.

"We'll need to find one." He replies hesitantly, and there is a strange lilt to his tone that does not go unnoticed by the others.

Vessel does not want to find a guitarist, but knows he cannot play the instrument on stage. It will be hard enough to get himself to sing, let alone do so and play an instrument. In his soul, he knows that the position is meant to be filled by the fourth vessel. It is not something to be given freely to anyone, no matter if they're good at the instrument or what they're looking for. Sleep has made no mention of a fourth yet, so they are left to find a stand in. Vessel has no reason to refuse the other two when he knows they need someone else until their Fourth comes to join them.

"Alright, we'll get to that later, as well as picking a name for the band. Oh, Three, before you go, I think we can take the bandage off your palm now, and I need to check your fingers." II says as III takes Vessel's hand again and starts to turn around to leave.

III agrees easily, apologizing to Vessel for making him wait. "Take... care of yourself." Vessel manages before grimacing, bringing out his phone to type on.

'You insist I take care of my wounds, I insist you take care of yours. I can wait.'

II has III sit on the couch as he places a bookmark in his book and grabs a small first aid kit from one of the many bookcases, smiling affectionately at the little labels III had done on the wooden furniture.

II unwraps the bandages with care, trying to make sure he doesn't pull scabbing away in case there is any. There is a thin, nearly invisible scar that blends in with the lines of III's hand, striking right through the red question mark where it is only slightly more noticeable. Vessel's guilt slides like oil down the bond at the sight of it, tainting the tether binding their souls with his rising self-loathing. "Do not feel guilty for this Vessel." III demands, "I do not regret what I did."

Vessel does not answer, his guilt remains, but he moves to sit close to III, taking care not to touch him. III is the one that reaches out to hold Vessel's hand without a thought, seeking the comfort and the familiar chill of Vessel's hand in theirs. II moves on to III's fingers next, taking off the bandages and redoing them after applying a bit of burn cream. The redness of the skin and the little blister at the tips did not look serious, well on their way to being healed already, but Vessel is curious as to how III received them in the first place. He doesn't dare ask.

II kisses each fingertip as he smiles, "You're done, sweetheart. Now, Ves, what about your fingers?"

Vessel's own fingers still bear the bandages around the distal phalanges like III's, from where he'd ripped and split the skin around his cuticles in his anxiety a few days prior. They'd bled too much for II's liking and insisted Vessel let him bandage them.

III is the one who did it, though. They insisted, profusely, with shaking hands and a terrified face. Vessel felt absolutely horrible the entire time, as II held a hand on his thigh for comfort just as he was doing to III. III's leg had morphed in his fright, as thin as spindly as his arm had been, as he looked at Vessel as though he was seeing something else, eyes squeezing shut. The relief that slammed through the bond when they unwrapped the first finger and found that the wounds had healed almost entirely, and there was nothing but faint scabbing left, was immense and immediate. III's hands slowly got less shaky after that, still held tightly to Vessel's long after they finished until the tremble was gone and III's smile turned genuine.

"Go on and enjoy your date, you two. I'll be here if you still want me to join you for the second half."

III leans forward and kisses II shortly, standing and pulling Vessel up with them. "Thanks, Doll, appreciate it. We'll be back soon enough. I expect you to be dressed and ready to go!" III wiggles his pointer finger at II in a premature reprimand, or perhaps a joking threat.

They stop in the foyer so III can put shoes on at the door, and then they're on their way. The sun is bright above them, and Vessel winces at the first bit of sunlight that meets his eyes, blinking to remove the multitude of white spots that swarmed his vision. His outfit is a little unusual for the warm weather, a pair of loose, black, billowing pants with a brown belt to hold it up, his mask attached, and the flowing, victorian-esque shirt III had picked out for him at the thrift store. His feet are bare, and as the roots of the large trees surrounding the manor move away from III's path so he does not trip, Vessel consequently remains safe from the same fate. III walks beside him in a knee-length skirt and a cropped tank top with frilled straps, swinging their hands together as they pull him down the little path they'd made that leads along the side of the house.

The little plot walled in with red brick is unassuming, tiny sprouts already beginning to grow from the soil.

"Did not- help like I was supposed to. Apologies." Vessel says as they come upon it as III grins proudly.

"Its alright, love. It kept me from being too worried while you were gone. The plans we made meant it was far easier, besides." III tries to assuage the guilt Vessel seems to always carry around like a second skin, even if they have to understate just how worried he and II were.

"You did well by yourself." Vessel says genuinely, voice catching a little as he forces himself.

"Thank you, Sugar. I planted some daffodils and bellflowers. I intend to offer them to Sleep and keep them on the altar. It will be a while yet before they grow, though." III explains, pulling Vessel down to crouch with him.

Vessel thinks back to the flowers III had left on his nightstand, how he had restored them to perfection. He wonders if he can do the same now, but... Will III be alright with it if Vessel were to try? Knowing he couldn't speak enough to explain properly, Vessel takes out his phone to type it out.

'Thank you for the flowers you left me. They're very pretty though I'm unsure of some of their meanings. I think I've discovered another ability and want to test it on your garden. Am I allowed?'

Vessel fiddles with the phone case, biting and pulling at the skin of his lip before he offers the phone to III to read.

"You're welcome, Sugar, and thank you for asking. Go on ahead, they aren't much to look at right now anyway. I don't mind planting something new if I have to." III waves Vessel on, sitting back on his haunches to watch what Vessel does.

Nervous now, Vessel takes in a small breath to steel himself for failure, reaching out and planting his hands palm down in the dirt. He concentrates on the sprouts just barely tickling his palms, willing them to grow. They follow his command easily, surprisingly, leaves and stems sprouting from under his hands that he has to lift to avoid squashing the flowers blooming before he and III.

"Shit, Ves, that's amazing! I'm really proud of you!"

Vessel keeps his hands near as more and more of the flowers begin to bloom, marigolds and bellflowers but also others that III didn't plant, like amaryllis as Vessel feels a bit of pride swell up within him. He looks over to III in excitement that only grows when he sees that same excitement mirrored on III's face.

"Beautiful job, Sugar!"

III is elated, picking one of the bellflowers and placing the stem in Vessel's hair, behind one ear. One side of Vessel's mouth tilts up into a smile baring a fang, turning back to their work as a couple more daffodils bloom up from ground, glowing a gentle yellow the color of their petals. They snap a quick photo before Vessel can see, leaning forward to kiss him when he turns to see what III is doing. Vessel loses his balance, concentrated expression morphing into surprise, falling over onto his ass in the dirt from where they had both been crouched before the garden plot. III follows him down, a hand on the back of Vessel's head to protect it from the fall and dirt, amusement and adoration flowing so heavily down the bond that Vessel feels consumed by it, cannot deny that III is genuine in those feelings.

III laughs in amusement, pulling away to do so. "I love you." They grin, and Vessel sends some of his down the bond with purpose, needing III to know that Vessel loves him in return.

Flowers start blooming around Vessel's arms where one has fallen to rest at his side, a line of blooming petals between the cracks in the bricks that glow gently under the sun's rays leading back up to the garden itself. White poppies for peacefulness or calm, and daisies for loyal love. III looks down at Vessel, taking him, and all the flowers beginning to grow around his head, in and feels overwhelmed by the love they have for him.

Vessel watches III intently. Watches how the sun turns his blonde hair golden as it peeks through the canopy of trees, not yet noon. His question mark freckle by his eye has disappeared into the creases his skin makes when they smile, and Vessel is enamored, completely and utterly. "You're beautiful."

III's smile turns into a grin, pretty blue eyes surrounded by a sea of black that makes the color pop going mischievous. III leans down to kiss Vessel again, pausing right before their lips touch, moving up to plant a kiss at the tip of his nose instead. All six of Vessel's eyes go cross-eyed as he watches, and III huffs a small laugh of amusement.

"Thank you, pretty. Forgot to ask for that kiss, sorry, love. Can I have another?" III asks, and Vessel nods eagerly, murmuring a quiet yes that gets lost in the sounds of the birdsong around them.

The bellflower has barely remained in Vessel's hair, hanging on by his ear for dear life. III takes two careful fingers and fixes it, leaning down to kiss Vessel as they thread their fingers through what of Vessel's hair is loose from his half-up, half-down hairdo, with a small braid that III had done for him earlier that morning.

As Vessel is finding common for III, the single kiss turns into two turns into three turns into full on making out, all careful teeth and ravaging tongue. Vessel's takes in short, panting breaths between kisses as his lungs burn and still he longs for more, anything and everything III will give him. The smell of the soil and the flowers are strong in his nose, sucking deep breaths in when III gives Vessel a moment to breathe. More and more flowers begin to bloom, all glowing their respective colors gently.

Vessel does not want III to stop kissing him, he fears if he does not figure out how to stop the flowers from growing, the line between garden plot and the rest of the yard surrounding the house will be nonexistent.

When III lets Vessel breathe again, Vessel says as much, in stilted, breathy words as he catches his breath. Flowers are still blooming; bellflowers, daffodils, poppies, and now, pink magnolias that III must know mean shyness. Vessel is certain he will explode from that shyness with how flustered he is, blushing and still breathless but overcome by III's single-minded affections that Vessel cannot deny are genuine. Not when Vessel can feel III's giddy excitement and something else Vessel cannot name, does not properly recognize. Its warm, and feels safe. It feels a little like Vessel's love for III, for II. He wonders if it is their love for him, wonders if he can dare to hope. He wants them to love him, wants that love to last. He wants to be worthy of it.

He asked to be loved, and now, faced with that possibility, Vessel is afraid it is not real, that it is real. Because that means that he was never truly loved before them. And Vessel cannot handle that truth, not now. Cannot handle what that means for him and his past and how he suffered and suffered.

Because II and III love Vessel, with their hearts and souls and everything beyond and between. They love him easily, like breathing. It can be hard, yes, to love Vessel, to love every part of him when their very souls ache at any sliver of knowledge he gives them about his past, at seeing what that past continues to do to him as Vessel mutilates his arms. It makes their blood run cold to think of what he must have suffered, the stories he never told and may never tell. Loving Vessel is to hurt for Vessel, because hurt is all Vessel knows. They love him, far more than he loves himself, and they're going to help him love himself. They do not even know just how far that hatred for himself runs, but their love is endless, something tying their souls together beyond Sleep, and they know it is fate that brought them together, and not only the measly whims of a God.

Because Vessel loves II and III, with his heart and soul and everything beyond and between. There are ten-ton weights attached to his feet, one is by his own hand, and the other has been placed there by his parents, then they tossed him into the ocean and no one ever told him not to breathe. And with every person who had ever willingly hurt him, ruined him, picked his heart to pieces, a new link of the chain only further weighed him down. And so he sunk beneath the waves, and sunk, and sunk, until all he knew was the crushing darkness of the depths as he drowned over and over and over.

Vessel knows what it is like to drown. Knows the burning in his lungs as they beg for air, the way his body fights his hearts desire to die. Vessel had survived that attempt, and did not attempt to drown himself again.

His own weight is loosening, but the other is so hefty, and he has only known its weight for so long, Vessel does not remember what it is like to be weightless.

"What are you thinking about, baby?" III asks, voice soft as they take in the purple hyacinths beginning to blossom around Vessel.

III knows that purple hyacinths are most often used to express sadness.

"Before." Vessel murmurs, and III moves off of him, letting Vessel sit up.

The nickname rubs Vessel the wrong way. He... he hates it, he realizes. It... shit, it reminds him of his past partners. At some point, every one of them had called him a baby. For crying when he was upset or after they'd hurt him. For not being able to go into stores alone, for getting anxiety over basic things at home... It hurts for III to call him that. Vessel wants to ask him to stop. Wonders if III would listen, or would only continue to use the nickname more now that they knew Vessel didn't like it.

There are a multitude of petals in his hair, and as Vessel moves to try and figure out how to get all of these flowers to stop growing, III begins carefully plucking them out of the mess Vessel's hair has become.

"Do you want to talk about it?" III asks, taking note of the small bit of dissatisfaction that splattered like ink over Vessel's bond when III called him a baby.

Vessel wiped it away easily, as though it had never been there as the flowers listen intently to Vessel's silent command to stop, stop growing.

"No, it- it doesn't matter, now. I- Thank you though."

"Of course, love, Two and I are always willing to listen, if you ever need to get something off your chest."

Vessel wants to believe him. Wants to slice open his empty chest and show III what Vessel cannot speak... but Vessel knows that neither the Second nor the Third vessel will continue to love a man who has no heart in his chest to give, no matter if it still beats, just not in his body.

Vessel nods, unable to lie to III, to agree to something he cannot uphold, not again. Little things had become easier to say. It had been easier to go to them before they all got in a relationship, but now Vessel is afraid one wrong move will cause this happiness he feels in his chest to crumble like a stack of cards.

"Let's go grab Two, Sugar. I wanna show him what you've done with the garden. It really is beautiful, I've got to find some pots to move these to. Oh, and I can put some in vases around the house." III helps Vessel up, planting a small kiss on his temple after, and that happiness Vessel had been feeling before his mind started running without him seems to come back, a little.

III wanted Vessel to say that he would talk to them, just to hear it, even if he won't.

"You could offer some to Sleep now, like you wanted." Vessel offers quietly as he and III walk hand in hand back towards the front of the house.

He gently fingers the bellflower in his hair with a smile, and misses the look of complete adoration that slides onto III's face.

Vessel does not recognize the love, sweet and thick, coating the bond. Just because Vessel does not recognize it, does not truly believe it is there or that it will remain, does not mean that it is not there.

"I'll do that later, maybe tomorrow." III hums, swinging their hands gently.

II is on the phone when III and Vessel enter the house, pacing back and forth in the living room. He smiles a little at them as he raises a single finger for them to wait a moment as he continues talking to whoever is on the line. III shrugs, pulling Vessel up the stairs with an unbothered grin.

Vessel follows, enjoying the gentle touch of III's hand clasped in his own, reveling in the attention. III takes him to their room, and when they enter, III pauses long enough to close the door until only a crack remains. Leading Vessel over to the bed while he is simply content to watch, III sits them both at its edge, idly fidgeting with the screensaver in the ensuing silence.

"Wanna make out?" III breaks the silence at random, and Vessel's face goes beet red, not expecting the turn in conversation.

He nods though, ever eager, and lets III lean forward to kiss him. Soon enough, III is slowly pushing Vessel back towards the mattress, climbing onto the bed after him to straddle Vessel's hips.

III's fingers fiddle with the waistband of Vessel's pants, one thumb sliding beneath the fabric to rub sensually over a scarred hip. Vessel loses count of how many kisses III gives him, and wishes he could keep that count to cherish every one.

III's shirt has ridden up over the span of their extensive kissing session, exposing more of their skin to Vessel's enraptured gaze. One pair remains on the exposed flesh of their stomach, another watching III kiss him with abandon. The top set is open, watching III curiously just the same as III is watching him. It should unsettle Vessel for III to like keeping their eyes open when kissing, but it just seems another of III's quirks, just another thing for Vessel to love about them.

Vessel cannot stop staring in hunger, bottom pair of eyes traveling lower, eyes shining as arousal stirs low in his gut. He doesn't expect it to go anywhere further, expects it to be stomped out if this continues the way Vessel thinks it will. The way III seems to be heading.

"Sex on the first date, Sugar? How scandalous." III jokes, and Vessel almost apologizes.

He pauses though, considering, and pointedly does not refute III's joke. If III wants to have sex, Vessel will not deny them. He is good at keeping quiet, he's had so much practice. He can even fake the noises if he works hard enough.

This is what all the kissing has been leading up to, right? One didn't kiss another just for the fun of it. III had just been playing the long game all week, just for this end result. Vessel had been expecting it, had wondered when this would happen. Wondered what III would look like over him, in him.

"If you want to... Just- My... my shirt. Can I keep it on?" This is all Vessel will ask for, he reassures himself.

Only this. Only to keep his heartbeat, or lack thereof, a little harder to detect...

Shit, there's something else Vessel wants too. He needs to tell III. Needs to.

III pulls away entirely, weight held up on by his knees to watch Vessel for a moment, to check for any signs of hesitation. The only sign of uncertainty seems to be with keeping III's hands off of Vessel in all the places he keeps away from touch.

"Of course you can, Ves, if you want to. You look so pretty in it, I could never refuse." III reassures as they strip out of their own shirt and skirt, deliberating for a split second before taking their underwear off too.

All of them is exposed to Vessel, including the markings over their pelvis, black, shadowy flames with an ever shifting little golden question mark pointing towards each hipbone. It gets lost a little in the hair leading down to his dick, but it is no less beautiful.

As Vessel admires him, he divests himself of most of his clothes. Vessel is quickly left in only his shirt and boxers, and III has never seen a more ethereal being in his entire life.

"Kiss me. All that you want. Please." Vessel states, sending his reassurance down the bond.

"Are you sure, my love?" III asks, searching Vessel's face for any uncertainty.

"Yes. Please."

III goes in for a kiss, all tongue and sharp-fanged nips as he shoves Vessel back on the bed. III hopes he isn't being too rough but Vessel never breaks the kiss, letting III maneuver him as they please as the arousal he was feeling ever so slowly begins to grow.

"Are you sure about this, Vessel? I'm perfectly content with getting dressed again and just watching something on my phone with you until Two is done." III pulls away to ask, fixing the flower in Vessel's hair.

Vessel does not respond for a moment, staring up at III with something akin to confusion. He doesn't understand why III is asking. His other partners never asked.

"Yes?" Vessel responds, more of a question than an answer, head tilting just so to the side.

III frowns, sitting up to straddle Vessel's waist, careful not to put any of their weight on him. Vessel hurries to correct himself as III tries to keep an eye on the bond for a lie, "Yes. I am. I want this."

The lie feels like ash on his tongue, and Vessel keeps the spike of panic at lying hidden under the reassurance he shoves down the bond to overshadow it. It matters more to Vessel that III enjoys himself, that III will be satisfied and happy with him. Vessel had never found enjoyment in sex, but that means nothing to him. He's curious how III will sound, hopes it doesn't hurt too badly.

III narrows his eyes in suspicion, and leans down halfway. "If you want this, then kiss me."

"Kiss you?" Vessel murmurs, "You want me to kiss you? Will you not grow tired of me if I kissed you as much as I wish?"

"I will never tire of your lips on mine. If you want to give, then give me all that you can give. I want to taste you better."

Vessel's decision is quick and if his heart were in his chest, he is sure it would pound right out of his skin through his ribcage. Vessel is being so bold, so selfish. But he wants III, anything he will give him.

II and III make him want to be brave, even if he knows he is a coward at heart, even if he knows that their inevitable departure will ruin him like nothing else ever has.

Vessel surges up and plants his lips right on III's, a hand coming to hold their shoulder in another daring action. III moans into the kiss, one hand coming up to grip Vessel's at his shoulder. There is a moment of panic in Vessel's chest as III rips Vessel's hand off of their shoulder, but it is dashed away faster than Vessel can latch on to the emotion as III takes both of Vessel's hands, clasping their fingers together, and shoving them to either side of Vessel's head.

III's tongue is ravaging, exploring Vessel's mouth with haste, and Vessel dares to lean further into it, to shove one thigh up to III's hip just to feel them close.

"I love you." III says when they pull away, "I love you. I love you."

When III says those three words like that, looking down at Vessel with the most adoring expression Vessel has ever seen, Vessel almost believes him. Can almost fool himself into thinking this is real.

"Can I take your underwear off, Sugar?" III asks, and Vessel responds by beginning to wiggle them off his hips with haste.

III reaches to help, planting soft kisses to Vessel's cheeks sporadically, just because they want to. III does not shy away from Vessel's scars peeking over the bandages on his thighs, finding them a safer place to hold than the bandages themselves. III does not want to hurt Vessel by not being careful with his self harm.

Careful not to loosen the bandages on Vessel's thighs, III pulls them up and apart so Vessel is spread before him. Enraptured by the sight of him, III moves their body forward to slot himself between the meaty limbs.

"Gonna get you ready for me, love." III says, circling the tight hole of Vessel's ass with a finger slick with pre-cum taken from III's own cock.

He pushes two in when Vessel nods, not noticing the quickly stifled confusion that Vessel tried to keep at bay. It feels good, Vessel realizes, even as III is hasty with it, adding a third as Vessel sighs at the unfamiliar knot beginning to build in his gut.

Downstairs, II gasps, face twisting as he feels Vessel's pleasure and is nearly overcome by it, quickly making an excuse to call back later to whoever he was on the phone with. II is going to absolutely wreck III when he gets his hands on them just for nor giving II a warning that he'd be bombarded with the other vessels shared pleasure. They were supposed to wait. II just hopes III knows what they're doing. Soft footsteps pad up the staircase, room door closing quietly behind him, fingers already beginning to unbuckle his jeans. Fuck, a warning would have been nice, II thinks as he practically jumps into bed, focusing in on III and Vessel's bonds to relish in the pleasure bleeding into II's own bond.

III fingers Vessel open, and the pleasure that builds in him is consuming every rational thought in his head as III thrusts his fingers quickly. Vessel has never been prepped beforehand, didn't even know it was something one did before having sex with another man. III continues to surprise him, and Vessel thinks that maybe sex could be something he enjoys, if its with III. If it stays like this.

III is kissing Vessel again, gently taking one of his angel bite piercings between their teeth and pulling before going back to kissing him with abandon, and he has lost count of how many times they've done so since this started. Vessel grins into the kiss, unable to help himself. Kissing them is one of the greatest joys in Vessel's life and it never fails to pull a smile out of him, despite his insecurities.

The pace of III's fingers is fast and deep, working Vessel open quicker than III had intended but he was so eager, so desperate. Desperate to be inside Vessel and finally know what it feels like to have the other man under them, to see what expressions will befall his expressive features after III gets their cock into him.

III swears he could cum from the sight of Vessel alone, hazy eyes unfocused as his bond tells of his pleasure, hair splayed out around him as III finally slips their fingers out, deeming Vessel's ass thoroughly prepped. He is the picture of beauty, covered in his own self-harm scarring and bandages, markings gifted by Sleep peeking out from the open V of his shirt.

"Putting it in now, Ves." III warns as he lines himself up, and Vessel only nods, one pair of ruby eyes managing to catch III's pretty blues as the top pair tries to also take every inch of III in at once.

The bottom pair trails down from III's face to their neck, down their chest, catching on their happy trail and the markings clearly visible, and then watches as III starts to push his thick cock into Vessel.

It's a slow, agonizing push, but Vessel expected it to hurt worse than it did. He supposes the prep work III did was useful after all, and feels a tiny seed of bitterness sprout in his soul that he stomps out with ease, but the thought remains. That is all his first lover would have needed to do to make sure it didn't feel like Vessel was being torn open every time they had sex? Vessel doesn't deserve the kindness III has shown him already, and definitely doesn't deserve to feel this good as III pushes in at a snails pace.

Vessel wants to ask him to go faster, to hurry up, because Vessel has never felt like this before and desperately needs more, needs to feel all of III inside of him right now. Vessel will not allow himself to ask something so selfish, no matter how greatly he wants to beg and plead and moan for more, more.

III works into Vessel slowly, a little to be a brat, but also because he likes the expression of pleasure on Vessel's face and wants it to last a little longer. They like the impatient little furrow to Vessel's brow that he tries to rid himself of before III can notice. III thanks Sleep for every little punctuated breath they pull out of Vessel with every inch of his cock sliding into him. The bond speaks of the ecstasy Vessel is feeling, and it seems heightened as the both of them feel it over the tether, almost sharing in it, heightening it, it seems like.

Nearly half way in, III pulls out, leaning down to kiss Vessel again at the same moment he shoves back in, bullying himself a little further inside. They swallow the surprised huff that spills from Vessel's lips with glee, pulling away as they slowly push their cock in further.

"You're so pretty below me, Sugar." III groans, enjoying the way Vessel's already flushed face goes even redder as III finally bottoms out, thumbing over the wet tip of Vessel's dick with intent.

"My pretty boy." III continues just to see how Vessel reacts, squeezing Vessel's hand as they very slowly pull out and then push back in to the hilt.

His ears go red next, six eyes unable to focus on anything as III continues thrusting into him, holding his dick in their large hand and squeezing gently, the bed creaking lowly below them. Golden tears bead at the corners of his glowing red eyes, slipping over as Vessel's cums into and on III's hand with a silent shout, panting at the ecstasy coursing through him, embarrassed it had hit him so quickly. III leans down to kiss him, hand leaving Vessel's own to tangle in his hair, not pulling at first, merely resting between the strands.

"I love you." III whispers against Vessel's lips, watching every minute change in Vessel's expression intently as III continues thrusting.

Vessel can barely manage to repeat the phrase with such reverence, words punctuated with every thrust of III's hips into the backs of Vessel's bandaged thighs.

There is a brief moment where III groans, pulling out and shoving a little deeper to grind his dick into Vessel a little further as Vessel lets out the closest thing he's made to a moan, more of a harsh wheeze, and III pulls his hair. It is barely a pinch of pain before III lets go entirely, taking a second to massage the spot they pulled before that hand comes to wipe away some of Vessel's tears. Vessel had been reminded of his third partner, for that split second, but III did not pull so hard that Vessel loses strands between their fingers like Vessel had expected. III had then soothed the spot lightly even if it didn't even truly hurt.

Vessel's chest heaves on the tail end of a sob, so silent as his shoulders shake, III fucking him so good he sees stars, and yet he doesn't make a sound. Not a sound of pleasure or pain. III almost stops fucking him to ask if he was alright, but Vessel grabs III's hips and forces him to stay inside, begging quietly for III to keep going.

Vessel can't believe he was so selfish to ask for something like that. Never before had he had the urge to keep going, not when his partner was being so rough. Though, Vessel finds that there is a stark difference in roughness, between III and his first partner. This doesn't hurt. There is an ache in his muscles, yes, as III pulls one thigh, then the other over their shoulders to somehow go even deeper inside of him, an action that causes the pleasure he is feeling to heighten exponentially. There is a slight sting on his lip where one of III's fangs nicked the skin, but Vessel enjoys it.

There is overwhelming ecstasy in Vessel as III's cock hits a spot in him that Vessel didn't even know he had, sending stars across his vision as a tiny little keen slips out, lost in the beautiful sounds III is making above him.

III is a little gentler after that, a little slower as Vessel's bond is filled with mind-numbing pleasure. III leans further into Vessel's space, arms reaching around his shoulders to pull him up, squeezing a little too tightly as Vessel wiggles enough for there to be a little space between their chests as III kisses him again. Release hits Vessel quickly when III hits that previously unknown spot in him, tipping Vessel over the edge again as III cums inside him and Vessel's release splatters over III's stomach. III's lips are on Vessel's again, and again, as they grind their cock and cum into Vessel slowly, murmuring softly, "You did so good for me, Sugar, so good. Such a good boy."

Being called good lights Vessel's nerves on fire, and he feels like he's floating in the aftershocks of his orgasm, smiling happily. Vessel didn't realize sex could feel this good.

III stills, finally, panting and satisfied as they pull out, dropping to lay beside Vessel, shoulders pressed close.

Vessel longs to feel III back inside him already. Longs for that closeness.

They lay there for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow and catching their breaths. III's heart pounds in their chest, hand reaching down blindly to find Vessel's hand, clasping it tightly to bring it up to kiss the back of it, letting their hands fall to rest on their touching thighs.

"That was- It was... It was good." Vessel murmurs, a little in awe, a little confused.

"Yeah, it was. I didn't mean to hold you that tightly towards the end, sorry." III apologizes, "And I think I was a little rough overall. Held you when you asked me not to touch your chest. I'll try not to do that again."

Vessel finds himself surprised, again. III thought that was rough? He didn't hurt Vessel, only shoved him around once or twice, he actually prepped him to take his cock, it felt- it felt amazing.

"No, no, it was... it was good. Better than any other time I've-" Vessel forces out before catching himself, realizing with some anxiety that III could have felt Vessel's lack of heartbeat.

No. They couldn't have. The pounding of III's heart alone must have been enough for them not to notice before I pulled away. Right?, Vessel tries desperately to convince himself.

Vessel will need to request something else. He doesn't know how to ask them to keep the touching to a bare minimum during sex, but he cannot risk something like that happening again. If III was a little more aware... Vessel's secret would be out and they would abandon him.

"I know I'm good but that good? You're overexaggerating, Sugar." III laughs, before a concerned frown just slightly graces his lips.

They hope that's all it is, but with Vessel, he knows he shouldn't expect most things to be just whatever.

Vessel doesn't say anything for a while, only turns onto his side to draw contemplative circles on III's shoulder, still a little lost in the pleasure they had just partook in. He... wants to open up to them more. He... wants them to know him. Truly know him beyond what he has allowed, beyond the mask (ha) he hides behind. Vessel knows he will regret this when given the time to overthink it, but he has never been subject to such pleasure before, and his mind is still a little scrambled in the aftermath, still shaking with the aftereffects of his orgasms.

"My first partner was a man. He was rough, and stronger, and didn't care if it was pleasurable for me. He only cared about himself." III stiffens at his side, bond filling with a sense of wrongness and anxiety.

Vessel's own bond is anxious, but he needs to say this. II sends down feelings of question and Vessel shoves back reassurance quickly, feeling II ease up on his worry in reluctant acceptance.

"Vessel, did I hurt-" III starts, frantic as he moves to sit up, but Vessel cuts him off.

"No. You didn't hurt me. You weren't even particularly rough, I'm fine. I enjoyed it. A lot, actually. I would... like to do it again, if you'll still have me." It's difficult to get the words out when Vessel is still struggling with his voice, but he manages and is, as usual, surprised when III does not rush him, or tell him to shut up.

III sits up, rolling over to cage Vessel in their arms below him, gaze intense and needing Vessel to believe them as he struggles to shove down their fury. "I'll always have you, as long as you're willing."

Vessel smiles, and it is a small thing that barely exposes a fang, that barely scrunches his lower pair of eyes. "I'll be willing as long as you'll have me."

"Do you mean that or are you just scared I'll be upset with you if you say no? You can say no to sex, whenever you do not want to have it." III argues gently, using one hand to brush some stray hair off of Vessel's sweaty forehead.

Vessel averts his gaze, unable to meet III's eyes when he knows they've hit the nail on the head once again. When Vessel becomes vulnerable, and shares things about himself, they seem to be able to pick up on more than what is said.

"I mean it. I really do. I promise." And Vessel does.

He means it with his entire heart and soul. Vessel didn't know sex could be... didn't know sex could feel good. So, so good. Vessel wants more, wants to feel III inside him again, needs to. Needs it like breathing. Needs III's lips on his and their cock ruining him.

Vessel didn't think he would ever want to have sex, let alone multiple rounds of it. II and III were so different from everyone else Vessel had ever known, you'd think he would no longer be surprised by it. When they first started this encounter, Vessel only agreed for III's benefit. It very quickly became something Vessel enjoyed too, and this dubious consent turned into enthusiastic consent very quickly, whether III knew or not.

"Can... we go again?" Vessel asks, after a moment, a blush staining his cheeks. "Right now?"

III stares intently for a moment, feeling down the bond and watching Vessel's face. Vessel really does want more, III realizes, as a bit of giddiness creeps up on him despite their worry. III answers by slowly sliding back in with help from his hand, watching Vessel's face crease in pleasure with a harsh breath as he writhes ever so slightly from under them, hands held close to his stomach. Even now, he makes no sound. One day, III promises, one day III will fuck Vessel so good he'll make the most beautiful sounds without being able to stop himself and they will eat it up like a man starved.

"I wonder if II ever finished that phone call." III muses, realizing they'd not seen nor heard from him since they'd come back in the house from the garden.

Oh well, unless II comes knocking, III will continue as long as they please, as long as Vessel wishes.

Vessel lets out a hum as a response that turns into a long, drawn out breath of pleasure as III uses one hand to hold both of Vessel's to the best of their ability, rubbing over a knuckle with their thumb, thrusting deep and quick while the other hand holds the headboard for stability. Again, Vessel lets out little, punctuated huffs as his face twists in pleasure, body moving with the force of III's thrusts and all III wants is to take a photo of him. Wants to worship him, caress every inch of Vessel's skin with their hands, their mouth. Lavish his body in attention. Wants to make Vessel forget every time he'd been fucked before and replace the memories with III.

III wonders sometimes if he is being too clingy, too forward, with his kisses. They ask for them all the time, especially with Vessel. With II, III can worship him however he wants. Run his hands over his arms, down his sides, touch him. With Vessel, there are so few ways to physically show just how much III adores him. Kissing him seems like all III can do, sometimes. At least now, III has this.

III fucks Vessel again and again, and the last time, as Vessel and III cum with III's breathy, overstimulated whine, III leans over close and kisses his forehead tenderly, trying to shove as much of his love into that single action as possible. III remains close as they continue slowly fucking into him with deep, slow strokes to ride out the last of his high. Vessel reacts completely out of instinct, mind muddled from the multiple rounds with barely a break between, grasping a gentle hand around III's hair and pulling his head a little to the side, sitting up with core strength alone and biting the space between III's neck and shoulder.

III moans as Vessel freezes under him, bond going a little distant to hide his distress as he tries to pull away in the sudden panic that shoots through him. His hand quickly releases III's hair, laying back on the bed, head bowed submissively to watch III through his lashes with expecting eyes.

"Do that again?" III asks gently in light of Vessel's panic as he stops moving inside of Vessel.

Confused and still panicked, Vessel very slowly shakes his head in refusal, eyes wide and alert. "Okay, Sugar, that's fine. If you ever want to bite me again, I don't mind. I really liked it."

Vessel pays very close attention to III's voice, to their bond, to see if they are lying but Vessel cannot detect an ounce of uncertainty or untruth, but he is sure he's only missing the signs due to his scattered thoughts. III's dick twitches in interest from inside of him and Vessel lets out a little pleasured, pained huff at the overstimulation it brings.

"I think I'm gonna call it quits for now, Sugar. I'm tired and you're looking a little pale. So pretty though, all fucked out." III coos at the end as they slip out, brushing some messy, sweaty strands away from Vessel's face, just to watch Vessel get all flustered.

The brat in him just can't help it. He'll say or do anything, within reason, to get Vessel to blush. He'd kept himself on a bit of a leash today, not knowing how far he could go with his brat tendencies. III isn't even sure they'd be able to explain it to Vessel, certain that Vessel had no clue what a brat even was. III himself was a little unused to topping, but they figure they can get some pointers from II. There's no way that beautiful little man isn't a top, if not a dom.

III needs to talk with II, after they clean the both of them up and get some water and food into Vessel and themself. While not needing it to survive, III figures it would help return some color to Vessel's pale, exhausted face. Anything would help, III is sure, since Vessel cannot sleep his exhaustion off.

III frowns at that thought, trying to stifle the negativity they can feel creeping up on them. Vessel didn't need to feel it. Maybe fucking Vessel a few times in one go was a bad idea, since there is no rest to be had for him afterwards.

Sitting up, III scoots to the end of their bed, stretching. They turn their head to look back at Vessel, finding him still laying down quietly, an arm over his face to hide his eyes, though III can see the bottom pair is closed. Attuning themselves to the bond the vessels share, III focuses on Vessel's specifically, finding it a mix of confused and anxious and utterly exhausted, but also happy. So happy. While the happiness III is glad for, the others worry them a bit. Maybe Vessel didn't want to have sex with III. They asked, of course they did, but did Vessel just go along with it? Damn it all to Sleep. They need to talk to II.

First, they need to clean themself and Vessel up. III's stomach and dick is covered in sticky white cum, and a brief glance shows Vessel's ass is leaking III's release. As much as III doesn't want to have to clean himself off of Vessel, it must be done. For hygiene, III pouts, standing.

"Gonna go get some water and a snack, love, you should shower. I'll bring it to you after." III urges, and Vessel hums noncommittally, bond only getting more weary.

III's frown grows, pulling their shirt, underwear, and skirt back on after wiping themself off with some tissues. He makes sure to clear it off their face before turning to Vessel.

They turn to wipe Vessel down next, his eyes still closed and breathing even. III knows he isn't asleep, couldn't even if he wanted to. Vessel's eyes blink open slowly, half-lidded and tired and bond still radiating confusion as he watches in silence as III wipes their cum off him.

"What're you doing?" Vessel asks, so quietly III is sure Vessel didn't mean to speak it aloud.

"Cleaning you up, love." III responds, not pausing in their task.

They're gentle as they wipe Vessel off, as he visibly struggles not to squirm away when III cleans off his over-sensitive dick. "There you go, Sugar."

Vessel's confusion has not left, but the happiness he has been feeling remains, stronger than his unsurety. He nods, taking his underwear from III when they hand it over. III watches as Vessel crawls to the side of the bed, sitting down to slip his underwear back on. III is so busy taking in his lithe form that he almost misses Vessel's wince of pain as he stands, stretching and yet keeping the space he takes up while doing so small.

"Do you need help?" III asks, already standing with their arm out to help Vessel walk, but the other man shakes his head quickly in refusal.

"'m fine." His voice is a little hoarse, still quieter than it's already quiet cadence, but Vessel's words are less stilted than they'd been the past day or so since his voice came back.

"If you're sure." III says lightly, fighting to keep the frown off their face.

Vessel slips his pants back on, walking with a limp out of the room. III follows, catching Vessel by the hand and pulling him back, "Can I have a kiss, Sugar?"

Vessel desperately needs III to stop asking, wants III to kiss him whenever they want, even if Vessel knows he doesn't deserve them. But he doesn't have the courage to tell III to do so, and so Vessel merely nods, leaning in as III does. This kiss is shorter than usual, but no less fierce. Once again Vessel feels consumed by III, and loves it.

"Enjoy your shower, love, I'll see you in a minute." III says, pulling away to plant a kiss on Vessel's forehead, before ever so gently taking him by the shoulders and urging him downstairs.

Vessel goes with that limp still present, and III wishes he could enjoy the fact he'd fucked Vessel so well he could barely walk, but finds himself to be more concerned than anything else. III goes to knock on II's door when he thinks its been long enough for Vessel to get down the stairs, and enters when II gives the go ahead from the other side.

"Were you listening, Doll? I like to think I put on a good show, though Ves is quiet even in bed. So pretty though. So expressive." III says, leaning against the doorframe with a sly little smile.

II's face is flushed, splayed out over his bed in nothing but a tank top and his underwear, and III is sure this is the most flustered they've ever seen him.

"You're a little brat. Did Ves give you that on your neck?" He asks, gesturing in III's direction at the teeth indents in their skin.

"I wouldn't exactly call myself little, Shortie, and yes, he did. Pretty, is it? I've not seen it yet."

Vessel blushes, continuing down the hall from where he had stopped to curiously listen to II and III's conversation, making his way to the restroom for that shower III insisted he take.

"It is, yes, and not really surprising Vessel has a biting kink." II starts, seeming to not notice III's slight against his height, but sighs after a moment, "I thought we agreed we were going to talk it over before we had sex."

III's guilt floods the bond, and he hopes Vessel doesn't take the emotion the wrong way, knowing the other can feel it. "I know, we rushed into it. He agreed before we started though."

"Did you at least set some form of safe word or color system?" At III's bond growing more guilty and the way they can't meet II's searching gaze, II frowns in clear disappointment.

"Such a brat." II admonishes again with only a little heat, "Those are important. Did anything happen that you think Vessel might have needed to safe-word out of?"

"He explained some stuff about his first partner." III tells II what Vessel had said about his first partner, frowning, "He did look a little freaked out after he bit me though. I tried reassuring him over it, but I'm not sure the message got through to him."

"Three, this is why we needed to have a conversation about it before we actually had sex with each other." II groans, burying his face in his hands before looking back up in exasperation, "Did he seem okay when you left just now?"

"I mean, I think so? A little confused when I cleaned the both of us up. Seemed alright when I said I was gonna get a snack and some water."

II sighs again, beckoning III closer from where he has remained laid out on the bed. He smiles as III climbs onto the bed curiously, sitting on their heels beside him. One hand reaches up, caressing III's jaw, tracing their swollen lips with a thumb. One hand goes to wrap around their nape, pulling him down into a kiss as II sits up to meet him. "Good boy for taking care of him. I'm proud of you. You're to come back here, tonight." II orders, and III's eyebrows raise in incredulity.

II hurries to correct himself, "Only if you want to, of course."

"I was planning on that anyway?" III says, confused.

"Not to sleep, sweetheart. Not at first, at least."

"Oh. Oh."

After III realizes what II meant, excitement starts to buzz under their skin. "We're talking with Vessel tomorrow, and I am a little upset at how overeager you were... but, hm... Was he as pretty as I imagine?"

"Ethereal. Like a gift from the Gods. I'll have to see if he's okay with pictures. Not right now, of course. This is still new. But in the future, maybe." III waves their hands with the words, excited at the prospect.

"I should've known you'd be into lascivious photos with what you'd said before." II hums with a smirk that puts his dimple on display. "Well, I'm not against photos as long as you behave."

"Aww, I could've gotten that photo of you flushed and spread over your bed when I came in." III whines into II's chest with a pout.

"If you're good, I may let you take one or two later. Now, off with you. You need a shower and Vessel should be done."

"Fine." III drags out the word dramatically, pulling away from II with one last kiss, pulling gently on his lower lip as he goes.

II's amused laugh as he picks up his phone follows III out of the room. III makes his way down to the kitchen, humming the whole way. He can hear the water running from down the hall, turning just in time to watch Elvira chase a spider down that direction, and gets to work on figuring out what snack to bring Vessel. While they do so, they hear the water turn off and the bathroom door open. Like usual, Vessel's feet make no sound as they tap along the floor, but he does leave an accidental trail of water droplets, hurriedly wiping the mess up before escaping upstairs.

III knocks on Vessel's door, finding it unlocked when Vessel calls out a quiet 'come in.' In their arms is a couple water bottles and the same amount of granola bars.

Vessel is drying off his hair more thoroughly when III steps through the door, and his middle pair of eyes slides over to him when the door creaks open.

His shirt is yet to be worn, sitting in front of him. All he is wearing is a pair of pajama pants with the band peaking over the waist and a pair of pink socks covered in pale blue jellyfish. He looks beautiful, III thinks as they walk forward to place their items on the bed.

"Can I kiss you?" III asks, and smiles in amusement when Vessel lets out a quiet huff of mock irritation.

"Yes." He replies, and III leans down to do just as they had requested.

They keep it short, pulling away to shove a granola bar into Vessel's hands. "You're still pale, Ves. Eat this."

Vessel nods, and as III lays over his bed beside Vessel, kicking his feet in the air absentmindedly as they scroll on their phone, Vessel contemplates something as he chews.

"Can you..." Vessel swallows a bite, then continues, "Can you braid my hair?"

III lights up, "Of course, Sugar, let me go get- Oh. Thank you."

III sits up quickly to go get a couple rubber hair ties, but is stopped short when Vessel pulls some from the pocket of his pajama pants. They sit behind Vessel, brushing through his hair with gentle hands to make sure there are no knots that Vessel might have missed, and then begin braiding Vessel's hair.

III takes his time, being careful with every strand of hair they pull into the braid so that they don't tug on Vessel's scalp. Vessel has become putty in their hands, leaning back towards III and eyes fluttering like he could fall right to sleep. Of course, sleep does not come for him, but he sits in the drowsiness anyway. Enjoys the way III's fingers ran through his hair, the way III would lean forward at random to kiss Vessel's bare shoulder. The shiver that would travel down Vessel's spine at the warm breath against his skin, every time, without fail.

If III wanted to take him right then, Vessel would let him, eagerly.

Vessel is confused when after III finishes braiding his hair, III doesn't ask for sex again. Is that not what he came to Vessel for? Is that not why he stayed after bringing the snacks? Vessel is confused when III simply wants to hang out as they each do their own thing, sitting beside each other on Vessel's bed as he reads and III scrolls through memes and funny videos on their phone, occasionally showing him the ones they deem peak comedy. III's curls tickle Vessel's nose from his heads place on Vessel's shoulder. Vessel is content to let III stay there for as long as they wish, no matter how confused Vessel has become.

None of his other partners ever came to simply exist with him after they'd had their fill of Vessel's body. They always rejected any of Vessel's attempts, and when he got with his third partner, he had stopped trying to ask for affection after sex even if he ached for it. For it to be so freely given, for III to simply turn their head to place a kiss against Vessel's shoulder at random- Its jarring.

It makes Vessel feel warm inside.

III leaves just before dinner to take a shower, parting from Vessel's side with a kiss to his forehead and a loving goodbye tossed over their shoulder as they bounce out of the room. Over dinner, Vessel does not miss the glances III keeps sending II as he reads through a book on physics. Does not miss the frustrated, flustered blush spreading over II's face as III does something with their socked foot under the table. Startles when III yelps, knee banging into the table and shaking the liquid in their cups after II kicks him hard in the shin.

"Please stop that." II demands in a calm voice, and Vessel turns all six eyes to glance nervously back and forth between II and III.

III smirks, acquiescing easier than II expected. II narrows his eyes as III goes back to eating, a mischievous grin on their face. Vessel can only continue watching in confusion, as nothing seems to go the way he thought it would. There was no fight or argument, and II didn't even seem genuinely upset by whatever it was III was doing.

These two are nothing like any partner Vessel has ever had, and his head can't quite seem to wrap around that information. Maybe it's different because there's three of them, all dating each other. Maybe it's different because they are all no longer completely human. Maybe its different because Sleep brought them all together. Whatever it is, Vessel cannot seem to process it.

When dinner is over, II and III offer for Vessel to join them in the living room for a movie. He politely declines, leaning into the kisses they give his cheeks and shyly echoes their 'I love you's, and heads off to the practice room to continue writing that song he had been working on.

Vessel realizes, as he sits down at his piano, guitar in hand and journal placed beside him with its pen, that he had had his first date today.

A smile pulls at his cheeks subconsciously, and for the umpteenth time that day, Vessel feels warm. Feels cared for. Feels... wanted.

::

III can barely pay attention to the movie playing on the TV. He is hyper aware of every brush of II's thigh against their own, hyper aware of II's hand on their thigh that squeezes every so often.

III, in their impatience, keeps messing idly with the braid in their hair, pulling at it and turning it around and around their finger until the rubber band snaps. The sound startles III and he jumps, which doesn't escape II's notice.

"Just can't wait for me to fuck you, can you Three?" II says, pausing the movie with an exasperated sigh that III can tell is lighthearted.

"So impatient." II states, standing as III laughs.

III's laughter is abruptly cut off when II reaches down and pulls them up by their arm and into a searing kiss. Its adorable that III has to hunch over so far just for their lips to meet, even if II gets on his toes.

"We have to talk to him tomorrow about the sex. As good as this is gonna be, sweetheart, we shouldn't be doing this either, but someone's impatient and can't keep their dick in their pants. And I'm weak to your hypnotizing wiles."

III pouts as II leads them up to his room, "I said I was sorry. You're both just irresistible. I couldn't help myself."

"I know you're genuinely apologetic, Three, but we need to be careful with Vessel. Our relationship is still so new, and he has shared so little of what his past ones were like. We should have been more careful."

"I know. I would have stopped if he'd asked it of me. I probably should have anyway, but I think he's still hiding his emotions away. He kept any indication of discomfort well away from my notice, except for what I've already mentioned, and he'd asked me to continue. Asked for more, even. I know for a fact he was genuine in that. Any hesitation was at the beginning."

III lets their words sit in the air, watching II idly pace the length of his floor.

II sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It seems the only way to get Vessel to tell us anything is if we make him feel like he has to. I hate it. I want him to trust us enough to tell us when he is ready, but I know he will only keep everything that hurts him inside so we never have to see it."

"We don't ask him about his past, Doll, but for things like sex, this is stuff we need to know so we don't hurt each other."

"I know, I know. We only sat down for that conversation about that sleeping ability that isn't his because he was hurting, changing himself for us."

III let's II pace for only a minute longer before stalking forward. They take his hand in theirs, halting any further movement as II stops to look at him. "You need to relax now, Doll. Use me to de-stress."

II sucks in a shaky breath, and lets the rest of his anxiety out on the exhale. III is right. Things will go alright tomorrow, they'll explain things if Vessel is confused about anything. It'll be okay. It always ends up okay, as long as they have each other.

II nods, and reaches out with his available hand to pull III down into a chaste kiss.

"Get on the bed, sweetheart. And close the door behind you, open just a crack in case Vessel wishes to join, if he has the courage at this stage." II says, turning on the bedside lamp and fixing the sheets.

III watches II to make sure the other is really okay, before nodding in return, bringing up a playful smile.

"Who made you the boss?" III taunts, smirking as they move to get on the bed as requested after completing their given task.

II raises an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face to reveal his single dimple as he watches III mess up the sheets he just fixed. Oh, II sees how it is. He should've known. Especially after how knowing III had looked when II had called them a brat earlier.

III climbs onto the bed just as II asked, but then they stand, needing to duck to avoid hitting their head the ceiling, smiling all the way.

At II's other eyebrow raising in incredulity, III responds innocently, "You said to get on the bed."

"Yes, well, lay down now." II demands, moving forward slowly like a predator eyeing its prey, catching the mischievous glint in III's eyes.

III eyes him for a moment, considering, then says with a wider smirk than before, "No. I don't think I will. I quite like it up here. You're even smaller from this angle."

II contemplates how likely it is that III will bang their head or something on the way down before grabbing their calf, pulling them down and towards II. They let out a small shout of surprise, landing on the bed with a laugh.

"You asshole!" They exclaim, before pausing, letting go of their snark for a moment, "I mean that lightheartedly, lovingly."

"I know you didn't mean anything by it. Of course you'd be the type to curse at someone as a term of endearment." II chuckles, grabbing III's other calf as they try to wiggle away futilely.

"Finally letting yourself show just how much of a menace you are, huh Three?" II croons with clear affection, using one hand to pin III's arms above their head.

"Is this okay?" II asks, tapping III's clasped hands with a finger in question.

III nods, but II isn't satisfied. "Use your words, Three."

"Yes."

"Good boy." II says, and III feels a zing of arousal shoot through him.

Damn, no wonder Vessel seemed to like being called good. It felt amazing. Especially coming from II.

"Now stay still. Do not move an inch, Three." II commands, and III nods.

"Words, pretty."

"You can't use that term on me, I use it on Ves." III frowns in mock irritation.

"You're both pretty, Three. Would you like me to stop calling you that, though?"

"No... I like it." III refuses to meet II's searching gaze, pout still present.

II wants to kiss it off of him, and so he does, nipping gently at III's lower lip with his teeth.

"Alright, pretty. Now, do not move, understand?"

"Yes."

"Good, Three."

II takes his shirt off, exposing the golden filigree markings just below their collarbones, the only other marking he gained from Sleep aside from the ones on his arms and legs. Realization dawns on III slowly as they notice how II's markings, the black of his forearms and up his calves do not travel as far up the limbs as it does on III or Vessel. It must be a byproduct of not eating the entirety of the apple of Eden, the reason II did not get more than superhuman strength and a weapon as his gifts.

III is only given a moment to ogle II and his beauty, the visible strength in the muscles of his arms from rigorous drumming, before II is on top of III, strong thighs caging III in as II straddles them. II has divested himself of his pants too, III realizes, as his boxers strain from the hard line of his cock. Arms on either side of them to serve as further entrapment, II says sternly, "I'm going to keep this nice and simple. We're using the color system tonight. Do you know it?"

III nods, meeting II's eyes with a mischievous glint.

"Words, Three." There's a hard edge to II's voice that III is going to enjoy hearing more of.

III laughs, wiggling out from under II. They both know II allowed it. They both enjoy it when II reaches out and grabs III by the calf again, pulling them back and grabbing their shoulder. II wrestles III under him, superior strength making it easy. The first thing II notices are the markings spread over III's back, creeping over their shoulders to their collarbones, like Vessel's own markings. II is fascinated by the markings fanning out over their back, crawling up their spine in swirls of black ink, his skin adding the detailing of moving flame with a few little golden question marks swirling throughout. The flame seems to flicker and change before II's eyes, ever shifting. He watches as one of the question marks fades like smoke, reappearing upside down.

II takes in the beautiful sight below him, and the red sigil right above III's tailbone with excitement, color system momentarily forgotten. "Three, sweetheart, I found your mark from Sleep, among other things."

"Really?" III exclaims, squirming in II's hold. "Where is it?"

"Stop moving, pretty. I'm trying to take a photo."

III pouts for a second before a grin spreads across their cheeks. III presses his ass right up against II's cock, grinding on it just to frustrate II. "You're being bad, sweetheart." II warns, trying to keep the phone steady and focused on the sigil.

"What are you going to do about it, Doll?" III smirks as II just takes a photo, not caring if its blurry or not as he tosses it somewhere on the bed.

The expression is quickly wiped off his face as a hand tangles in their hair and pulls back harshly, straining his neck. III grunts as II presses close, "Punish you, honey."

II loosens his grip a little, leaving a little more leeway between his fingers and III's scalp, "Not pulling too tight, am I?"

"No... Sir." III tests out the name, knowing they chose right when a spark of arousal shoots down II's bond. "Thanks for asking. You can pull a bit harder if you want." II does not respond, only does as requested, and enjoys the breathy little groan it pulls out of III.

"Perfect." He moans, and II revels in the sound, leaning over to trail kisses down his spine.

"While you didn't respond verbally like I asked, you did show you knew the color system. I expect you to use it if I do something you don't like or aren't sure about." II states, pulling just slightly harder on III's hair to elicit another moan.

"I'm going to get you ready to take me, sweetheart. You will tell me to slow down, or go faster. Whether I listen is up to how good you are, how well you beg. You will tell me if you even slightly slip into the yellow stage. I will stop and we'll talk over what made you feel that way. Alright, sweetheart?" While II is speaking, his fingers have been slowly tracing down III's spine, along the vertebrae and down his tailbone.

"Yes, sir."

II groans, cock kicking at the term so he shoves it right up to III's ass to grind against for more friction. "Good boy."

II pulls away enough to prod at III's hole with a finger, "Have you ever bottomed during sex with a man before?"

II slips one finger in as III responds, then another, "I think so, though I obviously don't remember faces or names. I usually only bottom."

"Good, so you know what it feels like to take a cock." II hums, thrusting his fingers slowly.

III's answer agreement is breathless, his own arousal heightened by being able to feel II's.

"Tell me, sweetheart, did you open Vessel up just like this?" II asks, scissoring his fingers just once and relishing the moan III lets out.

"N-not quite. Too eager. Finally had him under me. Wanted to be inside him so badly." III grinds back into II's fingers after a particularly rough thrust.

Fuck, II wants to hurry and fill III up.

"Stay still."

III lets out a whine when II suddenly removes his fingers, the warmth of his body pulling away as III's body falls softly down to the bed. He turns his head to see where II has gone, finding him slipping his underwear down his thighs.

III's eyes immediately fall to rest on II's thick cock, hard between his legs.

"Do you think you're ready to take me now?"

"Yes, sir." III responds obediently, tearing their eyes away to meet II's soft blue's, staring down at him so lovingly that III can't help the adoring smile that pulls involuntarily at his lips.

"Kiss me, please, sir?" III asks, as II crawls back onto the bed, lifting III's hips back up, level with II's dick.

"Of course, pretty, since you asked so nicely." II responds, gently taking one side of III's face to pull him over just enough for their lips to meet.

"I love you." II says into III's mouth, pulling away.

"I love you, too, Doll. Now, please fuck me." III smiles, which then turns into a wry smirk.

"With pleasure, brat." II lines himself up before he speaks again. "Describe it to me. Tell me what he looked like when you creamed inside him."

"He- His eyes- They rolled upwards-" III moans at the slow stretch of II's girthy cock filling them up, "Glowed when he came all over my stomach. Sleep, he was so pretty. Covered in gold from his tears- Agh."

II sinks in as far as he can go on a low groan at just the thought of Vessel below III. Fuck, II wants to see it.

II starts up a slow pace, strong hands holding III still with ease. Every moan that he pulls from their lips is labored, and fuck, II loves how vocal III is.

"He must have been a sight." II murmurs, leaning down to mouth at III's nape after pushing his hair aside.

"Jealous I was the first to see him that way?" III muses, grunting when II reaches around III's hip to grab their dick.

"Why would I be? I'm the first to see you this way. Moaning under me as I ruin you on my cock. You're currently getting the most, though, out of the three of us. Fucked or been fucked twice already." II smiles in faint amusement, not really dejected as III moans from below him.

II would have waited for Vessel forever if III hadn't come along and stolen II's heart too, hadn't come along and been the catalyst for all three of them finally getting in a relationship. What's a little more waiting for sex, if Vessel even wants to have sex with him, in the face of their foreseeable future as lovers? II gets to kiss Vessel... He gets to love him as he wanted, gets to tell him whenever he wants.

II grinds his cock into III a little deeper and they writhe, completely losing the last shred of any snark they'd had when they started.

II keeps a careful eye on the bond he shares with III. Its useful, II finds, to tell when III is getting close to cumming. It allows II to stop thrusting right before he or III falls over that edge and II basks in it, thanking Sleep for the bond.

II makes a game of it, fucking into III just until the other is about to cum, then pulling out nearly to the tip. II revels in the begging that follows, only starting up his thrusts again when III's voice gets suitably desperate, clawing at the sheets with tears in their eyes.

II loves the way III feels around him, slowly stroking their dick in hand, just enough stimulation to keep them at the edge of release as he slows his thrusting down again.

"Color, honey?" II asks, stopping his thrusts entirely.

It takes III a moment to open their eyes, lost in the way II feels inside him. He pants against the pillows, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. "G-green."

"Good boy." II praises, leaning over to place a kiss into their shoulder.

He pulls out nearly all the way, shoving himself back in before starting a slow pace, watching the red sigil directly above III's tailbone shimmer in the low light. "You're going to explain the color system to Vessel. Got it, sweetheart?"

"Mm." III hums, blinking to get rid of some of the stars dancing in their vision, "Yes. Sorry, didn't mean to forget."

"Apologize to Vessel, not me, honey." II continues fucking into III slowly, building upon the orgasm he can feel nearing. "The color system is important for setting boundaries."

II stops moving, ignoring III's desperate begging for him to continue, ignoring the placating apologies so that II will continue, though II knows III really does mean them. II is well aware III regrets not talking things through with Vessel, but they were clear that Vessel wanted it, for sure, after they started. Its that initial hesitation, what Vessel said to them after the first go... the brief stint of panic that II felt from Vessel before it was smothered completely that worries II.

"You've came enough today. You should've listened to me." II admonishes, and III lets out a pitiful whine in response as II pulls out and away.

III whines again, rutting their cock into the bed for any sort of friction.

"You're not allowed to get yourself off either, sweetheart." II states, reaching down and pushing III into the bed with a hand over the sigil on their lower back, holding them there. "I'll know with the bond, so don't even think about trying. And please, do not do as Vessel does and hide it." II tries to keep his tone light at the end, but isn't sure he managed.

III lets out a moan that is a mix of distress and pleasure as II's hand keeps them from moving but also sends lightning up their spine and straight down to their cock, rock hard and aching trapped between their own body and the bed. "Oh, the sigils cause pleasure." II notices, rubbing a gentle thumb over one of the lines that makes up the outer part of the rune.

III moans again, louder this time as they try to move under the hand holding their hips down. "I said no, Three."

"I'm going to have to teach you to have more patience. This is just sad, sweetheart. Color?"

"Green, damn you. This is just mean." III groans, head pillowed on their arms as they pout.

"If you do as I ask, I'll let you cum tomorrow." II says, wiping himself off with a towel he'd gathered just for this, though there wasn't much to wipe away in the first place.

"Can I get you off at least?" III asks, hair splayed out around him as he looks back and up at II, the picture of beauty.

"You don't have to. I went into this with the full intention of neither of us cumming tonight. Unlike you, sweetheart, I have patience."

"So you're into edging, got it." III smirks, "I'll keep that in mind. Never tried it before, until today that is, but it has seemed to give me some kind of rush."

II reaches down and pinches III's cheek, pulling at the flesh until III whines playfully, words coming out a little off, "Owie. Stop that."

"Drink this, pretty. Your voice is a little hoarse." II grabs a water bottle off his nightstand, twisting off the cap and handing it to III.

III winces as they sit up, turning to lean against the headboard, taking small sips. He picks up II's phone to look at the most recent photo, finding his own smirking face staring back at him, but its the markings over their back that catches III's attention. Sleep really gave III some beautiful markings, but they can't help but wonder what is up with all of the question marks?

III looks up just in time to catch sight of it while II slips on his shirt. Resting between II's shoulder blades, below his nape, is a red sigil. Sleep's symbol, a visual representation of II's ability to turn his drumsticks into axes, of his unnatural strength. Parallel to the sigil, on either forearm is the same type of marking on his collarbones, golden filigree wrapped around each bicep like an arm band. III had already known of the arm bands, how could they not, when II had been walking around in tank tops as the weather warms. The sigil though, is a surprise, despite all three vessels having one. It was only a matter of time before their locations became known.

III lifts up II's phone to take a picture of his back, "Hold still, Doll."

II does as asked, turning around with an eyebrow raised in question when III gives him the go ahead to move. III shows II the sigil, and takes the ensuing hum as all the response they're getting.

"Hey, Doll, do you think you could teach me how to top? I'm not experienced in it. I want to make sure I'm treating Vessel right."

"Sure, honey. Its probably best all three of us are there for it. We'll talk about it after tomorrow, okay?"

"Yes, sir, thank you." III nods in agreement, already excited at the prospect of having a threescore.

"You don't need to call me that outside of scenes, Three. I don't require it." II says as he slips his sweatpants back on.

"I don't mind using it sometimes outside of the bedroom." III assures, a little embarassed to admit it, "And I like you calling me a good boy. I wasn't sure I would, since I don't use exclusively male pronouns, but I like it."

"Alright, sweetheart, thank you for telling me. I'll be right back. Do you care what pajamas I grab?" II leans over the bed as best he can to kiss III's cheek, before heading towards the door.

"Oh, you don't have to-" III starts, but II only waves him off, "Fine. Um, just a tank top and shorts is fine."

II leaves, coming back with a tank top as requested, and III's shortest pair of shorts. A blush spreads over III's cheekbones as they slip them on with some difficulty.

"Did you have to grab this pair?" III mutters in light exasperation.

II climbs back into bed with III, plopping himself down onto III's chest as the taller man lets and an 'oof!'

"You walk around with your midriff exposed, sweetheart. Its not so unusual I want to see a bit more thigh than usual, now that I've gotten to see all of you." He smirks, "I love your body."

"I love yours too." III says as he hides their face in II's hair, kissing the crown of his head.

III wraps their arms around II as he listens to III's heartbeat below his ear, content to simply bask in each other presences.

"We need to go buy lube." III pulls away after he deems it enough time after the last conversation had petered out.

"We'll go into town within the next few days. You should rest, Three. You really wore yourself out on Vessel."

"Is that why you went easy on me?" III gripes, pushing their hair back from their face.

"Oh, not at all. I just wanted to watch you squirm." II laughs, reaching up to hold one side of III's face tenderly.

"You're so mean to me." III sulks, leaning into the touch.

"You're a brat." II refutes, big tired eyes soft with affection.

"Should we go see if Vessel wants to join us?"

"No, let's leave him be. He seems pretty concentrated over the bond. Must be working on something. The door is cracked if he wants to join later." II replies, yawning as he snuggles into III's chest.

They fall asleep wrapped in each others arms. They do not wake all night, resting peacefully and exhausted. No movement disturbs them, no silent steps treading over the flooring to climb into bed. Vessel does not join them, instead working on his music well into the morning, deep in thought. The day has given him much to think about.

[jaket-fanatic-gvf]

You Belong With Me

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Female Reader

Summary: This is loosely based on the song "You Belong With Me" by Taylor Swift (I went to her concert in Minneapolis on Friday and couldn't get this idea out of my head.

Warnings: None as of right now! There will for sure be a part 2, but even that will be pretty fluffy I think.

A/N: So this is the first fan fic I've ever felt okay enough to post. If anyone reads this and has any tips or suggestions for me please let me know! I've also only had Tumblr for like a month or 2, and I'm not tech-savvy at all, so bear with me while I try to figure this all out :)

Word Count: 3.5k

“Samuel Francis Kiszka, open your door!”

Things are starting to fall out of your grasp. The walk to Sam’s house isn’t far, only directly across the street from yours, but you have all of the supplies for your weekly movie night, so your arms are full to the brim. You hear a couple bags of candy hit the ground and decide to yell again. 

“Sammy, I swear to god, I’m going to drop–”

The door swings open and you are greeted by your best friend’s other best friend and roommate. Danny’s curls are pulled bag into a low bun and he’s wearing sweatpants and a muscle tank. He frowns, and when you look at his face he seems a bit drowsy.

“Danny! Oh thank God. I’m sorry, did I wake you up? Sam normally is waiting for me at the door after I text him that I’m on my way. I have all of the stuff for movie night, so I couldn’t open the door. Sorry if I woke you, can you help me please? Where’s Sam? I could've swore he read my text–”

“Y/N,” Danny puts both of his hands on your shoulders and shakes you a bit, “One, take a breath, I don’t know how you can talk so much. Two, Madison called him I think, I can hear them arguing on the phone.”

Danny takes all of the snacks you’re holding and the ones you dropped allowing you to resituate your hold on the blankets and skincare products you’re holding Sam will let you test on him. He’s walked back into his home and its out of your sight before you even get the door closed.

Once you cross the threshold of the house, you can hear the arguing too. You have never really been a fan of Madison. She and Sam started going out last semester after he helped tutor her in whatever math class he had to take. Is your dislike for Maddie slightly due to the fact that you have a crush on your best friend… no, that’s neither here nor there. You just think she’s a mean person. She doesn’t deserve a sweetheart like Sam. 

Maddie also really doesn’t like you. She’s tried on multiple occasions to try and make Sam stop hanging out with you even though you’ve never been anything but perfectly platonic with him- you think you’d die from embarrassment if he ever found out about your crush. You and Sam have been friends ever since the beginning of college. You were in the same orientation group and even though you have very different majors and friend groups, he managed to weasel his way into being your favorite person. 

The first thing you remember learning about Sam is how chaotic he is. He never fails to make you laugh with his goofy moods and his iconic wit. He’s been your saving grace on multiple occasions during finals weeks and truthfully, you don’t think you could have done these last 2 ½ years without him by your side. Friday night movie night actually became a thing after you spent so much time locked away in your dorm room freshman year panicking about life that he decided to always have one night to force you to relax. The two of you have never missed a movie night together since they started.

Now, hearing one muffled half of an argument over the phone, you can’t help but think that the cause of the bickering is the movie night itself. Sam’s voice is raspy and it almost sounds like he’s begging Maddie for something? You try to not pay attention, but they have been on the phone for a few minutes now and it doesn’t seem to be letting up. You decide to text Sam to let him know that you’re in his living room whenever he’s ready.

Right after your message goes through, the ‘Read’ notification pops up and you hear Sam sigh. His voice becomes immediately less muffled when he opens his door and starts walking down the hallway towards you.

“Listen Maddie, I’m sorry, but I’m not going. You know I’m busy and you know I’d never cancel unless there’s an emergency. I’ll go to a different one with you some other time, I promise. But I have to go now; Y/N is here and we have a longtime standing commitment. I hope you have fun, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, babe.”

You can now hear the muffled voice of Madison through the phone, and although you can’t hear what she’s saying, you know it’s some sort of sarcastic remark. It makes you roll your eyes. When he walks fully into the room you glance his way and your breath catches right away because you notice that he’s shirtless. You’ve seem Sam without a shirt on before, but it still flusters you to this day because he’s just so beautiful. 

Sam is wearing gray joggers and you can see his boxers peaking out the top of the band, and before you stare too long, you force yourself to turn away. Chill Y/N, you think, stay platonic. He’s nodding into his phone and only giving short replies now. 

“Okay… okay… Yes, 11 o’clock is fine… okay… okay, bye.”

Sam plops down on the couch right next to you and leans his head back running his hands over his face. When he drops them, his eyes are still closed and his eyebrows are drawn together. 

“Maddie says hi,” he says flatly.

You raise an eyebrow at him, and although he can’t see it, it’s almost like he can sense it. 

He sighs again. “You’re right, she didn’t.” At this point he opens one eye and turns his head to face you. His face is so close to yours and when you make eye contact it sends shivers down your body. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whisper.

Sam frowns and shakes his head slightly. “I don’t think that’ll help much… she’s not a fan– well, she thinks we spent too much time together. She thinks I’m– nevermind, I shouldn’t say.”

You pat his knee for comfort, and even though he didn’t say exactly what she said, he didn’t have to. It’s the same argument they’ve always had. Sam speaks to literally any girl- he’s cheating on her. Meanwhile, she flirts with all of the football players when she’s cheering (because of course she’s a cheerleader) and she says Sam is too overprotective of her when he’s upset about it.

“Okay…how about you pick the movie and I’ll make the popcorn?” you say as you stand.

“Ya, okay… can we get some alcohol in here too? I think I need it,” Sam sighs.

“Sure, I don’t know what you have, but I have some wine in my fridge, I can–”

“Let’s do shots!” Sam is getting to his feet now and he gives you a wicked grin as he passes you on the way to his kitchen. It’s crazy how fast his mood shifted.

Groaning, you reply, “Sammy, I hate shots.”

“I know you do, but I’m having a shit day and shots will make it better. Here, I even have a new bottle of tequila!” Sam reaches his fridge and pulls a bottle of tequila from the freezer. Even though you’re against the idea, you are already grabbing 2 shot glasses out of his cupboard as well as a bag of popcorn from the pantry.

“You know, Sam, I thought hanging out with me watching bad movies made your day better,” you pout as you put the popcorn in the microwave.

He smiles mischeviously at you again and states matter-of-factly, “Yes, but this has immediate benefits. Plus, it will make whatever shit movie we find more bearable.”

Sam pours you each a shot and you grimace when he hands it to you. You’re horrible at taking shots, even with all of the practice you’ve gotten with Sam over the years. He holds his glass up and you clink them together, and because practice makes perfect, you both slam the glasses on the counter before knocking back the shot at the exact same time. You make a sour face, but you don’t cough at all which you count as a win.

“Atta girl, Y/N!” Sam exclaims and gives you a little shove. You feel a blush setting in from the praise, but it immediately stops when Sam opens the bottle and pours you each another one.

“Sammy, no, this is horrible.”

“Oh, love, you’re going to need to beg harder than that if you want to stop. We’re taking at least 2 more,” Sam teases.

“I am not begging you for shit. It’ll go straight to your head and it’s already so big that you can barely fit it through the doorway. Pass it over.”

Sam huffs in indignation, but is already smiling again by the time your glasses clink. The same sequence follows, and one more round of shots is poured and swallowed within the minute. Before he can pour another, you grab the bottle of tequila from him and move to the microwave for the popcorn.

“Go pick the movie, Sammy, otherwise I’m going to pass out at your house and you will have to carry me across the street.”

Sam leaves the kitchen without a protest, but he calls back to you on his way out saying, “Like you don’t fall asleep every week anyways!”

He has the movie picked out and is rummaging through the facemasks and other skincare goodies you brought over when you walk back into the living room. 

“I took shots with you, so you have to do one of these with me,” you declare while getting settled next to Sam on the couch, a bit further away from each other than when he plopped down next to you earlier.

“I would’ve done one with you anyways, love. Help me pick one, I don’t know what any of them mean.”

You pick out a clay mask for each of you and Sam starts the movie, which is some random Netflix rom com. Sam asks for help putting it on, so you scootch over to him and sit on your knees. You turn his head to face you and tell him to close his eyes. Squeezing the paste out of the bag into your hand, you relish in the act of smoothing the product over his high cheekbones, across his forehead, and down the bridge of his nose. Since his eyes are closed, you take full opportunity to study every little detail of his face.

In your eyes, Sam Kiszka is perfect. Objectively, you always knew he was hot. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t one of the first things that drew you to him. But getting to know him was a whole different beast. He’s so funny, and smart, an insanely talented musician, and caring even though he does his best to hide that fact. The crush on Sam came shortly after the friendship began, but he never seemed to feel the same way about you and you didn’t dare make a move on him if you knew with 100% certainty that it wouldn’t be reciprocated. This friendship wasn’t worth the risk of that.

He gives a content sigh and whispers to you, “This is already very relaxing. I can’t tell if it’s the little face massage or the tequila.”

You giggle and reply, “Probably both, love,” which earns you a small smile from him. You finish up and sit back on your heels.

“Okay Sammy, you’re good. Can you help put on mine or should I go to your bathroom to put it on myself?”

“No, I can help you. How thick should it be?”

Sam sits up and turns towards you and with your faces so close together again your brain fogs for a second. Only a second though as you quickly pull yourself back to planet Earth. You give him instructions and close your eyes waiting for him to reciprocate.

“Sit back on against the couch, Y/N, I’m giving you the whole shabang.”

With that, you sink into the couch with your eyes still closed and you can feel Sam shifting his weight next to you. The packet of product gets ripped open and next thing you feel is the cold mask being rubbed onto your skin by his warm hands. You hold your breath because this feels very intimate and Sam chuckles once he notices.

“Ya, Y/N, I’m pretty sure you can keep breathing. I promise I’m not going to stick any of it up your nose.” To make a point of it, he taps one of his fingers on the point of your nose. You chuckle and swear at yourself in you’re head for being weird. Actually, you take that back. You blame the tequila and the fact that you can smell his cologne very well since youre sitting so close together.

Sam finishes rubbing the mask onto your face and by the time you open your eyes, he’s already resituating himself on the couch right up next to you, legs pressed together. He reaches for the bowl of popcorn and the bottle of tequila you set on his coffee table as you set a timer. This time, Sam forgoes the shot glasses and takes a swig right from the bottle. He hands the bottle to you and you do the same thing already knowing you’ll regret it.

The movie, of course, is really dumb, but you’re buzzed and content just to be present with Sam. Before you know it, the timer on your phone goes off and Sam is pulling you to your feet to go wash your faces. Sam’s bathroom is small, but you squeeze in behind him and sit on the edge of his tub while he rinses his face off first. He looks gorgeous and his skin is a little pink where he’s already rubbed the mask off. Droplets of water run down his arms and it leads you to staring right at his bare chest. 

“You’re so pretty,” you think and you don’t even realize you said it out loud until you see him stop moving suddenly and turn his gaze to stare at you. Suddenly, his cheeks are pink from more than just scrubbing his face. The flush in your cheeks comes back in full force as the two of you stare at each other and you're thankful that the mask you’re still wearing is at least partially covering it up.

Sam’s mind seems to be running a thousand miles a minute before he simply replies, “Thank you… I, um, I think you’re pretty too.”

Even the mask couldn’t cover the blush now. In fact, you think it’s melted off from the heat your cheeks are producing. You manage to squeak out a small thank you and he gestures for you to use the sink as he leans over to grab a towel. You awkwardly shuffle around each other and you feel some relief as you scrub the cool water over your face. When you’re done, your eyes catch Sam’s in the mirror and he’s still staring at you. Still blushing, maybe even more so now since he got caught looking at you, he thrusts a towel in your direction. Without another word, the two of you make your way back to his living room. This time when you both sit down on the couch, he leaves a bit of space between you.

This is it, you think. You fucked it up all because of like 4 shots of tequila and his stupid shirtles torso. For the rest of the movie you don’t talk to each other. Sometimes, you can feel him looking at you, but it’s like he can’t figure out what to say to you and you can’t fathom a way of not saying anything else that might embarrass you. When you movie ends, you clear your throat, and pull the blankets off.

“I think I’m going to go home, I’m pretty tired.”

Sam stands up as well and starts to fold up your blankets. 

“Okay, let me find my shoes quick, I’ll walk you over.”

“No, Sammy, it’s okay. It’s pretty early so I doubt there are many drunk people around yet.” Sam always walks you back across the road when movie night is at his house. You aren’t a big fan of the dark, and your guys’ houses are on a prime street for people walking to the frat and soroity houses from the dorms on campus.

“I insist, Y/N, just give me 2 seconds.”

Sam finds a pair of sandals as you pick up the rest of your blankets, but he quickly grabs them from you as you make your way to the door. What a gentleman. The walk across the street is quick and silent. Normally you are talking over one another and laughing so hard that tears form in your eyes. Tonight, however, you can actually hear the party music from the frats.

Once on your porch, you unlock the door, and Sam follows you inside to drop the blankets in your room. You wait for him in the entry way and fidget with your fingers. Things have never felt more out of place with the two of you than they do right now which one, is a testiment to your friendship, and two, makes you wonder how to say goodnight. You’re a hugger, but you think that might be a bit too awkward tonight.

Sam walks back from your room and before you even have the chance to mull it over he pulls you into a hug. Instinctively, you wrap your arms around him and he winces when you put your hands on his bare back which makes you start to pull away, but he hugs you even tighter.

“You’re fingers are freezing,” he mumbles into your hair.

You sigh out a breath in relief and put your hands back on him. His muscles flex under your touch, but you don’t move away. Instead, you flip your hands over so the back of them can feel the warmth of his skin as well.

“You are truly so evil, Y/N” Sam states without any venom which makes you giggle.

“I need to steal your warm before you go, I obviously need it.”

He chuckles and you love the way you can feel it with your head pressed to his chest. This has turned into a longer hug than normal, but neither of you seem to want to let go. You’ve never hugged a shirtless Sam before and you’re sure you won’t be forgetting the feeling anytime soon. The heat. The smoothness. The smell. Finally, you are the one that pulls back. When you lock eyes with him, his mind seems to be racing again.

“Thanks for having me over, Sammy.” you whisper.

He smiles softly and whispers back, “My pleasure, love. You can come over every night for all I care.”

“I don’t think Madison would enjoy that offer.”

He stiffens his posture immediately and furrows his brows. Why did you have to bring that up? Tonight was about forgetting about their fight.

“Sorry Sam, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, it’s okay, nothing you need to apologize for.”

It’s silent for a bit longer before you ask, “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? I can tell something is bothering you.”

“No, I’m fine. It’s fine.”

He’s lying and you know it. And he knows you know it, but neither of you does a thing about it and the silence consumes you again. You decide it’s best if you just change the subject.

“Are you going to the football game tomorrow?” you ask. “I’m playing in the pep band and I know Maddie is cheering, so you won’t have anyone to sit with.”

His frown deepens. “No, I think I’ll sit this one out then, unless Daniel wants to go. I’m going to Maddie’s house before she has to go though, so maybe we can hang out after the game is done?”

“Won’t you want to go party?”

“Maybe, if you want to, but I won’t if you don’t want to.”

You want to say the Madison would not like that offer either, but this time you hold your tongue.

“Okay, I’ll let you know tomorrow how I’m feeling.”

His eyes soften a bit at your agreement and he pulls you back into another quick hug.

“Sounds great,” he murmurs. “Now get some sleep, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He breaks away and walks out the door before either of you actually says goodnight.

.

.

.

A/N: Again, any feedback would be appreciated :)

[throughtrialbyfire]

Fic Author Self-Rec!

tagged by the lovely @mareenavee , thank you so much!! <3

tagging @dirty-bosmer @orfeoarte @gilgamish @umbracirrus @totally-not-deacon @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @thequeenofthewinter and YOU!! no pressure to participate, and if you haven't written 5 fics, feel free to just talk about whichever ones you have!!

Rules:

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love!

i'm going to paste each fics summary, and then go on my tangents!

An Inner Sanctity

Two months after attempting to utilize the Eye of Magnus and gain it's power, Ancano wakes up in an unfamiliar cottage, being cared for by the very person he intended to destroy. Navigating their strange and new dynamic, the Thalmor agent finds he may be offered second chance at life, but whether or not he takes it is another story.

this fic is a huge work of exploration into what indoctrination can do to someone who has never known any different, and how that can affect things as broad as worldviews and as personal as one-on-one dynamics with people. it's also partially catharsis-fic, as giving ancano some of my own mental and physical issues and dialing it up to 10000000000% is a hell of a lot of fun. i love seeing that old man suffer and then earn his rise from the ashes. plus, using athenath in a fic where they cant rely on the other two of the trio - as this is in an AU i call the "athenath solo run" - forces me to think of how they would handle situations on his own. spoiler? not too well.

it's on a hiatus at the moment despite having a pretty long backlog, i just don't have the motivation right now to edit and write more for it, but that definitely will change in the future, because i really love exploring ancano's psyche and how he begins to grow and change.

also the fic title comes from the song "Twilight" by Bôa, while that doesnt have anything to do with the fic, i loved the line "you give me an inner sanctity", sooooo <3

The Mark You Left

Two scientists realize, upon losing contact with Dr. Richtofen, that they are truly alone in the aftermath of their actions.

i don't have 5 fics for TES, so have my singular CoD Zombies fic as well! i've had a special interest in the ultimis timeline of CoD Zombies since uhhhh 2011? maybe? sometimes it lays dormant for months and then all of the sudden i think about it daily, especially the dynamics between Dr. Schuster, Dr. Richtofen, and Dr. Groph. so, i wrote this as a bit of a loveletter to a fandom i no longer am part of, but still have a lot of fondness for. it's a quick read that hits on this concept of ultimate betrayal in the aftermath of literally betraying someone else for that person. two people dealing with that, processing that, and what they'll do in the wake of all of this.

the title for this fic comes from the song "Birds" by BENN, who used to make CoD Zombies-based songs before rewriting/redoing them for his own original work!!

Portraits Under Forgotten Suns

A collection of short one-shot fics done for TESFest 2023. A werewolf in his cage, a Bosmer alchemists' first memory, a Dunmer mage's quiet contemplation, a humble keeper's last look at the place he's called home, a sailor's fate at the wreck of the Brinehammer, and an Altmer bard's fond summer memory.

as it says on the tin! its a series of one-shots i initially published to tumblr, then moved to Ao3 to make them more accessible and have a ready archive of them! i loved working on each of these, getting into different perspectives, and figuring out how to convey the narratives of the characters i worked with. i liked writing up details of my dragonborn trio's pasts, too, and the story for "Forgotten/Devotion" was a hell of a lot of fun, getting to pull the wreck of the brinehammer into a fic!

If by Sun and Moon I Swore

With the Empire's victory in the Skyrim Civil War, Hadvar has been quietly readjusting to regular life. When an old friend turns up at his door, that quiet he'd hoped for comes to a halt.

i love hadvar/ralof with all my wretched pining heart okay. i cannot deny this pair has a vice grip on me! and working with them, two soldiers touched by war on opposite sides who once had something (in this case, used to be (and still are) in love), can be something both so tragic and so healing. pulling this pair back together, giving them some form of comfort, even if it's brief, is such a joy. i have intentions of writing more for this couple in the future, but that's likely going to be a while. still, i'll be sure to let you guys know if i do get around to it!!

this fics title is from "Like The Dawn" by The Oh Hellos! its my quintessential hadvar/ralof song for sure <3

Cycle of the Serpent

Surviving Helgen by the skin of their teeth, three elves find themselves tossed into the middle of ancient legends, a civil war, and a hell of a lot of problems. They may all have different reasons for being in Skyrim, but if they have any hope of reaching their destinations alive, it lies in learning to trust their strange new companions… no matter what. From the ruins of Helgen to the plains of Whiterun, from the seas of Solitude to the grim frost of Winterhold, and everywhere sprawling beyond, the unlikely trio will find that being chosen by Akatosh is more than they've ever bargained for. And with their own histories crawling back, and secrets slowly spilled, the trio may find that there's little they can do to escape the cycles they've made.

this longfic is… a huge undertaking. "An Inner Sanctity" focuses on two very flawed people coming to love one another. "Cycle of the Serpent" focuses on three very flawed, extremely fucked up people learning to trust one another and face whatever fate awaits them together, even when that trust is tested, even when the world is cruel, even when trauma batters and bruises them in the current and then rises up from the briny depths of the past to tug them back down beneath. it's about sustained and sometimes self-fulfilling cycles of hurt, anger, and sometimes vengeance, and it's about love and joy and companionship and friendship that lives within it all.

in short, this longfic is one of my biggest undertakings in a very long time.

i started this as a bit of a joke. the idea of there being more than one LDB was a fun idea, and then i created three elves, and those three elves gave me their family histories and their childhood friendships and their previous travels and how it changed them all prior to helgen and i went… yeah i can't just not write this and go insane about it. these three and their various methods for dealing with situations, their triumphs and defeats, and how they bounce off one another became so organic and real to me that i feel continuously pulled to keep their narrative going. this story forced me to write my first ever combat scenes (posted the snippet of my second ever real combat scene tonight!) and learn how to navigate keeping it within TES lore, while also breaking out of some of the stale writing in skyrim itself. i have plans to rewrite/overhaul entire questlines and characters to give them more life, and i've got dozens of OCs lined up - at least one of whom is hinted at within the first chapter. i have this story and these characters arcs planned out, and they do get particularly grim at points, but i never want this story to go into "there is no hope" territory. there's always hope, it just lies in learning to break your own cycles, even if it feels like it may kill you.

the title of this fic was taken from the song "Pillar of Na" by Saintseneca, i very heavily envision emeros as the first verse, athenath as the second, wyndrelis as the third, with the fourth being all three of them, and the fifth (the "eternal, eternal, eternity round…") being a sort of ensemble of all the places and people they've touched in their lives.

woooooooooooooooo!! that was long-winded. thank you for listening to me ramble on these, and thank you so much again for tagging me, mareena!! i hope everyone is having a lovely wednesday/thursday!! <3333