#if you accept that you are suffering you will always be suffering!!

[yinyuedijun]

NIGHT FLOWER: part i

Your place in the world was one of a tool. This was true of every slave: you were all things to be used. Kakavasha understood this about you, and he understood this about himself. It was how he survived all those years ago, and it’s how he survives now. And so, when Aventurine goes into his first heat in years and decides to suffer it alone, you can only think of one way to get him to accept your help: You offer to let him use you.

written for @/lorelune's spring fever collab & @ficsforgaza

13.5k words of omegaverse, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst with an eventual happy ending. gn alpha reader + omega aventurine (they each have both amab and afab genitalia). explicit piv sex, reader bottoms, the sex is consensual but emotionally complicated and deeply sad. cw slavery, racism, gendered violence, including very brief and non-graphic (but direct) references to sexual abuse during slavery. the sa and slavery are not eroticized. dead dove do not eat, mdni.

thank you to @acerathia, @minnaci, @owlespresso for all your help with beta reading and to @kosmiccarma for brainstorming omega aventurine hcs!

“I’ve alw███ l█ved ███, Ka██v█s███”

You knew it from the moment you met him.

Gaunt, pallid, weighed down by heavy chains. Irises that glowed like the auroras back in your world. Delicate features that made every passerby in the market stop to read the description on the placard. (Sigonian, it said, although you couldn’t read at the time. Avgin. Male. Omega. Sixteen years old. Sixty Tanba, no tax.) He had an all-consuming scent that was impossible to ignore—one that possessed you, made your heels dig into the dirt, every atom in your body resisting the impatient jerk of the chains at your wrist. Even through your muzzle, through the perpetual stench of carbon-steel and blood, you could smell it: honey and wildflowers. A fragrance that settled deep within you, flooded you with a warmth that felt like home.

Aventurine is not a spiritual person. He once told you this, his smile cold in the glow of an artificial moon. He'd been deeply religious as a child, but hasn’t since cared for fairy tales about fortune and fate, three-eyed goddesses or merciful rainfalls. Hasn't thought about anything like a destined love. He thinks the idea of a true mate is laughable, that no such bond could ever be forged between an omega and an alpha. That nothing so unconditional could ever exist.

You know differently, of course. You've known it from the moment you met him, from the second you laid eyes on him and thought, I need to help you, and I need to protect you, and I need you to be safe, and you’d never once heard the word ‘love’ in your life—slaves are never loved by their masters, after all, and you'd always been nothing but a slave—but every atom of your being knew that you loved him, that you'd always love him.

And when your master cradled your face that night and crooned that he owned you, that you'd always be his obedient, alpha pet—for the first time in your life, you knew that he was wrong.

You didn't belong to your slaver.

You belonged to him.

To Kakavasha.

These days, Aventurine does not smell like honey, and your jaw is not restrained.

Your muzzle was one of the first things that Aventurine threw away when he bought your freedom. According to the Amber Era system, it had been several months since the murder of your shared master. Ninety-five Star Calendar days after the Interastral Peace Corps had arrested Kakavasha. An entire rotation around the black hole at the centre of your wretched galaxy, all of which had been spent in the captivity of some new mistress. She picked you out because she liked your calming scent and the look of your face, but mostly she used you for the fighting pits just like your old master.

Aventurine had been sitting in the audience of your final match, then bought you out right after you won. “I’m in need of a fighter,” he’d said, smiling in his thick furs and jewels. He played the part of a slavemaster perfectly, his gloved hands wandering the span of your aching shoulders, touching the bloodied maw of your mask. “And I’d be willing to pay top credit for yours.”

She protested. You were her most prized possession, one of her greatest investments. Slaves from your planet were hard enough to come by—alphas capable of reproduction, nearly impossible. And you were so well-behaved, so poised, so endearing in a way that was rare for alphas. She was fond of you. Her omega slaves were fond of you too. They would be distraught if you left, and that would complicate her household affairs—and surely Aventurine, as a respectable owner of human capital like herself, could understand how inconvenient that would be?

Aventurine bared his teeth in a gracious smile. (You’d never seen Kakavasha make such an expression before—so disarming, so cunning, a crescent moon beneath snake eyes. He’d never smelt like this either, like an expensive cologne layered with bleach, and it left you feeling nauseous, wondering if he was ill.) He flirted his way into her good graces, made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, and then he brought you into the first-class ship on which he’d arrived. You were so stunned by its luxury—the handwoven carpets, the crushed velvet seats, the imported tea from several galaxies away and the custom-ordered outfit he had bought for you—that you nearly missed the tremble in his hands as he punched numbers into the remote control lock for your chains.

He had regained his composure by the time he pulled away your muzzle, though. He threw it carelessly to the ground—your titanium chains, too. Then kicked both away with his shined leather shoes.

“There,” Aventurine said, smiling cheerfully. “Much better, don’t you think?”

“Vasha—” you started, voice thick with wasted grief, and all you wanted to was reach for him, to double check that he was real, but he placed a finger to your lips and stopped you. You stiffened at the satin touch, but he seemed unbothered.

“‘Aventurine’,” he corrected.

You stared blankly. “What?”

“‘Aventurine’. Like the gemstone. That’s my name now.”

“You—” Your voice caught in your throat. You realized that you’d been holding your breath. You always had the habit of holding your breath in the luxurious, private rooms of very rich men, because you never liked what happened in them. Forcing yourself to breathe, you asked, “You gave yourself a new name?”

“No. The IPC gave me a new name. They gave me a job, too.”

“A job?” you asked, voice faint. Now that you were breathing again, you were noticing once more just how bizarre he smelled. Sterile and expensive and completely foreign. “You’re free now?”

“Well, I’m a freedman, but I don’t know if I’d call myself free. I’m a bit… indebted to the IPC, let’s say. But that’s fine. I can’t complain. I mean—look around. This beats the fighting pits, doesn’t it?” He gestured lazily at your surroundings, and you nodded.

“It’s nice here,” you replied, feeling absurd but not knowing what else to say. Once Kakavasha got talking, it was impossible to get a word in edgewise.

“You like it here? Good. This room’s yours. Mine is the next one over. You’ll live and work here, with me. I’ll make sure you’re paid well. Full benefits, vacation, salary, and overtime. The standard pay for your role is seventy-thousand credits per month, but I’ll see if I can get you more. HR is pretty strict about their hiring policies, but—”

“You’re hiring me?”

Aventurine went very still, his smile tightly controlled. His eyes remained fixed on you, but they seemed less snake-like, now. They looked more familiar. More afraid.

“I’m offering, yes,” he said neatly. “You’ll be part of my personal security detail. I don’t have the contract for you to review yet, unfortunately. I didn’t arrange one ahead of time because, well”—he laughed, as if this were polite conversation and he were making a joke about the weather—“I didn’t know if I’d find you alive. But things worked out in my favour. They always work out in my favour. I’ll make sure they’ll work out in your favour too, so long as you’re with me. So you’ll consider it, won’t you? Staying with—working for me, I mean.”

Your eyes went soft. Beneath the artificial fragrance, you finally caught a hint of his familiar scent—more wildflower than honey at that moment, the way it always is when he’s scared.

“Kakavasha—”

“Name your price,” he said loudly, “and I’ll match it.”

You sighed. “Vasha,” you said more gently, and his shoulders relaxed at the subvocal shift in your timbre, at the famed alpha Voice that necessitated your muzzle, “I don’t care about the money. Of course I’ll stay here. But—what happened? Why did you kill him yourself? Why didn't you let me do it? That was the plan. It was always supposed to be me.”

It was my job, you thought then, just as you had thought to yourself every night, curled up in your bed and trying to recall the scent of fresh honey, to keep you safe.

He shrugged and said, “It would have been too risky to involve you.”

“You were caught and sentenced to death. The risk was already too high.”

“But the stakes weren’t,” he replied simply, and before you could ask what he meant by that, he continued, “and it worked out, didn’t it? I work for the IPC. You work for me. We’re freedmen now. Whatever I've lost, it doesn't matter. Our gains far outweigh it.”

“And what have you lost, Vasha?”

He smiled at you, charming and distracting. A crescent moon beneath snake eyes. “Nothing of value,” he reassured you, and even though you could feel the calm of an omega’s voice washing over you, even though it released all the tension in your body, all you could smell was cologne and wildflowers, and you knew that he was lying.

Vasha once told you, curled up and quiet on the basement floor, that he despised his eyes. They were supposed to be a sign of blessing from Gaiathra Triclops, but they'd never brought him anything but trouble. They were the first thing that the slavers always noticed about him, the feature that made him such an alluring commodity. Their aurora glow, their strange beauty, their promise of a rare opportunity: a chance at owning a specimen of an exotic, endangered species, possibly the last of its kind. These are all things that you've heard in the parlour of your master’s house as he entertained rich company, the crowd of them gawking at his human curios.

Avgin are said to make the most beautiful slaves, he'd often say. And Avgin omegas are said to be the most beautiful among them. What do you all think? They'd all hum, peering closely at Kakavasha’s features, and inevitably someone would joke, I think I'd like to borrow him sometime, and then they would all laugh while your pulse ticked up and you imagined tearing at their throats. Vasha would search for your gaze in these moments, giving you a long, pointed look: Don't do anything stupid.

He’d always been so blasé about it, the way people fixated on his Avgin blood. You'll never understand how. He didn't react to any of the comments, the groping, the innuendos. He was, however, distinctly unimpressed at the way that your master liked to play him up as a rare and expensive acquisition, as a sign of his own status. It's embarrassing to watch, Kakavasha had remarked. Everyone knows that Sigonian slaves are uncommon but cheap—people always think we’ll bring them more trouble than our worth. This was how Kakavasha had ended up in the market in the first place: because his last master had been robbed, and he'd been wrongly blamed for it.

The blame, to this day, has never stopped. People—powerful people, politicians, businessmen, socialites—look at Aventurine’s eyes and immediately reach for their pockets. You've seen it for yourself, these spineless despots and scammers feeling for their wallets. Sigonian, you know they're thinking. Liar, cheat, thief, whore, worthless, worthless, worthless. Your hands tighten around your blade each time, a loaded gun with a finger on the trigger.

Alphas are said to be violent by nature. Aventurine has often called you the one exception to this rule: the most docile, good-hearted alpha he's ever met. But this is a lie. You do have a predator instinct, and it comes out in full-force whenever you’re around these particular types of men. These types who notice Aventurine’s eyes and see a thief; these monsters who see his irises and imagine what it would be like to bed him. You’d kill them if you could. It would be so easy, especially now that you are an IPC dog. The Company is already such a violent force; what would be one more murder?

But Aventurine has never ordered you to punish anyone. (Don't do anything stupid, he always tells you with a glance, smiling through every humiliation.) Nor has he ever seemed bothered enough by these meetings to try concealing his heritage.

A fellow Asset Liquidation Specialist once asked why he didn't just hide his eye colour—it would likely be better for fostering relationships, negotiating deals—but Aventurine had shrugged it off. I'm a gambler working with the IPC, he'd said. Do you really think a pair of coloured contacts would make anyone trust me? He'd laughed, and his voice had carried a threatening edge, and his coworker had shifted visibly at it. Being an Avgin is the least threatening thing about me, wouldn't you say?

You think that Aventurine likes being seen as a threat. Sometimes you wonder if this is why he doesn't mind wearing his eyes so much, but abhors keeping his scent. He washes his clothes until they're free of his disarming sweetness and then masks himself with an unsettling blend of ambergris, jasmine, and wood. And he is on suppressants all the time—hasn’t had a single heat since the day he killed his master. Hasn't smelled like himself, either.

At the end of the day, it’s manageable being an Avgin in this business, he often comments, spraying half a bottle of masking cologne on himself, but you can't be an Avgin and an omega. Wouldn’t you agree?

You'd know better than me, you reply, noncommittally—and truthfully.

But you're an alpha, he observes. Don't you have an opinion?

You don't pay me to have opinions, you always remind him, stone-faced. You pay me to stand here and look scary. And Aventurine always laughs at this, and he always wires you money and calls it a bonus as he pesters you for an answer, and he always gets distracted and starts scrolling through all his shopping wishlists instead. I saw this thing the other day and thought of you. And this too. Would you like either of them? Would you like them both? I’m a very generous manager, you know. I'll buy you anything you like.

But even though he always gets distracted, Aventurine never forgets. Sooner or later, he inevitably circles back to these questions—these anxieties about his scent, about his eyes, about his blood. He never cares for anyone else’s opinions, but he's always been curious about yours. Even when he was Vasha, he wanted to know what you thought.

He’d been sixteen years old and delirious with heat the first time he asked you, face wrinkling with pain as he spilled his thoughts. It was so incoherent, so sad, you thought it must have been about a fever dream. Mama Fenge, he kept saying. Mama Fenge blessed me, She blessed me, I'm blessed, it rained when I was born—did you know that? My luck, I was lucky. The Katicans, they never caught me. They got everyone else, but not me. I was blessed by Her. I'm going to save my people. I will. I'll save my sister. My eyes are proof. My mistress liked them. Said they're beautiful. Worth sixty whole coppers. A blessing. He pulled you close, pressed his scalding face to your scent gland, and his whole body shuddered with relief. This was the first and only time he'd allowed you to hold him, and it was only out of desperation, out of his mind. Do you like them, alpha? Do you like my eyes? Why? Is it because they're beautiful? Because they're from Gaiathra?

“I like them because they're yours,” you'd replied, and Kakavasha had laughed deliriously.

This is when he told you he hated them: I'd close them forever, if I could.

When you were younger—dumber—you had a habit of squirrelling away every spare coin you came across. You collected them in a little purse that one of the omega slaves had sewn for you—a thank-you for always keeping the other alphas away from her—and you hid it underneath a loose floorboard. By the time that Kakavasha was arrested, you'd saved up twenty-nine Tanba. You’d wanted enough to buy Kakavasha’s freedom and then to set him up for a comfortable life.

It had been a stupid plan. An embarrassing one. If you ever confessed it to Aventurine, he'd laugh at you. Slaves can't buy other slaves, he'd say. Leave the schemes to me next time. You’re too good-hearted for it.

You’d already known that, of course. You knew that you didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him, but you wanted to. God, did you want to—you spent every waking moment thinking about it, every sleeping moment dreaming of it. It wasn't even that you desired him, though he was beautiful and fragrant and more delicate than anything that had ever touched you in your life, which was only your master’s hands and your muzzle and your chains. Aventurine would feel so soft in comparison, you’d always figured. It made your heart ache, thinking about getting to hold something so lovely.

But really—that desire came second. What came first was how mated omegas feel safe around their alphas, and you so desperately wanted him to be safe. Kakavasha had looked so frail, so grim, as your master took his chains and led him home from the market, and you could smell the fear coming off him in waves. And you could do nothing to stop it. You had nothing you could use to stop it—nothing other than your hands that could kill for him and your pheromones that could soothe him and your useless heart that wanted to collect sixty Tanba for him. That was all you had.

So you failed in the end. Of course you did. You didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him. You couldn't even do for him the one thing you could have done—which was to kill. And Kakavasha suffered for your incompetence. He had to dirty his hands with blood and gamble his way into wealth and then suddenly he was freeing you, not the other way around.

And now you are comfortable. You'll lead an easy life from now, Aventurine reassured you when he brought you onto his ship all those years ago, and he's kept that promise. What about you? you'd asked him then. Will you lead an easy life with me, if you're working for the IPC? And he had smiled and lied to you: Yes.

It had been a painfully obvious lie. If you were a smarter person, you'd have never believed it in the first place. Aventurine has no interest in leading an easy life, because an easy life would be less profitable, and less profit would mean less safety. And he is always, always worried about being unsafe. It is indiscernible to everyone but you—an alpha (his alpha, always his, even if he doesn't want you) who has watched over him for so long that you can detect every shift in his scent. No matter how much cologne he drowns himself in and no matter how strong his suppressants are, you know when he is afraid.

And here is the bitter truth, the ultimate proof of your shortcomings:

Aventurine is always afraid.

It is a beautiful day on Agnisahr, and you can tell that Aventurine is about to throw up from worry.

You're sitting in the middle of stunning wealth—Aventurine in his feathers and jewellery, you in your tailored jacket—in a lobby made from marble and pale sandstone, with a view of palm trees and rolling, scarlet sand dunes beyond the window. The waitstaff addresses him as Honoured Guest and they keep his crystal chalice filled constantly with water—one of the most expensive commodities on the planet. Aventurine has been drinking from it religiously, which is strange as he typically has the habit of forgetting to hydrate. A faint wildflower scent is drifting from his slender form. These are the only giveaway to his mood: he's otherwise as pokerfaced as ever, smiling calmly as he discusses his plans to sabotage the local government and acquire the planet for the IPC.

“This is a very dangerous mission,” you state flatly.

“All my missions are dangerous.” He takes a sip, one pinky up. “The IPC pays me well for a reason. As they say—”

“‘High risk, high reward.’ I know.” You try not to sound bitter, though you allow yourself to sound tired. “I still do not think the risk is worth the reward in this case.”

“I think over 5.6 million in credits is a great reward, actually. We could do a lot with that kind of money.”

You raise a brow. “What could an extra 5.6 million get you that you can't already buy?” It is—as Topaz would say—‘chump change’ in comparison to his current wealth, which sums to a number so vast that you can't wrap your head around it.

Aventurine pretends to miss the point. “Tons! We could buy a new spacecraft. Get another mansion. Or—we could take a vacation to Penacony. I hear it's quite nice there.” A playful smile. “I could get us a penthouse unit. With a featherbed.”

You frown. Sometimes Aventurine likes to flirt when you're being stubborn—not out of interest, but as a ploy to distract you. He’d developed the habit after he joined the IPC. It used to fluster you, but now it only makes you cross your arms.

“You could die,” you point out.

“You'll protect me.”

“No, I won't. You always find a way to get rid of me when things are most dangerous.” You give him an accusatory stare. “You never let me do my job.”

He's too shameless to deny it. “And it's worked out fine, hasn't it? I haven't died so far.”

“Yes. Just by dumb luck.”

“I beg to differ. My luck is quite reliable.” He sets down his glass. Glances back outside. A microexpression, brows knotting for the briefest second as he studies the sky. “I'm not worried.”

“You're a shit liar.”

That gets him to look at you, letting a small frown pass over his face. “No, I'm actually a great liar. You're just too good at reading me. It's very inconvenient, you know.”

“I can't help it.” You lean toward him, making a show of it as you sniff. An orchid-like scent—faint but unmistakable—has seeped into artificial ambergris and wood. “It's hard to ignore.”

He hums. He isn't frowning anymore—but doesn't look happy, either. “I should change suppressants.” He taps the side of his empty glass, fidgeting. Aventurine never fidgets: it's an amateur giveaway. “These ones clearly don't work well enough.”

“That won't help. I know you too well.” Your eyes soften. He's looking outside again, the blues of his irises distant. “You're worried, Aventurine. More than usual. Let’s back out of this—let Jade handle it.”

“The mission isn't what's bothering me,” he says patiently. “I just don't like this planet.”

“Because you can tell it's dangerous.”

“No. Well—it is, but nothing I can't handle.” He leans back. “I just dislike the weather here.”

You arch a brow. “...the weather?”

“Yes,” he says neatly, “it's too dry here. I'll break out.”

You open your mouth. Close it. It is possibly the most absurd thing you've ever heard, and certainly the worst lie that's ever come from him. For as long as you've known him, Aventurine has had flawless skin, marble-smooth, and ever since being freed, he’s never really cared much for looking handsome so much as looking rich. But he maintains his serious expression: all-in on the farce. “Did you know that outside the capital, this planet hasn't had any natural rain in a quarter of an Amber Era? And the stellar winds are terrible. I don't know how people live on a planet like this.” His eyes narrow at the cloudless sky. “The IPC is going to need to do a lot of terraforming if they want to make this into a merchant hub.”

“Aventurine.”

“It'll be a pain crossing the desert—the elements will ruin my clothes, you know,” he continues. “It won't be so bad while we're on the ships, but we’ve got to go outside from time to time. Can't make any friends otherwise.”

“Aventurine.”

“And there's nothing to do for fun when we’re not working.” He sighs dramatically. “I can't wait to get our 5.6 billion and leave for someplace else. I'm being serious about Penacony, by the way—”

“Aventurine.”

“—though not about the featherbed. I'll get you your own room, obviously. And I'll buy whatever dream experience you’d like. What kind would you want?”

Finally allowed a chance to speak, you say, “One where you retire.”

“Retire? Why would I ever do that?”

“I don't know. Maybe you decide you've made enough money.”

“No such thing.”

“Then you can settle down with someone.”

That makes him smile. It feels mocking. “Me? Settling down? With who?”

“Who knows. Someone who will treat you better than the IPC, I hope.”

“Anyone that nice would run in the other direction. But never mind me. This would be your dream experience. What happens to you in it?”

“I stop chasing after you and get to live out the rest of my days in peace,” you say dryly, and Aventurine blinks. “Please stop deflecting. The IPC gave you a suicide mission. We will both die if we stay here.”

He looks serious now. “I wouldn't let you die.”

“You can't know that.”

“Well, I do. And I've got decent chances at surviving too—at least one in ten.”

You feel like sighing—a deep, aggravated noise is heavy in your throat—but Aventurine doesn't enjoy it when you show anger around him. It's the one omega instinct that he can't ignore, you suppose: unease around an aggressive alpha. Voice tightly controlled, you say, “You’re going to bet your life on one in ten?”

  “Sure. My chances were worse on the last planet, and things worked out great. It'll be the same on Agnisahr.” Aventurine raises a hand, calls for the bill. The conversation is over. You lean back in your seat, watching sourly as he pays tens of thousands of credits just for water.

“You know, they say the royal family is backed by an Aeon,” you can't help but point out, once the waiter is gone. A last-ditch effort. Aventurine smiles at it, amused. Like you're a child.

“So what?” He glances outside, at the desolate landscape beyond the oasis—nothing but red sand, a blue, rainless sky, and two radiant suns shining above it all. “The protection of a god is nothing compared to the schemes of human beings. And gods abandon their people all the time, anyway.”

During your tenth day on Agnisahr, you realise that something is deeply wrong.

It takes you some time to understand what’s happening. At first you think that whatever political danger you’ve intuited is much worse than you thought, and that’s why Aventurine has been so pale, so discomforted, so exhausted. Then his scent starts changing—he switches clothes two, three times a day (because of all this heat during Agnisahran days, he tells his new business associates) and spritzes his nape with his cologne almost religiously—and you wonder if he is sick with something. If the food in this planet has something that disagrees with his Sigonian biology, or if he has picked up one of the local filoviruses, or if someone’s poisoned one of his meals because they’ve correctly identified him as a threat. Aventurine dismisses every single one of these theories when you bring it up, and—as if in denial—only attributes it to the weather. (I’ve never done well in deserts, he tells you, his eyes on his phone screen. I'm not used to them. It is above 300 Kelvin, and you do not see a single bead of sweat on his neck, and his cheeks are not even a little flushed.)

You only figure it out when he is too ill to get out of bed one morning and forbids all the IPC staff from coming near his hotel room. It sets off alarms immediately—Aventurine, no matter how sick, will work and see through meetings as long as he is mentally capable of it—and so you naturally ignore his orders and check on him, using the spare key to his sleeping quarters that you're given as a policy. And as soon as the door cracks open—as soon as you step inside only to be hit with a violent, cloying sweetness—you realise what’s happening and slam the door shut behind you.

“You’re in heat,” you blurt out, and Aventurine—a shivering, panting mess on the bed—groans in response.

“Why are you here?” He turns toward you, still lucid enough to glare at you through the tangled mess of his hair. His voice is weak, but no less self-possessed: “I was very clear—no company today.”

“I am your personal bodyguard,” you remind him mildly. Your voice is calm—both non-threatening and non-condescending. “Those orders don’t apply to me. If things feel suspicious, I look into it. And they felt very suspicious.” Your brow knits as you study his clothes. Mulberry silk clings to his form, soaked through with sweat. Thin, eucalyptus sheets are tangled up around him. There are only two pillows. No water bottles. No knotting toys.

Nothing.

“You didn't know you'd be in heat,” you realise. “What happened to your suppressants?”

“I don't know.” There’s a quiet, frustrated edge to his voice. Vulnerable too. It makes you think of when you were both still slaves, and Aventurine was confined to the basement of the manor—the one that all omega slaves were made to ride out their heats in. Either they would do it alone or were ordered to spend it with some alpha, usually either a friend of the master or an alpha slave he wished to reward. That's when they're most pliable, he'd tell his guests, or sometimes even you. They get so desperate they'll present themselves to anyone. Then amused laughter from the other party—How obscene!—as you looked away, blood hammering in your ears.

You had been your master’s favourite. His most obedient, most profitable pet—striking enough for his guests to admire, deadly enough for his audiences to bet on, docile enough for him to enjoy. Good enough for him to reward, and he often rewarded you with his most beautiful slave: his Avgin omega. Just don't mark him, he’d said, fastening the muzzle around your mouth. It'll ruin his market value. Who knows if someday he'd sell Kakavasha off to some alpha master who wished to claim him, he said. Though I don't think there's anyone in this star system who'd want a Sigonian for a mate, let alone a Sigonian slave. Then he’d paused, eyes scanning over you. As if contemplating. But maybe they'd try to get Avgin whelps out of him, he added, and you felt like throwing up.

You'd never mate him in those moments, your muzzle always prevented you from saying. You didn't even want to think about touching him, and he didn't want to think about it either. Even in the cruel grip of his heats, with nothing but the thin mat beneath him and his slave’s rags around him, Kakavasha hadn't wanted any kind of contact from you, rejecting any chance of solace. Don't, don't—not again, not again, he'd begged. Then as the nights marched on and his mind grew hazier, he’d start whimpering too: It hurts, alpha. It hurts. Help me. It hurts. Don't touch me. Not again. It hurts. It hurts. Stop it, please stop it.

It gutted you.

It went against every instinct, not to touch him. To let him lie there, in scorching, lonely pain, when all you wanted to do was to dispel it. It would be so easy to press yourself against him and let his skin cool against yours, do the one thing that your body was good at other than killing. But not again, not again, I can't anymore, I don't want it, I never wanted it, and all you could do was sit there, unmoving. Watch as the most delicate, precious thing you had in your life shatter.

And standing here now, watching Aventurine shatter before you once more—it is unbearable. He needs a nest, you keep thinking. He needs a nest and some water and some kind of touch, some kind of relief, but not again, not again, and you’re still a slave, still a worthless and stupid slave, and Kakavasha is still crying on a basement floor and you can't do anything for him.

“You need help, Aventurine,” you say, voice soft, and his whole body tenses. His scent dips, and the scent of florals overwhelms you.

“No,” he breathes, “I don't.”

“You do. You're sick.” You bite your lip. Your heart splits as you suggest it, but you say, “I can call a professional.”

“No,” he spits. The facade is gone. The poker face has cracked. The anger and the pain and the fear are all on full display, and his voice sharpens: “No strangers.”

No foreign scents, you realise he's demanding. A new scent would probably make him feel unsafe.

Then let me help you, you think of pleading, but not again, not again, and you're filled with so much shame at the thought that all you can do is look away.

“Then—can I do anything?” He goes still. “Not—not that, but something to make you more comfortable. I can build you a nest, at least—”

“No.” He takes a deep, shaking breath. “No nests. I don't need one—”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don't,” he says. His voice is wavering now, on the verge of crumbling with fever and pain. “I've never—I’ve never needed a nest, I don't—I don't want to—” He presses his face into his pillow. “I need—I need to be alone, fuck—”

He doesn't mean to whine. The cry for distress is instinct, something that all omegas are programmed to do in heat. You’ve heard that they’ve evolved to make this noise as a way of appealing to nearby alphas for help, but you think this must be a lie as you never once saw your alpha master giving mercy to any of his omega slaves. Still, whether it is your biology or not—the noise that Aventurine makes has your heart aching so much you can't help but step forward. But he shakes his head and inches away, shuddering violently, and then his voice echoes again in that cold basement—not again, not again, and don't touch it anymore, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore, not again, and it's all you can do to back away until your spine is pressed against the door.

“I'm sorry, Vasha,” you say, strained. “I’m sorry. I'll leave you now.”

As the door shuts behind you, you catch a final glimpse him—face pressed into the pillows, shivering.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was crying.

When you were both slaves, Aventurine hated seeing you during his heats.

Kakavasha was normally calm around you. Most of the time, he was even friendly (he was friendly to everyone whom he thought could be useful), but he was different during his heats. Sometimes he was vicious; mostly he was withdrawn. Nearly always, he wanted to be left alone. In those moments, all he could register was your alpha scent and his memories of what other people had done to him during his heats. And while you'd have hated to leave him, despised the idea of him being offered to another alpha—even more than that, you hated violating this boundary of his. Hated that you were allowed to do whatever you wanted to him. Hated being the reason he felt so unsafe.

Hated being an alpha.

Now that you no longer have the orders of your slavemaster hanging over you, it is the least you can do to respect Aventurine’s wish of being left alone. He has every right to privacy, and you have every obligation to give it to him. But instead you have been standing here, outside his door, for a full system-hour.

Every time you try to leave, your body is wracked with anxiety. The thought of other people—other alphas—coming near him in this state makes you seethe, your hands flexing at your side. The predator instinct comes out, and the people around you notice it. Every person unlucky enough to walk down this hall scurries away under your glare, even the other IPC staff wandering about to look for Aventurine: Must be their mate on the other side, they remark to one another, and then they're gone.

It is a hard thing to hear. You are not his mate. You are not even a heat partner. If you were, then he wouldn't be in so much pain. Not now, and not back then.

Aventurine has never had easy heats. You keep replaying your memories of all his past ones, each one a wound in your heart: the aching sweetness of nectar and honey; his withering body as he clutched his abdomen and curled up; the tears and sweat staining the mat beneath him. And above all: the fear. The scent of it, the sight of it, the sound of it in his voice. Stronger today than any other day.

By instinct, you know that he cannot persist like this. That this time is somehow worse than all those other times, and that he will become seriously ill if left alone.

After nearly an hour and a half, you finally open the door, fearing the worst.

“Aventurine?” you say quietly, but there's no response, and your stomach drops as you see him.

His body is pale, listless. If it weren't for the fragrance washing over you or the sweat on his temple, you'd worry that he was dead.

Tentatively, you reach out. Rest a hand on his forehead, and it scorches you. He stirs at the touch, doesn't open his eyes—but the quiet sigh of relief is unmistakable. His fingers twitch, as if wanting to reach for you.

“Aventurine,” you say gently. “Aventurine, I'm going to take care of you. Is that alright?”

He doesn't respond. You grimace, pulling away to fetch things for him: several spare pillows from the closet, an extra blanket too. From his suitcase, you grab a few of his sweaters, all thick cotton and fleece. He’d had a sense that Agnisahr would be cold at night. Deserts always get cold after sundown, since sand doesn’t retain heat, he'd told you while he was packing. Or I think so, anyway. Don't know why. Must have read it somewhere. Then he’d given you a long, unreadable look before saying, Make sure to bring a jacket. The warmest one you have. The elements on a planet like Agnisahr can kill a person—even a person like you.

I’m sure I’ll be fine, you’d dismissed him. I can survive anything. Any kind of weather, any kind of illness, any kind of pain: these are all things your species is known for being able to endure, the trait that made you such a prized slave in your master’s eyes, such a useful agent at the IPC. You hadn’t given Aventurine’s warning any thought and hardly paid attention to what you’d thrown into your own suitcase.

It surprises you, then, that you find one of your sweaters in his luggage. Made from Sedanian cashmere and heat tech designed by the Intelligentsia Guild. Cloud-soft and warm to the touch. Aventurine had bought it for you before you were deployed to Jarilo-IV to collect intelligence for Topaz. Warmest thing in the known universe, he’d commented. One of a kind, too. Remember to wear it, alright? Don't let my money go to waste, now.

You stare at it, kneading the fleece between your fingers. You hadn’t mentioned wanting to bring this sweater. You’d lost it in your closet some months ago and forgot about it. Aventurine must have remembered and gone looking for it, because—why? You aren't sure. Probably because it’s warmer and softer than anything he owns, you guess. Of course he’d want to wear it.

You throw it into the pile of things you’ve collected for him.

You take it all to his bed, the mattress dipping as you sit next to Aventurine. One by one, you scent each item with your wrist, watching him carefully the whole time. You’re quiet as you lay them out around him, leaving him undisturbed as you build a nest. You order water and electrolyte drinks too, and you’re quick about going to the door when you hear room service knocking—with how feverish he is, he probably badly needs it.

Aventurine is awake when you come back. His breathing is still laboured, pained—but calm.

“I said I didn’t need a nest,” Aventurine says, though he doesn’t sound angry. You wonder if he’s too weak to be. His voice is faint, and his eyes are barely open—focused on the pile of blankets and clothing around him.

“You’re welcome.” You open a bottle of water, hold it out to him. “Drink.”

Aventurine pauses, stares at the offering like it's some kind of foreign object. But he accepts it eventually, sitting up and taking it from you. He winces with the movement, which he tries to hide. He ignores your frown as he drinks, and he doesn't stop until the bottle is empty.

“There are more,” you say, pointing at the several additional bottles on the nightstand. “And some food and some painkillers. I don't know how well they’ll work. This isn't a normal heat. If you're alright with it, I'll call a doctor and—”

“Everything smells like you,” he says quietly, and you stop.

“...yes. Unless they’re mated, nests usually feel most comforting to an omega when they smell like an alpha.” You swallow, looking away. “...you don't have a mate, and you didn't want a professional, so this was the only option I could think of. I'm sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says. He picks out one of the sweaters that have made its way into the nest, the Sedanian one. “I don't mind it.”

“Oh.” You let out a breath. “Then—can I call a doctor?”

His grip on the sweater tightens. “No.”

You frown. “Aventurine—”

“I’ve never needed a doctor before,” he says. He sounds unbothered, but he's fidgeting with the sweater now. “I don't need one now.”

A lie. He almost certainly needed a doctor in some of his prior heats, but you don't push the matter. “Maybe you don't need one,” you say instead, “but it would help.”

“I don't need help,” he says, and you look at him in disbelief. He catches your expression, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Not more than you've already done, I mean.”

“I’ve barely—”

“Contact Topaz. Tell her I'm incapacitated. Tell her…” He hums. “Tell her I have food poisoning. The personnel too. It's not time-sensitive, our business on Agnisahr, so it shouldn't matter if I need a few days off.”

“You really need—”

“Give my regrets to our Agnisahran friends. Deliver it in person. They see you as my right hand, so they’ll most appreciate it coming from you. Topaz can help you with the verbiage. And—try to socialise with them a little, won't you? I think that little omega princess of theirs likes you. Some of the courtesans too, and they have surprising influence.”

“I do not want to be around any omega other than you right now,” you say before you can stop yourself, and Aventurine stops, blinking. His expression is blank, if perhaps a little curious—but his scent shifts. You can't identify how. You add quickly, “I’m not leaving you alone when you’re this sick.”

“Ah. Right.” Aventurine looks away. His voice sounds strange, and his heat must be getting to him again, because it carries a hint of pain. “But you have to. The IPC’s goals take priority.”

You frown. “Your life is more important than the IPC,” you say, and he laughs. Loudly.

“What? This is just a heat. I’m not going to die.”

“You don’t know that without seeing a doctor.”

“I do. I’m willing to bet money that I won’t die.” He cuts you off before you can reply: yes, you're always willing to bet on your life. “And even if I do, that would still be less important than Agnisahr. Do you know how many resources are on this lifeless rock?” His mouth slants. “If we mess up here, I’m dead anyway.”

“I wouldn’t let them touch you.”

“Yes, you would—because they would kill you too.” Aventurine sighs. His eyes close, and his brow creases—a sign that whatever reprieve he was lucky enough to get is about to end. “Go do what I asked. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll… see a doctor if you do.”

You stand immediately. “Alright. I’ll be back to check on you.”

“I know.”

You stop at the door, giving him a long look. Seeing him like this—lying on a proper bed, cradled in a warm nest, with water and food and medicine nearby—you feel a little better. This is leagues beyond what he’d been afforded in his days as a slave, at the very least. Even if he isn’t free, at least he isn’t trapped.

But it still doesn’t feel good, having to step away. The last thing you want to do is talk to other people, pretend to have interest in other omegas. There are an astonishing number of them who are interested in you on this planet—that princess, and some baron’s son, and one of the prince’s favourite paramours—but you can’t bring yourself to care even for business purposes when Aventurine is like this. You can't act as if you are enjoying yourself when you know he is in pain.

You wonder about telling Topaz the truth. You wonder if she’d be worried enough about Aventurine to let you neglect this mission and cover for you instead, without letting Jade or Diamond or anyone else dangerous know. Not that you think that anyone at the Company particularly cares about Kakavasha—it’s only that he’s valuable. Aventurine of Stratagems is valuable. How many worlds have fallen because of him?

But he seemed unwilling to bet on his worth to them. Which is startling, given how often he's bet on it in the past.

“What’s so important about this planet,” you can’t help but ask, “that the IPC would rather you die than lose it?”

He’s silent for a long moment. His eyes are closed—hidden—but you can see his knuckles whiten as he clutches the Sedanian sweater.

“Copper,” he says. “They want it for the copper.”

When Kakavasha first suggested a friendship to you, it had felt like something in between a proposition and a threat:

Go ahead, he'd said. Use me as you wish. You can even stab me in the back if you want. Just be mindful of this: I don't make deals that don't pay off.

It might have been a strange way of making friends in any other circumstance, but in a house of slaves, it was a natural one. You had not been a clever person—still aren't—but you understood that your place in the world was one of a tool. This was the place of all slaves: you were all things to be used. Your body was a thing to be used. It was valuable for its strength, for its hardiness, for its threat in the arena and for its convenience in your master’s bed (or in a dark basement, or within a heat house, or inside whichever omega your mistress ordered you to calm down). It did not surprise you that Kakavasha wanted to use it as well. It did not surprise you that Kakavasha expected you to use him in return.

You never would have, of course. Kakavasha was not a thing to be used—he had always been a mate. Though you were happy to let him use you, because all you were was a tool anyway, so it was really all you could offer him: to be used.

None of this has changed for you. You don't think any of this has changed for Aventurine, either. With each new friendship he makes, he repeats those familiar words: Use me as you wish. And with each person who accepts, this is exactly what they do: they use him, and they use him, and they use him until suddenly they notice he's tricked them and they've got the losing hand.

You damned gambler, they always spit. You Sigonian wretch. All you know is how to manipulate people. Thief, liar, cheat, whore. Despite all these insults, Aventurine always smiles at them. Cry as they might, he’s won his bet and has their world in his palms.

Winner takes all, he sometimes gloats.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. This is all Aventurine knows; these are his great guiding principles in life. (He's told you this point blank, stacking up chips in his favourite gambling dens with a self-satisfied grin.) You often find yourself coming back to these conversations, particularly when you need to convince him of something.

And right now, you very badly need to convince him of something.

Aventurine is ignoring his doctor’s advice. His suppressants are unstable in extreme temperatures, he's been told. During travel on Agnisahr, they'd degraded, and now he’s experiencing his first heat in several years. Of course it's going to be painful, his doctor had said. I can prescribe you some medication to ease the symptoms, but really—nothing will work better than a heat partner. It doesn't need to be a mate. Any alpha will do.

The doctor had been an alpha. You had asked for a beta or omega, but alphas tend to dominate in Interastral Medical Schools, so they're in short supply. Aventurine had been still the whole time, face unreadable, but you could tell he wanted to throw up at the stench of an unfamiliar alpha. You had stepped between the two of them, not bothering to hide the animosity in your voice. We’ll take the medication, you had said, and the doctor had sniffed the air and nodded at you in approval.

Probably won't need it. An alpha like you could sort him out with just a few rounds, he told you, and both of you stayed quiet as he left.

You still aren't talking, or even looking at each other. Aventurine has lay down in his nest again, closing his eyes, while you stand as far away as physically possible—at the door where you'd just shown the doctor out. With the room shut off again, windows closed and door locked, Aventurine’s scent is starting to flood your senses once more. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him shivering.

“What do you want to do?” you ask.

“Nothing.” He swallows. “I'll be fine.”

He's afraid. You can tell he's afraid. And you can tell he’ll be more afraid if you take even a single step closer to him, so you nod and say, “I'll go pick up your medication, then,” and Aventurine doesn't stop you. You can see him curling up in his nest, face pressed into the cashmere sweater.

But he still doesn't stop you.

After a few more days, Aventurine finally breaks.

There is a rare sag to his shoulders when he calls you to the room, along with a taste of dread in the air. You haven't seen him so vulnerable in years. Aventurine is not an open person, so cunning and self-possessed in his wealth—but Kakavasha was more brittle, more powerless, flayed raw and open even though he didn't often get the whip. (It would ruin his value if he ever scarred—his looks were his greatest selling point, your master said.) He was especially defeated when forced to spend his heats with an alpha he didn't want. You wonder, a vice grip of pain around your heart, whether this entire situation is simply an extension of that. Whether he is calling you here against his will, this time compelled by his pain, rather than his master. Whether this luxury suite feels like that wretched basement to him.

He doesn't look at you when he talks, nor does he sit up. He remains curled in his nest, nearly clinging onto the blankets and clothes.

“That stupid medication,” he pants out, sharp even in his heat, “isn't working.”

“I can tell.” Your brow knots. He’s in so much pain, it is palpable. “I”—you hesitate, voice dropping. “Can I help you?”

He goes quiet. As both Aventurine and Kakavasha, he has always been disinclined to accept help from other people. There is no such thing as unconditional help in his mind—only leverage and weakness. He hates it when people have leverage over him, and he hates being weak. Both are things that can be exploited, and Aventurine always needs to be the one doing the exploiting. He always needs to be in control.

Even like this, the last threads of his sanity about to snap, with every circuit of his omega biology trying to drag him into insensible lust, he fights viciously to be in control.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. Control and being controlled. This is how he's always lived. This is how he's always survived.

This is the only way to let him maintain control when he is most afraid of losing it.

“I don't mind,” you say quietly, “if you use me.”

Even through the haze of heat, Aventurine’s eyes sharpen. “What?”

“I don't mind if you use me,” you repeat, voice neutral. Unfeeling. The proposal might sound cruel to someone else, but not you. After all—your place in the world is one of a tool, and this is what you've always done as an alpha and a slave: sleeping with people to take care of their needs, or sometimes just their desires. It did always make you feel strangely hollow, but you think it will feel just fine with Aventurine. All you've ever wanted to do is keep him safe, and surely, this will do that, but—

“I'll only help if you want. I don't want to force it.” You lower your eyes. “But if you do want it, I'll be careful with you. You can lead. I promise.”

“...I know.” Aventurine’s voice is weak, cracks with pain, but you can tell he's speaking with clarity. “I know you will be.”

You look up. “Then you'll let me help?”

Aventurine looks away—a sign that he cannot adopt his usual smile. He’s clutching that sweater again, pressed close to his chest.

“Just your wrist,” he says quietly.

You listen carefully. “What?”

“I just—I just want your wrist.” He looks away. “Your—your scent gland. Only that.”

“Okay.”

You get up, then falter. When it was your job to comfort your mistress’ omega slaves, you were told to enter their nests—no permission needed from them, no permission needed from you, because only her permission ever mattered for anything. The omegas were usually too delirious to care, often had even begged for it with the state of mind that they were in. But Aventurine is different. He's not like you, and he's not like them. He's never bent to any of his masters’ wills. And even if he did, you wouldn't want to have him bend to yours.

Instead of climbing into his nest, you ask, “Can I sit on the bed?” He doesn't answer. “Just the edge of it,” you add, and you hear him exhale.

“Fine,” he says, breathing measured.

“Thank you,” you say, and he gives you a confused look. But then you're reaching out with a hand, offering it, and he is quickly distracted.

Aventurine drops the sweater, grabs your hand almost immediately. He turns over your palms, fingers tracing your heartlines—as if testing you, as if mapping out territory. He runs his thumbs along the veins of your wrists, too, right over your scent gland, and you have to force yourself not to shudder at the feeling. You only stay still, letting him explore the contours of your hands, letting him acclimate to the feeling of your skin. He laces his fingers with your own, a latticework trap, and he finally drags his wrist along yours.

Both of you inhale sharply.

You can't react. You know it'll scare him if you do, but it's hard to keep still. The way his scent blossoms, the way it mingles with yours, the way it all washes over you—what you're doing can hardly be called touching, but you feel like you're going mad. Especially when he flushes like that, his vibrant eyes fluttering shut. Especially when the sweetness of honey overtakes your senses. Especially when you can smell the way his body is reacting, all that wetness and heat and slick dripping between his legs. You don't miss the way his thighs rub together, nor the hard outline of his cock straining against his pants.

Aventurine shudders. He brings your hand up to his face, rests his cheek in your palm. His skin is flushed and burning with fever, and it's no wonder that he's sighing with relief at your touch. You try not to stare at the way his mouth falls open. He looks at you for a moment, his gaze a hazy violet and blue—before he closes his eyes again and presses his lips into your wrist.

Fuck.

“Aventurine—” You have to stop, voice strangled, when you feel the full softness of his lips working against your skin. He’s panting now, laboured breaths sweeping over your veins. Then you feel his teeth catch, a gentle nip on your flesh, and when he groans into your racing pulse—deep, relieved, desperate, a noise that makes your gut flare with heat—you realise you can't do this.

You pull back your hand, and Aventurine startles.

“Aventurine,” you say, voice strained. Maybe we should stop, you want to say, but he cuts you off.

“I need”—a shaky breath—“I need more.”

You watch Aventurine carefully. His pupils are dilated, blue irises nearly eclipsed. His cheeks are rosy, and he can't stop panting. You can fully smell his arousal now, even through his silk clothes. He's desperate, needing to be filled.

But he also looks torn. His brows are knotted, and you can taste a faint hint of fear in the air now. His knuckles clutch at the sheets, almost white, and he stares at them. He can't look up. He can't look at you. His whole body is tense, like he wants to bolt—and if he weren't so weak, you think he might actually.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He doesn't nod. He also doesn't shake his head. His arms clutch at his midsection as he winces. He doesn't look like Aventurine. He looks like Kakavasha. It makes your heart ache as you watch him give into his body’s demands, wearing the same expression he did on the day your master bought him.

“...don't use your Voice on me,” Aventurine—Kakavasha—says quietly.

It takes you a moment to realise what he's asking. “I won't.”

“And”—his eyes somehow grow even more evasive, hidden by his long lashes— “don’t touch my commodity code.”

His commodity code. His commodity code that is seared into his scent gland. His code that, if you kiss, will ease his agony instantly. His code that, if you bite—will chain him to you irreversibly.

“Of course I won't,” you say instantly.

He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath.

“And—” Aventurine looks away, jaw tight. His voice is quiet but wrought with tension: “—I don't like when people put things inside me.”

Something claws the walls of your heart.

“That's fine too,” you reply. “I don't mind doing it the other way.”

Aventurine’s sigh is nearly inaudible, but unmistakable. His scent shifts a little bit, the wildflower fragrance fading ever so slightly. But he doesn't come to you. He merely sits there—waiting. Expecting. Maybe dreading. Even in the senseless daze of heat, he’s too anxious to move.

You approach slowly. Though you're overwhelmed by the bouquet of his scent, though you feel a curl of heat in your belly in response to it—you are slow. Alphas are supposedly victims of insatiable lust whenever around an omega in heat, absolved of every action they take, but you are convinced this is a lie. You have never once wanted to handle Aventurine with such cruelty. You think that inflicting violence on him, more than anything else, would go against your biology. Every molecule in your body would reject putting him in such pain or inciting such fear. So you are careful when you approach him, slow as you inch up to him—but you do not think it helps.

Aventurine lies down, his face turned away from yours. His eyes squeeze shut, like he's expecting this to hurt. Uncertainty gnaws at your gut as you lean over him, draping your body over his—the only position you've ever taken an omega in, other than mounting them from behind.

(You do not want to mount Aventurine. You never have. It is an impersonal position, a position that omega biology supposedly would force him to enjoy, a position that alphas have likely dictated him to enjoy. You think there is nothing you would hate more. In your weakest, most selfish moments, in your worst ruts, when you’ve allowed yourself to fantasise about mating Kakavasha—you are always facing each other, and he is always looking at you with his eyes you've always loved, and it always feels intimate. Never impersonal. Never dictated. Never forced.)

Aventurine is so honeysweet beneath you. More fragrant than any omega you’ve ever been with. You glance at his commodity code, trying to ignore the scent of his branded skin, then lean down to press your face against the other side of his neck, where a faint scar mars the otherwise flawless slope of his nape. Like every other omega slave you've ever slept with, the scent gland there has been excised: a precautionary measure to reduce the risk of an unwanted mating bite.

(Not unwanted by them—the wants of a slave never matter—but unwanted by their owners. A mating bite would ruin the code seared into their neck, claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. It would hurt their resale value. Only owners are allowed to claim slaves in such a permanent way—and the wants of a slave have no relevance there, either.)

It's a funny thing, this surgical scar. Even with their gland missing, you've noticed that most omegas like having their neck scented by you anyway, probably from some vestigial instinct. You guess that Aventurine won't be any different, that maybe it will comfort him. But when your lips skim the scar left on him by his owner, his entire body stiffens beneath you. His fragrance cuts into your lungs, sharp.

You recoil, as if burned by the touch of him.

“Sorry,” Aventurine is quick to say. He tries to glance at you, but his diamond pupils quickly avoid you again. “Don’t worry about me. Just do whatever you need to do.”

“But you're scared,” you point out, and you see his brow twitch. “You’re scared when I touch you.”

“Not scared,” he lies. “Just…”

When his eyes finally look at you—land on your lips—you understand.

A bite would claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. If you lost your mind—give into the insatiable lust of an alpha whenever around an omega in heat—you might bite him, and then you would own Aventurine.

And Aventurine would rather die than be owned by anyone again.

He doesn't need to finish his sentence. You already know what you need to do.

“It's okay,” you say gently, and his brow knots. “I have an idea.”

Aventurine is always afraid.

This is a fact that has haunted you since the day you met him. You've wondered about how to fix it—the bare minimum as his mate (always his, even if he doesn't want you)—and you’ve never quite pinned down how. Because when someone has spent their life in perpetual fear, how do you make them feel safe? When their life is constantly at risk, how do you ever make them feel calm?

You still aren't sure of the answer. But after seeing Kakavasha become Aventurine, you now have a good guess.

It is clear from his scent that Aventurine does not feel remotely safe right now. Not when you leave to fetch something from your own room, and not when you return. The anxiety thickens when he sees, in your hands, a very familiar muzzle.

Aventurine stares. He is not smiling, but he also does not reveal his discomfort on his face, even as beads of sweat line his temple. But his voice is too controlled, too calm, when he asks, “You kept the mask.”

You nod.

“I told you to throw it out,” he points out, “when I freed you.”

“I know. Sorry. I don't know why I kept it.” You remember how tightly you clutched it before the incinerator, thinking about how strange it would feel, discarding something that you'd worn everyday since you presented—but you don't tell him this. Instead, you say, “But it’s convenient.”

Before Aventurine can say anything, you toss him the remote.

“You’re afraid of my bite and my Voice, but you don't have to be with this,” you explain. Your tone is gentle, soothing. Probably disarming coming from an alpha, with how he is in heat. Perhaps that's why he’s studying the remote rather than chucking it away. “You'll be in full control if I wear this.”

Control. Mere seconds after you say it, you can smell his fragrance change again, mellowing. It's only a brief moment of calm that fades when you latch the mask onto your face, but he doesn't smell as nearly as stressed before.

Aventurine watches you carefully as the carbon steel swallows your maw, its old and familiar edges biting into you. For the first time in years, you cannot tell what he is thinking—truly poker-faced even to you.

“You aren't bothered by wearing that thing while we do this,” he says—asks?—and you shake your head. The muzzle was part of you for years. You were wearing it when you killed someone for the first time. You were wearing it when you went into rut for the first time. You were wearing it when your master had sex with you for the first time. It doesn't bother you that you’ll wear it when you have sex with Aventurine.

If you could speak, you would ask him, Why do you think it would bother me? But all you do is gesture for him to sit up. To switch places with you. You lie down—something you've never done with an omega—and wait for him to get on top.

Aventurine stares at you for a long, quiet moment. It's followed by a sigh of relief. Disarmed, he—for the first time in any heat you've witnessed—finally relaxes. His scent wafts over you as he climbs between your legs, and you can feel the heat radiating from his hands as he parts your thighs, almost scalding.

He doesn't bother getting you ready, too needy to think rationally, but he doesn't have to anyway. You've been wet ever since you felt his mouth touch your wrist, hard ever since you heard him groan into it. You're equally desperate to get some relief as you feel his cockhead sliding against your opening, leaking all over your entrance as his slick drips onto your thighs. His breath shakes as he enters you, and he can't hear it with how you're muzzled—but you groan just as deeply as him at the tight stretch.

You hear him swear when you clench around him, watch him lean over you. His arms shake as he supports himself, refusing to succumb to his heat even as he chases his relief. You seek out his gaze (just as in your dreams, facing each other, intimate), and his neon eyes catch on your eyes for a brief, breathtaking second—

—before he looks away.

There's a flash of—you don't know what, maybe pain? Or fear?—in his irises as he does. A twitch of the brow, a tell he'd normally rather die than let slip. You have the realisation, as Aventurine moves inside you, that even while you're muzzled, even while he has complete control over you—he still can't stand having sex with you. Probably because he can't stand being in heat in general, you tell yourself. Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore. He'd have this reaction to anyone.

Still—you didn't expect him to have this reaction to you.

Your hands twitch, possessed by an old instinct to cover your eyes. But you'd probably scare Aventurine if you moved your arms, so all you do is dig your fingers into the sheets and squeeze them shut. You tell yourself again and again that he'd hate having sex with anyone in these circumstances—not just you. And then you tell yourself, as a desperate, broken moan leaves his branded throat, that he would also come inside anyone in these circumstances, caught within the cruel grip of his heat.

Aventurine stills inside you as he finishes. He pants, sweat dripping down his temple as he shudders in his ecstasy, his spend hot and thick inside you. You can feel his fever break as he comes down from his high, the heat coming off his body easing into a manageable warmth.

Do you feel better, you try to say, but you can't move your mouth while your mask is on. So you wait patiently for Aventurine to come back to himself, watching him carefully as he pulls out and rolls onto the mattress beside you. He finally glances at you then. His eyes narrow once they land on you, confusion flicking through them. Then displeasure. He reaches for the remote.

To your surprise, he immediately punches in the code to unlock your muzzle. Aventurine has apparently remembered the numbers after all these years, as if the moment he freed you has been since seared into his memory.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing you say, and Aventurine gives you a confused look. He’s still panting, dazed, so you ask, “Can I check your temperature?” And when he nods, you confirm your suspicion: he's still much too warm.

There is an ache between your legs and a strange hollow in your gut (because you aren't very experienced with receiving, you think—your body likely just isn't used to the feeling of it), but you quickly forget them. All you can think of is Aventurine, and how he’s still unwell, and how you need to comfort him. The instinct is so strong that you don't even say anything as you get up, straightening out your clothes.

“Are you leaving?” Aventurine asks. His voice is neutral, completely unbothered, but the thought is so horrific to you that you turn back to him with wide eyes.

“Of course not. I'm going to get you water and medicine.” A beat. You stare at Aventurine’s eyes, then think about how he hid them from you during sex. The hollow feeling comes back, but it's mostly eclipsed by your anxiety at the next thought: “...do you want me to leave?”

“Do you want to?”

“I—” I'd rather die, you think. Being forced to leave him right now would feel like tearing out a piece of yourself. You don't know if there's an alpha in this world who could leave their mate in the middle of a heat. And even if he is unmarked, unattached to you—you still think of yourself as his mate. (His, always his, even if he doesn't want you.) “I would prefer not to. I am your heat partner. I'm supposed to take care of you.”

You hear a quiet breath. “Right. Of course. You're always so conscientious.” Aventurine nods, as if convincing himself of something. “Try not to take too long.”

“I’ll come back soon,” you promise, and the air sweetens. Encouraged, you add, voice gentle: “I’ll bring that medication, and then we can have sex as many times as you need after I come back. I'll make sure you're not in any pain anymore.” You pause, studying him. “Is there anything else you need to feel better?”

His fragrance changes once more, this time in a way you don't totally recognize. “No.” His voice sounds strange. His scent is still foreign, fluctuating, possibly hinting at some kind of pain. The heat must be getting to him again—and of course it wasn't enough, what you just did, what you can provide. He likely needs to be filled to get any kind of lasting relief, but you left him empty. “No, that's all I want.”

You nod, forcing yourself to look calm. Ignoring the emptiness in your gut. It didn't feel bad, but you hope it'll feel better next time you have sex. You think it will. Alphas are supposed to be filled with an insatiable lust near omegas in heat, after all. And even though you’ve never felt that before—never felt anything sleeping with all those omegas in your mistress’ house—you are sure you'll eventually feel it around Aventurine.

But the feeling never comes. Even though you can tell that his heat has returned by the time you're back—sweat beading his temples, laboured breaths at his lips, his bottoms now discarded, with full evidence of arousal between his legs—you don't feel much of anything as you reach for your mask again.

“Don't,” Aventurine says, before it can clasp around your face. You give him a curious look. He explains, “Don't. I don't want to have sex again. Not yet.”

You stare at him, shifting. Uncomfortable. Uncertain. Not knowing how he wants to use you. “What can I do?”

He gives you a long look. “Come here. I… I want your scent gland.”

It's a sensible request. If there's a way to seek relief without fucking someone—without fucking you, which he clearly hated doing—you're sure Aventurine would prefer it. So you climb into his nest, holding your wrist out for him, and—

“No.” His voice is quiet. “I want the one on your neck.”

“...oh.”

You stand there, not sure where to move. If he wants you in his nest again, or if he’d rather do this standing. You’re relieved when he demands, “Lie down.”

You expect him to get on top of you when you do. Assume that he wants complete control—but he instead lies down beside you. Presses his body into yours, and then his face into your neck. His nose and lips brush against your scent gland, a full-body shudder running through him, and—

—and now you know for a fact that it is a lie that alphas want nothing other than to fuck an omega when they're in heat. Because even like this, with his lips sweet on your neck, with the sheets soaked with his slick, with his spend leaking out of you—you do not want to have sex with Aventurine. You only want to hold him. You only want him to keep scenting you. You only want to scent him back.

You only want him to feel safe.

You breathe in deeply, lungs flooded by honey. You think of what it felt like to hold him in that cold basement, when he was delirious with fever and pain, and you think about how different his scent is now. How much sweeter it is. How much calmer he feels.

“Do you feel better?” you ask, and he doesn't respond, but you know the answer. His hands come up to dig into your shirt, and he presses into you like you're a sweater in his nest. Silence blankets over you both, calm and warm. His laboured breath starts to improve.

He does eventually speak.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he says, “what you smell like?”

You stare at him. Your master used to say that you smelled good, but he'd never elaborated, and you hadn't wanted him to. “No.”

Aventurine breathes in.

“You smell like—” A little sigh, shaking and feverish, leaves him. “You smell like rain.”

Your eyebrows tick up. “Rain?”

“Yes. Or not just rain, but”—he pauses, next words quiet—“more Iike after it rains. You smell like the desert after a rainfall.”

“Oh.” You don't know what to say to that. Feeling distinctly like it's a silly question, you ask, “Is that a good scent?”

“Some would think so. Especially to people from the desert. You probably smell like a blessing to them. Although…”

Aventurine goes quiet again. You stare at the chandelier above you, all crystal and white gold, and wait.

“Although?” you prompt.

“...although I wouldn't really know,” he says. “It’s just a hunch. I bet it's why so many omegas on this planet like you.”

You couldn't care less about those other omegas. All you care about is Aventurine. “And?” you say. “Do you like my scent?”

His reply never comes. He just breathes deeply again, seeking relief from your neck—not intimacy. Any alpha’s scent would work; that doctor told you so. Any alpha’s touch would work, too. There are no special feelings involved here. Your place in the world is one of a tool, and tools are never especially liked nor disliked. Their value exists only in how they can be used.

You don't know why you even bothered to ask the question.

But then something strange happens: Aventurine curls against you, pressing even further into you. His lashes flutter against your pulse again; it ticks up in response, beating fast against his lips.

“I do,” he says quietly. “I do like it.”

You swallow. “But I guess that's because you're in heat. Any alpha would smell good to you, wouldn’t they?”

“No.” His fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt. “No, I like it because it's yours.”

You know better than to read too much into his response. Aventurine had already said it earlier: No foreign scents. He's only tolerating this whole arrangement because you don't smell unfamiliar to him. Only able to use you because you are the least threatening option.

But the words break something in you—break the thing that made you unable to throw out that little pouch of copper coins that you were saving up for Kakavasha’s freedom, the part of you that made you wear that carbon-steel mask for him. It is this part of you that has your eyes squeezing shut and your arms wrapping around him. You know he’ll recoil, reject you, but just this once—you need to try.

Aventurine doesn't push you away.

He melts into you instead, inhaling deeply. Your scent gland tingles with the warmth of his breath, the feeling of his lips. He seems—comfortable.

You can't fathom why he’s staying in your arms. Perhaps he's simply desperate for some kind of relief from his heat, just like when you held him in the basement while he was delirious from pain. But Aventurine had spoken to you with clarity just now, and his skin doesn't feel scalding so much as warm, and his scent is so different than from that moment. So sweet and so gentle, without a trace of fear. It makes your heart squeeze. As much as you've always wanted Aventurine to feel safe, you'd never imagined that his scent would be so beautiful when he is.

It makes your heart ache. You've never held anything so lovely before, and you’ve never felt so warm before, and it all makes up for how badly it hurt to let Aventurine inside you. How hollow it made you feel to let him use you. How none of that matters as long as you can keep him safe like this, because you belong to Kakavasha. You'll always belong to Kakavasha, in a fate that was chosen for you on the day you met him.

You're his, always his—even if he’ll never want you.

end part i

thank you so much to lore for hosting a fantastic collab and to my sponsors who funded this fic and got it over the finish line! please go check out @ficsforgaza to find other amazing hsr writers you can sponsor in order to help fundraise! here is my own wip list, if you are interested in seeing more from me!

and thank you most of all to YOU! I appreciate you so much for reading this chapter. thank you so much for sticking it through.

additional end notes

[signanothername]

Why do you like Killer?

*Cracks knuckles* get ready

I don’t like Killer, I fucking LOVE HIM

He’s my number 1 fave au sans and has been for a very long time

Now to be clear, I’m talking about canon Killer here, i have mixed feelings about some fanon interpretations, some are good and i genuinely love them, others not so much

That being said, let’s actually talk about why i love my beautiful amazing wonderful son <3333

(All art used in this post is by Killer’s creator: Rahafwabas)

The very first hook for me is his very concept, the mere idea of a sans basically agreeing to go on a killing spree after so many genocide runs is just *chef’s kiss*

Killer knew it was wrong, he knew he shouldn’t, yet he did

Killer doomed himself by his choice, he could’ve stayed as “sans” but he chose to accept Chara’s offer, yet his choice came to be after he saw no point in refusing anymore (important addition and a correction here)

The canon comics had Killer saying that he’s the way he is cause he gave up, he said “you won, you’re the reason I’m like this”, he’s been on so many genocide runs that he felt a little part of him die each run, only to give up and go on said killing spree

It’s interesting how the player is a big part of Killer’s story, cause whether Chara was involved or not, the player is the root cause of his suffering

But what i love the most is that regardless of his backstory or reasons, Killer’s actions led to their inevitable consequences, and it forever changed him

The biggest change? His very soul, it went from a normal monster soul to his signature target soul, infused with Determination, something that supposedly hurts monsters, it’s almost like his soul was infected with it, and you can see how it physically affects him with the black liquid that constantly comes out his eyes, nose and mouth, and even at times, that sludge is too much that he chokes on it

And the amusing yet tragic parallel? Killer aimed to “feel something new” by his genocide runs, only to end up not feeling anything at all, at least at his default stage 2

Which brings me to the concept of his soul’s stages

I love Killer’s stages so so much, it’s such a beautiful unique and wonderful concept

Killer’s individual stages are sooooo intriguing to me, it shows Killer in a different light each time depending on which stage he’s in, stage 1 is the closest he is to being “sans”, the closest to he used to be, he can feel emotions and is generally back to his more lazy bones attitude, as well as his ability to actually show sympathy, and feel the pain he’s always in, but what’s interesting is that regardless of the fact he’s the closest to his old self in this stage, it’s still so clear that Killer isn’t really “sans” anymore, that no matter what, he truly had changed in a way that can never be reversed, a point of no return, even when Color saves him, cause his new habits? His fears? His pain? His trauma? They can never be taken away, Killer has to live with the scars of what he experienced

Stage 2 is who he’d become, he can’t feel anything at this stage, emotions nonexistent, and his nonchalant behavior towards himself and others is most apparent here, a parallel I like to think of is that Killer’s inability to feel anything at all is almost like prolonged sensory deprivation, when you’re deprived of sensory input/ simulation for long periods, your brain needs compensate, and so it does its job, Killer’s soul prevents him from feeling so he resorts to other methods (usually very self destructive) to compensate for his lack of emotional capacity

I also really really love how that especially during stage 2, Killer isn’t trustworthy, cause in stage 1 you can actually trust him to an extent, in stage 2 Killer’s actions, behaviors and mindset are completely unpredictable, but not because he’s random, cause he’s actually extremely calculated, yet regardless, his carelessness when it comes to his own life and other people’s lives is dialed to an 11 here, so he could either choose to kill/attack or simply stay and listen

we even get an actual in depth look at how Killer’s mind works in one of the canon comics, in which Killer contemplates whether to attack Dream or not as he listens to his own stages in his head, one of which tells him to Kill Dream, while the other tells Killer to talk to Dream first

How Killer comes to a final decision on whether he attacks or not is something I believe his calculated mind makes depending on the situation and the pros/cons of what act he chooses, Killer is pretty smart, he knows when to let his trigger happy self out and when to settle down

Stage 3 or the “crazy stage” is the stage in which he’d attack anyone in his way whether friend or foe, we unfortunately don’t have much canon info regarding this stage, but that ain’t gonna stop me from analyzing the shit outta it (and talk about how i perceive it)

I like to think of this stage as the combination between stage 1 and 2, yet it’s almost like his soul can’t truly decide on which stage to settle on and by extension founding stage 3 as a separate stage by itself, Killer becomes extremely unstable at this stage, his soul moves rapidly and it’s obvious he’s in pain cause of it, whether that pain is just emotional or both physical and emotional isn’t really clear, yet i’d like to believe it’s both, and i feel like Killer’s capacity to attack anyone at this stage is related to that pain, and something I really love to believe is that Killer can’t calm down enough to settle back to stage 1 or 2 unless he either wears himself out by fighting someone, or he’s left alone to his own demons long enough to pull himself together, if he were to be forcefully restrained during this stage, it would only serve to make it worse and prolong the time he stays that way (cough something i may or may not have made a quick comic about but never shared as always vjvjvjj)

Not to mention, one of the canonical responses Killer gives when asked if he’s ok at stage 3 seems to make Killer alternate between answers he wants to give between saying he’s “fine” and “i don’t know” which makes sense, Killer isn’t stable at all, it’s almost like his stage 1 self and stage 2 self are fighting over who gets to talk (stage 2 seems more dominant)

Yet the fact Killer is able to answer and comprehend his surroundings enough at this stage is very intriguing to me, cause it shows how much Killer is able to handle/endure (which is A LOT cause damn) and not only that, but it also gives us a very clear difference between this stage and stage 4

As for stage 4?? Woooh boi, it’s the stage I like to call “plunging into darkness”

We also don’t have much canon info about this stage, but one of the things i find interesting is the fact Killer deliberately keeps it a secret from everyone, when he tells Color about his stages, he only tells him up to stage 3, never bringing up stage 4, only for Chara to sneer at Killer that he shouldn’t keep it from his new BFF

It’s obvious Killer himself is very uncomfortable with the subject of stage 4, it’s apparent that it’s a stage that he rarely gets to, but it still bothers him enough to not want to even mention it, which makes sense, cause the comic we had of stage 4 shows that Killer gets to that stage when he’s reminded of all the murders he committed, and unsurprisingly, when he’s reminded of his brother, as what triggered this stage is actually a memory of Papyrus telling Sans to “see a puzzle”, only to be followed by memories of screams of anger, fear, and hatred of those he killed immediately afterwards, stage 4 is heavily related to his trauma

Not to mention it’s clear that when Killer gets to stage 4 he blacks out, he’s completely unaware of anything he does during this stage, and is only left to deal with the aftermath when he gets back to his senses, the fact it’s also a stage that seems to be “getting worse” is something that Killer definitely seems to hate

It sometimes makes me think whether Killer had gotten into trouble cause he killed someone Nightmare wanted alive while at this stage, cause with how he keeps it a secret, I’d assume Nightmare would be unaware of it for a while (comic idea perhaps >:) )

But y’know what’s better than talking about the stages?? Talking about Killer’s personality, behaviors and trauma

Killer can’t distinguish between what’s real or not, and it’s obvious he sometimes sees the world in the third person, as in he’s not completely there at times, not to mention the amount of voices he hears in his head, from his stages talking to him to hallucinations of Chara, Frisk and Papyrus, and oooh boi does he hate these hallucinations, the past obviously haunts Killer and it’s something he tries running away from constantly, yet he can never truly run from it when it follows him everywhere

Killer has a smile on his face most the time, but his attitude changes especially when Chara is mentioned, or when he’s reminded of his past in any way, he literally avoids food that reminds of his past life as “sans”, he freezes up at certain phrases such as “best friend” (something i also made a comic about that i never shared chchhchc)

He just absolutely hates to be reminded of the person he used to be, of all the things he used to have, cause in truth? They were all taken away from him by his own hands, only to be then forced to work under Nightmare, who only ensures that he never finds peace of mind

And the sad part? Killer let’s all those things hurt him, he lets Nightmare have his way with him, he lets Chara torment him, cause he thinks he deserves it, and most importantly, he deluded himself into believing that this is what he wants because it’s what everyone else wants, because it’s what the player wants

Killer even sometimes tries to force himself not to feel anything, cause come on, since when does he feel anything at all?

Killer, to put it bluntly, hates himself, and he thinks that his suffering is the Karma of what he’s done, and even at one point, he was going to erase himself out of existence cause he believed that’s what he deserved, as in Killer thought of himself as unworthy when it comes to Papyrus, that his brother doesn’t need him, that his brother is better off without him, hell he even tells Color that he needs to kill him if he ever reaches stage 3, it’s an obvious “ i want someone to put me outta my misery” attitude

Killer feels hopeless, and so he lets himself suffer thinking he can’t ever find peace or hope again

Yet the interesting part? You’d never know that Killer hates himself unless you’re a being of emotions (Nightmare and Dream) or someone who’s perceptive enough to notice Killer’s self-loathing like Color, that’s how good of an actor Killer can be, you’d think he’s a cold emotionaless killer but the truth only shines to those who actually can see through his act

Killer just has that amazing character depth and his story is genuinely so unique and beautiful, cause you in his story you can find details of other details within the details vhvhvjvj

All that? Mixed with really adorable little things like his love for cats, his silly attitude, his nonchalance with Nightmare, his capacity to be social with whoever, and his friendship with color? That is why I love Killer Anon <33333

[kajibunny]

helloooo! I recently watched Wind Breaker and now I'm hooked. The guys and their interactions with one another are very interesting. I also recently stumbled upon your blog and found your fics adorable 🥰 If it's fine with you and if you accept requests, can you please write how will the Bofurin (particularly Sakura, Suo, and Ume) and Shishitoren (Togame and Choji) guys react seeing their fem s/o suffering during their period? Thank youuuu 🐢💖💖

⋆｡˚☁︎˚how the wind breaker boys take care of you ｡☽˚⋆ (on your period)

✿ featuring: haruka sakura, hajime umemiya, hayato suo, jo togame, choji tomiyama  ✿ contains: comfort headcanons, f!reader (some mentions of lady parts), fluff overload  ✿ a/n: as a fellow girlie, i know firsthand how stressful periods can be so hopefully these sweet wb boys comforting you will help you get through your time of the month, cutie!! thank you for this wholesome request and for supporting my writing! mwaahugs for you（╹◡╹）♡ ✿ wc: 1.3k

ʚɞ sakura -

ꕤ panics because periods are a foreign thing to him like what do you mean you're bleeding down there? does it hurt? are you alright? are you at risk of anemia? 

ꕤ the only bleeding he's experienced are from fights and those hurt alot so for sure he's worried about you feeling any pain.

ꕤ he does his best to not bother you during these times, but is dying to ask you how you are. he is all over you, staying by your side and following you around like a stray cat, trying to get the words to say. eventually he settles with a: "do...you need anything from me?" and you ask him if he can go out and buy you some pads.

ꕤ just stands frozen stiff at the period products aisle, all the blood rushing to his face (pun intended) when a sales person at the grocery store asked him if he needed help with anything. 

ꕤ he also shoves different kinds of medicines he bought from the pharmacy into your hands (aww he still thought the bleeding was causing you pain) 

ꕤ "sakura! what is this? are you a drug dealer?" you laugh at your boyfriend's embarrassed face and hugged him tightly. "don't worry, baby! i'm okay." you reassure him and gave him an orientation on periods 101. poor baby was blushing the whole time as if you had just given him a sex ed talk, because you had to mention your lady parts for the sake of educating him. sakura definitely tried his hardest not to think about it (and failed).

ʚɞ umemiya -

ꕤ has an idea of what a period is, from his experience of being a big brother to lots of little sisters at the place he grew up in.

ꕤ he looked like a sad little puppy when you told him you were feeling under the weather because of your cramps - it was like he was in pain anytime that you were too.

ꕤ prepares a care package for you of all the essentials with a card featuring a bunch of drawings of vegetables with the words: "peas get well soon, here are some words of encourage-mint, i love you from my head to-ma-toes! kisses, hajime." on it. you found it so cute and hilarious that your boyfriend had the time to even do this between his planting, leading bofurin and taking care of the townspeople, and you love him so much for it!

ꕤ he brings it personally to you and upon seeing you, he immediately dotes on you: "my sweet, gorgeous angel, love of my life, how are you feeling?"

ꕤ also brings you the best, most luscious harvests from his garden, and whips up his special umemiya soup incorporating these ingredients just for you! 

ꕤ brings you so much food you're probably stocked for life! he had to beg kotoha to let him have take out of your favorite food from pothos so that you could rest in bed and she only made an exception because you two were practically besties and she had to clarify multiple times that she was doing this for you to help you feel better and not for him lol

ꕤ umemiya is overall just the best boyfriend you could ever ask for! always with you through thick and thin.

ʚɞ suo -

ꕤ knows you're especially emotionally sensitive during your time of the month, so to calm you, he gently strokes your hair, presses a hot compress to your tummy and kisses your forehead as he lays you down on his lap, speaking to you softly, as if you were a baby. "shhh, it's okay, where does it hurt? let me take care of it for you." (his tone while saying "let me take care of it for you", sounded like he was going to take someone out for you but that's just how suo is and you found it kind of hilarious.) 

ꕤ will brew you his special blend of herbal tea to help with your cramps! 

ꕤ if you are feeling particularly down, he'll bring his favorite teacakes and organize a tea party with you so you can talk to him and open up about your feelings that day. enjoys listening to you rant and vent while he spoon feeds you some of his teacake. (knowing suo, only you get to eat the food. he just listens and watches you with a smile on his face. when does he ever eat?) 

ꕤ suo is so dependable! he knows you're going through a lot already, so of course he gives you the princess treatment - everything you want, he makes it happen in a snap. you don't get to lift a finger, not on his watch. a warm bubble bath? check. lots of hugs and kisses? check. heating pads? check. your favorite meal from your favorite food place? check. you're not sure how he gets all these done so fast but it's hayato suo, and efficiency is his middle name.

ʚɞ togame -

ꕤ his first instinct is always to take care of you and provide you with everything you need. (what can i say, this man's a great provider)

ꕤ whenever it's your time of the month, he is at your service, spending more time with you than with choji during this season. (choji understands and it's okay with him since you needed togame more at the moment.) 

ꕤ offers to go out and buy pads for you but is the type to ask what size your kitty is (lmao it's the thought that counts) 

ꕤ togame loves pampering you with a nice and relaxing bath, making sure the water temperature is just right, as he soaks in with you and rubs your sore areas like your neck and your back. (and other sore areas).

ꕤ his massively tall figure (i mean, he's 6'2" holy-) engulfs you in warmth and comfort during the night, making you feel much better while he cuddles you, whispering sweet nothings and affirmations about how beautiful you are, how much he adores you, how you mean the world to him, all while he presses many kisses to your face and lulls you to sleep. 

ʚɞ choji -

ꕤ he's a curious guy, so naturally he'd be asking you all sorts of questions about your period, what it is, how it started, what do you experience, how did you react when you first got it, why do only women have it, how often and when do you get it, and the likes. 

ꕤ he pays very close attention to you while you patiently explained these things to him and answered his inquiries. choji reacts with attentive nods and "oh, i see"s. he's very understanding and wants to absorb as much information as possible so that he can take care of you with lots of love and warmth like the ray of sunshine that he is.  

ꕤ buys you lots of chocolates and sweets - all different types, colors, flavors, you name it! baby boy likes to spoil you. 

ꕤ choji loves seeing you wear his cotton t-shirts with cute designs on them during your time of the month because you like how comfy and breatheable they are to lounge around in. 

ꕤ so protective of you! you're like his little cub, and he's always watching over you during these times, constantly checking in, popping his head in between your doorway to ask if you need anything, as well as making sure you're alive and feeling well. 

[lady-phasma]

Captivated

The Vampire Armand x gn!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, some biting, mention of blood, smut, spit as lube, penetration but no gender mentioned.

Summary: You decide to go home with Armand, PWP, 3.1k words

a/n: human reader (not a vampire) but not described (inclusive!reader), no specified location, probably not Dubai, modern but no time stated however I decided vampires have announced themselves (like late TVC book canon), I headcanon Armand as a sub but to make this an inclusive gn reader he’s a bit of a switch.

Special thanks to the amazing @aemondsbabe for all the help listening to ideas and letting me fangirl!

You followed him down the hallway. The apartment building was modern and austere. Your footsteps echoed off the bare walls. The liminal quality of the empty space at this early-late hour was unnerving and exhilarating. Everyone in the building asleep except the two of you. Armand walked slowly, but still a few steps ahead of you. He could feel your anxiety, but he could also feel your curiosity. It intrigued him.

Armand unlocked and opened the door, holding it for you to enter after he had stepped inside. The air was cool and made you shiver, compounding your exhilaration. A nagging part of your mind still wondered what you could possibly be thinking, accepting an offer to come back to a vampire’s home with him. When the door closed and locked behind you the sense of dread seemed to deepen momentarily. Then you felt Armand’s hand on your lower back. You exhaled. He stepped in front of you and his gentle smile and calm face soothed your trepidation. You pulled your eyes up from his lips to meet his gaze. His smile reached the corners of his eyes and made you feel… safe? Before you had time to decide if that was the feeling he spoke.

“Shall I make you a drink?” He moved away from you, sliding his hand from your back to your hip and then walking away. “I make a lovely martini.” His voice trailed behind him. You stepped out of your fear and walked toward him. He eyed the shape of your body under your clothes as you approached. He hadn’t intended to meet anyone tonight and was predominately a creature of habit, but you had approached him so confidently. It was difficult to dismiss you.

“I, um,” you cleared your throat. “No, thank you. I almost had too many at the bar. Maybe a glass of water, if you don’t mind that is.”

“Of course not,” he smiled at you again. That smile had drawn you across the bar to him, that and his presence. He commanded any room he was in by being the most mysterious yet unassuming person in it. It was easy to not notice him at first, but when you had looked closer you felt a magnetic pull. You only acted on it when he gave you that exact smile.

You looked around the large room, kitchen and living room open and uncluttered. Ice clinked in a glass behind you, water poured over it, not from the tap. Bottled water, of course. You smiled briefly. Before you could register the sound of his footsteps he was beside you. You took the glass he offered and sipped. Your mouth was dry, but not from thirst. You licked water from your lips and saw him watching. His eyes were the only unnerving part of him. They caught you off guard if you looked away from him for too long. But when he looked at you like that they were beguiling and you wondered what he was thinking. It was more than hunger. You both knew that.

You set your glass on the countertop and walked toward the plate glass window. The view was spectacular, expensive. You marveled at the city lights, pretending to be more interested in them than in Armand. You tried desperately to keep your nerves under control, but it was little use.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” You jumped a bit as he spoke. His voice was soft, but you hadn’t heard him approach this time. “I enjoy seeing the movement of humans around me. Thriving, suffering, toiling, never quite satisfied so they strive for more greatness. Cities have always enchanted me, that ambition is better seen nowhere else.”

“Do you have a favorite?” You turned to look at him. He stared out the window but he was no longer seeing.

“Yes,” he replied dreamily. “Venice. But not the Venice you will ever know. Venice was once the most beautiful place on earth for me.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “We didn’t come here to talk of Venice, did we?”

You swallowed dryly as he turned to look at you. There was a moment’s hesitation, Armand waiting, you deciding, then you stepped toward him and placed your hand on his waist. He smiled again, but this one didn’t reach his eyes. Moving with slow deliberation, he brushed his fingers across your cheek and down your neck. Your lips parted and his eyes flicked down, then back up to yours. His gravity was too strong, his allure too overwhelming. His fingers slid to the back of your neck and you leaned forward. Your lips barely touched his at first. Then he closed the distance. His fingers tightened on the back of your neck. A small moan escaped your mouth and you stopped the impulse to slide your hand to his back and pull his body against yours. Something about this man made you want to wait, be patient, savor him.

Instead you ran your tongue over his bottom lip as you kissed, begging for entrance. He allowed it. You felt one of his fangs and almost pulled back at the sensation. But when he moaned you crushed your lips against his, spurred on by his response to the faint taste of copper from the scratch on your tongue. Armand’s free hand flew to your hip, fingers digging in through your clothing as he kissed you back fiercely. He felt the stirrings of human desire begin after the taste of your blood. It was never as satisfying as drinking, but it was more than merely pleasant. He wanted as much from you as you were willing to give but he would not allow himself to rush. He was ancient and patient. But he could be insistent and he encouraged you with his hands, his mouth. The press of his tongue against yours, the coolness of his lips slowly warming from your heat, the way he clenched and unclenched his fingers on your skin, made the ache in your core begin to coil tighter like a spring. Then he slowly began to pull back from you. You opened your eyes, lightheaded from need.

With some hesitation, you raised your hand to his cheek, cupping it in your palm. Armand almost closed his eyes before you moved your hand to his jaw, his neck. Your fingers delved into his hair, tangling in the curls, and you tugged gently. He lifted his chin. You placed your mouth against the cool skin of his neck, feeling his pulse beneath your lips. You let your teeth graze him and he inhaled sharply. You pressed your teeth harder into the unyielding flesh. His hands pulled at you, finally molding your bodies together. The familiar longing tugged at Armand’s chest. He allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of your teeth. Though they were harmless, impotent, he felt a rush from your mouth on his neck to the base of his spine. You fisted more of his dark curls in your fingers as you bit down. His hand trailed down your neck, your arm, your side. He had both his hands on your hips, kneading steadily. You moaned. His strength was obvious, but he had tempered it, restrained it. You weren’t sure if you wanted his restraint.

As you slid your mouth down his neck, letting your teeth drag against him, you moved your hand to the small of his back. When you rolled your hips against him that fantastic ache surged in you again. You lifted your head and exhaled. You looked at him as you pulled your fingers out of his hair and rested your hand on his shoulder. His eyes had a mournful quality for a moment, then his countenance shifted and he began to guide you backward to the couch. For only an instant he had been disappointed that you were human, that you could not finish what you had started. He knew you had seen it, but he pushed it aside, choosing to revel in your warmth and mortality. Your calves hit the cushions, but he didn’t let you sit yet. He released you from his grip and stepped back. He raised one eyebrow.

You felt your face go hot as understanding dawned. Slowly, you removed your shirt, watching Armand’s face. You toed off your shoes and slid your pants off. As you stood in front of him, naked, a tendril of anticipation swept from your chest to your core. He took you in with a quick glance. The need in his veins had finally settled at the base of his cock. He began to unbutton his shirt as he stepped closer to you. You slipped your hands inside his open shirt and gently pushed it off his shoulders while he unfastened his belt and trousers. He let your fingers rove over his chest and stomach as he finished undressing. But the moment he was done, before you could catch more than a glimpse of his sculpted form, he crashed into you. Still not using his full strength, he pushed you back onto the sofa. He didn’t let you fall, you glided back, feeling nearly weightless. He wouldn’t hurt you, but what he had thought might not happen with a human was suddenly overwhelming.

Armand’s skin was cool against yours, but it felt amazing. Your hands roamed eagerly over his body as he kissed your neck, your shoulder, your chest. You dug your fingers into his shoulder blades as he brushed his lips across your nipples. You could hear your heart pounding and fleetingly wondered what it might sound like to him. This thought was torn out of your mind when you felt his hand move between you. You groaned and bit your bottom lip as his fingers found the root of your arousal. The last few moments had passed so quickly that you had barely registered the increasing need you felt. But now your attention was focused on his fingers moving between your thighs, as well as the feeling of his cock, hard against your belly. His soft sighs were barely audible as he continued licking and kissing you. You ran your hand through his hair, drug your nails down his neck, and elicited a moan from him that vibrated through you. You pushed your hips against his hand and felt sudden, overwhelming urgency.

“Armand…” you said his name breathlessly.

“Yes?” The single word muffled by your skin against his mouth. You moaned quietly, summoning the courage to say it outright. You thought you felt him smile. Then his hand sped up and you fought the urge to beg. You could think of one thing and one thing only.

“Please,” there was a tinge of whininess in your voice, but only a little. You dropped your voice lower. “Please fuck me.”At this he looked up at you. His expressive face, curtained by his disheveled hair, fueled your need for him.

“As you wish,” he almost grinned.

When he moved his hand to your hip you felt disappointment tempered only by anticipation. You didn’t want him to stop. His touch was feather-light as he slid one hand behind your thigh. In the same fluid movement he sat up to kneel between your legs. Exhilaration rippled through your stomach. He held your gaze as he pursed his lips and slowly dripped spit into his upturned palm. You licked your lips and writhed involuntarily. Unhurried and languidly, he stroked his cock, his hand gliding easily along his length. Even in the dim light you could see the precum as he swiped his thumb across the tip. You seemed to lift your hips each time he slid his foreskin back. Armand watched you, enjoyed drawing out your need for a few more agonizing moments. He could be infinitely patient. You could not. Your human desire for him was as attractive to him as you, your body, your presence.

Armand’s eyes slowly moved down your body. It was excruciating. The wait was interminable. You wanted to put your hands on him again, to feel his skin on yours. You both watched as he moved his hand to you, fingers deftly finding their destination. You arched your back and your hands scrabbled to find purchase on the couch. A small smirk had crept onto his face. You barely noticed. He leaned forward and grazed the head of his cock between your legs. Your breath came in short pants. You desperately reached for him as he propped himself over you, one hand on the couch by your head, the other guiding himself into you.

Armand exhaled a soft grunt. You looked up at his face, caught his gaze just before he closed his eyes. He slid his hand across your hip and pulled your leg to his side. You almost held your breath as he hooked his arm behind your knee. He was focused entirely on the exquisite feeling of sliding into you. With preternatural control, he didn’t rush. You snaked a hand into his hair and pulled his mouth down onto yours. He quite enjoyed allowing you to move him around and your urgency was intoxicating. But he could be patient enough for you both.

“Oh god,” you moaned as you broke from the kiss. You didn’t open your eyes to look at him, all your senses were concentrated on how deep he was inside you. “You feel so good Armand. I… I want…”

“Yes, you want me to hurry,” he finished for you. He made a sound that was half amusement, half resignation. “Not yet.”

His slow strokes were intense, each one bringing him closer to being fully inside you. Your hands itched to grab his ass and pull his hips into yours, but it would have been futile. Instead, you tightened your hand in his hair and lifted your lips to his again. Your other hand stroked his chest and arm, his side, and up his back. As he slid into you again, his hips keeping a steady rhythm, you could barely kiss him, doing little more than holding your open mouth against his. You dropped your head back down and looked up at him. He was watching you. For the second time this night your face flooded with heat. You held his gaze and moved your hips in time with his., gauging his reaction. He knew better than to loose control with a human, but the captivating way you looked at him almost fractured his resolve. When his hips met yours again, he stopped and ground into you. A groan came from deep in your throat as you tilted your head back. Armand watched as your neck was bared to him, watched your pulse race. With more restraint than most, he kissed the hollow of your shoulder, moving up to the side of your neck. This slight motion pushed him deeper inside you. You panted and tried to roll your hips against him.

“Mm-mm,” he chastised, lips still pressed against your neck. Supporting himself on one hand, he slid the other between your bodies again. The first touch of his fingers was electrifying. Armand was enjoying your reactions immensely. Yes, you felt amazing around his cock, but bringing these sounds from your lips and these responses from your body did more to spur him on. His tempo increased in time with the movement of his hand. He kissed you higher up on your neck, lips passing over your ear, against your cheek. His long but quick strokes hit that spot, that delicious spot, that could bring you to the edge so easily. You could think of nothing but his cock and his hand. Even his mouth was nearly forgotten until he spoke.

“That’s it,” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek again. “You’re doing so very well.” You moaned beneath him, arching your back, trying to get there, but you didn’t quite know where there was. Then Armand paused, only for a beat, and thrust forward again, fully into you. Now he was relentless, not rough but quick, keeping metronomic time. Something you had never experienced with a human. He was controlled, determined, and truly enjoying himself. He felt you clench around him and groaned into your ear. You dug your fingers into any part of him you could find as the beginnings of your climax twisted at the point where he thrust into you so steadily, but so wonderfully.

“Cum for me,” he breathed. At first you weren’t sure you heard him, then his hand sped up and the crest of your building orgasm broke. You gasped his name, breathed curses into his dark, tangled curls, and gave into the overwhelming sensations. You tried to catch your breath, but Armand didn’t stop. He pushed through your orgasm, drawing it out until he felt your body begin to relax. You shuddered as he withdrew his hand. You were too far gone, too blissful, to notice at first that he had begun moving a bit faster. The sound of his skin against yours was lewd and fantastic. You were sure you couldn’t stand this overstimulation any longer when you felt his hips falter, slow, then stop. Armand groaned and buried his face in your neck as he slid his arm from under your leg.

Your hip felt like molten lead as you lowered your leg. You had a brief moment of near-delirium when you thought that such human problems would be long behind Armand now. You stifled your laughter with a deep breath. He raised his head to look at you. You smiled and caressed his cheek. Somehow he looked younger, more at peace for a moment. He pulled back slightly and you flinched at the renewed stimulation. You prepared yourself for the inevitable. Cautiously, watching as he did so, he pulled out and guided your leg to one side. As he lay down on the couch, you rolled over to make room for him. He pressed himself against the back of the sofa and pulled you into him. His arm was warm and heavy draped around your chest.

Armand sighed as you nestled your ass against him. He curled an arm under his head to make room for you and inhaled deeply. You scent was powerful now and it reminded him of your fragility all of a sudden. He cherished that even after all these years. That a human could draw such experiences from him continued to surprise him. He drew you slightly closer to his chest. You had no thoughts at all except the feeling of his body against your back, his arm around you. You wanted to say something, anything, but words would not come. You lifted his hand to your mouth, kissed it, then laid it back across your chest.

Masterlist

[antoncyng]

౨ৎ. SUFFERED - h.sh

synopsis - dreaming about his presence started to hurt again, so it was time to finally watch the VHS.

genre / warning(s) - angst, mentions of death, somewhat based off of 20th century girl, vhs tape is different tho, flashbacks based in 1999

word count - 1.0k (first fic to hit 1k???)

author’s note - this fic is for @cupidhoons because this woman wanted her heartbroken so what better way than to make it about seunghan :33 love u liz! want to read m0re . . ? cl1ck here !

24 YEARS.

24 years was the length you’ve had to suffer without the love of your life by your side.

waking up from this dream was a nightmare, the more you tried to reach out and save him, the farther you would get. it was so hard to accept the fact he was gone, no matter how long it’s been.

the words spilling out of his bestfriend’s mouth still and always will break your heart, deny deny deny was all your mind could comprehend.

7.18.00 6:45 PM

“what do you mean? seunghan isn’t dead.. he’s on a family trip!” all the excuses you could think of spewed out of your mouth with tears running down your face.

“no.. no yn. he isn’t on a family trip, he never went on a family trip. just accept it, he isn’t with us anymore, how would it make sense to go on a family trip if his family came home? he died yn, he died after his surgery. it was guaranteed he would’t live for more than a month, so he did it himself. he left this for you.” sohee did the best he could keeping himself together as well, not wanting to make your situation worse.

he kept quiet and gave you a VHS tape, only to walk away soon after, it looked like he wanted to say something to you(?).

HOW could this be? it only felt like a few weeks ago that seunghan was by your side, holding your hand as you two walked along the beach together, laughing the night away together as the world blurred around the two of you. when you were together, everything just felt right.

now, it feels like nothing would feel right ever again.

6.11.24 4:37 AM

it felt so real. sweat coated your forehead and parts of your body, your breathing grew heavy by the minute, your eyes shot open with water growing in them.

you tried so so hard to reach out for seunghan, but it just looked like the more you stepped closer to him, the further he would walk away. your fingertips touched, and his body slowly started to fade away. all you could do was cry, trying to scream but nothing would come out as you watched seunghan step further into the distance with an emotional smile on his lips, you swore he had a tear running down his face. why did it feel so real?

it hurt, it hurt like someone had just ripped your heart out of your chest and walked away so emotionless. what was so scary or hard that he couldn’t tell you?

you got out of bed, walking towards your desk and opened the drawer, pulling out the VHS tape sohee gave you 24 years ago, you never pulled yourself enough to throw it away. slipping it into the player, the video started to play.

sitting back in your chair, you didn’t know what to expect. a song started playing, it rang in your ears like a shooting star of nostalgia.

“are you alright? how are you doing these days? are you crying again..”

you heard his singing voice call out to you, it brought you to tears.

“because i’m not there? we used to chat a lot, now i don’t see your fine face..”

he appeared on the screen, guitar in his hands as his face focused on the strings, the tears slipped out of your eyes. he’s still the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen, the most beautiful person you’ll ever meet.

the song stopped. a few clips of the beach you two always walked on together showed, there were clips of the places you loved to bring him to. you were shown clips of yourself falling asleep in an empty classroom, seunghan’s voice in the back.

“look at this girl, she told me she would stay behind during lunch to study..”

more clips were shown, memories were flooding your mind. then it cut to a scene on the beach, it seemed like the phone was set up.

and there he was again, your beautiful boy. just the sight of him on the old tv had your heart melting, he was just so pretty.

“hi yn. if you’re seeing this, you must be very angry with me.” he started off, chuckling dryly. “i recorded this before i went to the u.s. for my surgery, and you must already know the result. i’m sorry i can’t tell you, i would if i really could, but everything is too much for the both of us and i figured it would be better for your life in the future to figure out like this.”

he read off of a piece of paper like a script, clearing his throat as he was already getting emotional just from reading the next words. tears were already flowing out of your eyes, but you couldn’t stop watching the tape.

“i know living without each other is hard after sticking together for so long, i want you to know i truly love you so much, but there’s a reason that i could not tell you about the guaranteed result of my surgery. i don’t think i’ll tell you that now, maybe in another century?” he dryly laughs again, before looking back at the sunset behind him.

“its nice seeing this view again before i leave, i wish i could see it with you. you’re busy a lot but i understand that, i just wish i could spend just a few more hours with you.” his voice makes it obvious he’s starting to tear up, before turning back to the camera with teary eyes like he’s about to end the video.

“but don’t worry too much, i’ll make a pretty sunset and sunrise for you so you don’t have to suffer too much without me, how does that sound? i hope you’re saying good behind this screen..” he tries to cheer himself up with a smile, distracting you from the tears rolling down his face.

“i love you so much, i’ll see you again soon. don’t suffer too much, okay?” he says, waving with his sweet smile before the video ends and the old tv audio starts buzzing again.

but what seunghan will always know, is how much you already suffered without his presence.

🤍. ————————————

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL | antoncyng 061624

thank u for reading !! i hope u didn’t get too sad :pp ending is kinda bad because i’m bad at ending stories but whatever ><

perm taglist - @lcvclywon @jlheon @jwsdoll @ohmydollie @cupidhoons @junislqve @hyeinism @copyhanni @onlyjjong @seoktized (?)

[animeyanderelover]

For my Second request, of 10 random yandere of your choosing, being involved with a gang member female s/o who hides the fact she’s part of another gang from her yandere. She hides the fact she’s part of a gang due to several reasons: she feels a sense of connection and community with her gang, she feels obligated to be loyal to them as her gang had saved her and accepted her, she doesn’t want to be judged by her yandere that she is a part of a gang, and she knows with how stubborn/passionate their yandere is they will try to get involved and she wants to avoid that. With this reasons in mind, she tries to hide it, however, she sucks at lying, so whenever she gets injured, she basically tells them the truth but skips over the fact that since she’s part of a gang, she got it from fighting. But she’s says everything so cheerfully and obliviously, as if it’s no big deal. Such as “oh, this bruise on my arm? Some guy on a motorcycle tried to hit me on the head with a steel pipe, but I caught it (totally not the fact a rival gang member tried to jump Me)” or “oh my broken leg? That’s due to some guy trying to shank me at the side of the street, but don’t worry I kicked them to Valhalla!! (totally not from a group fight where a rival gang member played dirty)” It eventually reaches a point where she becomes hospitalized, but she cheerfully insists that she fell down the stairs, but the yandere by then already knows something is up.

I'm so sorry but this request is low-key Tokyo Revengers coded so this entire post is just characters from Tokyo Revengers. I only wrote about 7 characters since I've been under stress with my most recent exams so I hope that isn't too bad.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive relationship, obsession, clinginess, manipulation, bribery, violence, injuries, isolation, female s/o

Gang member s/o who sucks at lying

Hanagaki Takemichi

👊​You'd think being part of Toman and having been part of countless battles would have hardened him against violence, especially because he himself has tanked quite a lot of heavy punches and kicks in fights. Any trace of normality has been thrown out of the window ever since he discovered his ability to travel back in time and he has most certainly been misguided by believing that you could provide him with a lingering sense of regularity. Seriously, with the way his life has been shaping what was he even thinking? Normally someone who is on the easier spectrum of being portentially manipulated by his darling since he is a simp, Takemichi recognises occuring injuries you suffer from all too well. His heart always drops when you appear with a new broken limb or injury, though by now he at least doesn't collapse out of shock like he did the first time he saw your horrendous condition. He's seen those wounds before and he has been in a similar position as you before. You can't fool him this time, as lovesick as he may be.

👊​His initial reaction would be to beg you to stop with the way you are living but he is surprisingly self-reflective enough to realise after his initial panic that it would be quite hypocritical of him to ask you to leave your gang whilst he himself has risked his life multiple times for Toman before. To top it all, he knows just how stubborn and scary you can be if you are told to do something against your will, even he is frightened of you when you get mad though it's somewhat sexy too. He turns to people like Chifuyu and Draken to ask them about other gangs they know about besides Toman to figure out in which gang you are even in and as a Division Leader and essentially another head of Toman overall, he does what he can to ensure that you will never get into a fight with Toman and him. Whilst he hasn't seen you fight just yet, judging from how well you deal with injuries he can tell that you are quite robust but he'd rather get beaten up bloody before he has to see you getting hurt in front of him.

👊​He eventually breaks down when he receives news that you had to get hospitalised due to a recent brawl that escalated. He goes down on his knees, begging you to stop with this as he is mentally beating himself up for not having done more to prevent this from happening. Takemichi has a habit of thinking that he has to shield everything by himself as the time traveler and for that beats himself all the more up when something terrible happens as he sees it as his sole fault for not having done more. He starts gearing up to finally take direct action. His route is initially surprisingly diplomatic as he offers your gang to work together as he wants to protect you in future fights either himself or by knowing that there are capable guys he trust involved in the fight yet a rejection won't be accepted in his vocabulary. Always one prone to attempting to do everything on his own, he's probably going to ask for a fight with your leader, even if they are a better fighter than him. No matter how heavy their punches are though, he always gets back up, desperate for them to accept his conditions and not caring what happens to him in the process.

Sano Manjiro

🦶​There is no way to deteriorate Mikey's obsession into something leaning into his dark impulses faster than a darling as reckless as you. It is in a way almost laughable how oblivious you can be to the obvious signs of it all as you give him that carefree grin, reminiscent of the one he always has when he is in a relaxed and playful mood. Only that he does not reciprocate your grin, dark eyes widening as he looks at the cast plastered over your broken leg before dulling when you chirp cheerfully that a few guys ganged up on you. Your half-baked reassurance that you broke the nose of one of the guy and are responsible for a broken jaw of another one does not heal the growing hole in his heart. Instead he steps closer to you, hands grasping your shoulders in a tight hold as he asks you in a flat tone to tell him who did this to you, his grip tightening the longer he stares at the cast. You only get a few seconds to assure him that you dealt with them yourself before he cuts you off quickly. Answer his question. Who. Did. This. To. You.

🦶​Even Draken is astonished with the sheer outrageous lies you conjure up whenever a new bruise or cast appears on your body yet you insist cheerfully every time that it was a stupid coincidende or accident. It really isn't hard to deduce that you are also involved with a gang and brawl regularly with them and that knowledge only has Mikey seething with rage even more. His mind is filled with dark thoughts of murdering every piece of shit who kicked and punched you to the point where some members have caught him mumbling about his horrific fantasies, deeply stuck in his thoughts that he didn't even notice them standing there and looking at him mildly terrified. Another emotion that crawls up his spine after the revelation though is one that is a much sharper and stinging pain. Betrayal. Betrayal that you chose to keep your gang life a secret from him and betrayal that you chose them over him. He would have gladly let you join Toman if you would have asked him. Sure, he wouldn't have let you fight but he would have taken you with him anywhere. Why do you stay loyal to your gang still? He's your boyfriend...

🦶​Paranoia gets the best of him as he fears that you would choose them over him. It is a thought that dominates his heart and mind with fear and growing dark urges. Mikey normally is a person who doesn't want to show any weakness around others yet it is a different story with you. He demands of you to leave your gang and just join his instead so that you two can always be with each other and so that he can guarantee that no bastard harms you ever again yet it is when you firmly refuse that he snaps. Your rejection and affirmation of your loyalty to your gang essentially confirms his paranoia that you value them more than him and would drop him for them. With nothing able to hold him back, he drowns in his obsession and goes after your own gang with Toman, irrational to the point where no one can stop him. The final nail in the coffin is your hospitalisation that convinces him that your gang isn't even capable of protecting you. Toman assaults your gang whilst you lay in the hospital and Mikey takes on your leader, merciless and brutal even after they are down before he tells them with blank eyes that from now on you belong to his gang and that they'd do better to stay away from you.

Ryuguji Ken

🐉​Draken should technically be used to this all and he can't deny that this all is very reminiscent with experiences he was with another person in his life. Exhausting antics, a tendency to get into brutal fights and brush off all injuries despite their seriousness and a carefree grin always given to calm his nerves. It's like taking care of Mikey all over again yet the protective nature he has quickly tranform into an overprotective obsession with you as his darling. He's had his suspicions from a very early point on as he is well informed about gangs and the violent life they lead as the vice-president of Toman. Swollen eyes, broken limbs and other injuries you constantly have the next time he sees you quickly leads him to the conclusion that you must be involved with a gang yourself. Honestly, it really isn't hard to figure it out and he doesn't even know why you are so surprised when he presents you with his theory. Really, have you ever listened to yourself lying before? You're the worst person at lying he has ever met so far.

🐉​Whilst Draken won't demand of you to abandon your gang like Mikey does, he is not fully convinced to let you continue as you are doing either. He starts prying for more information and even if you do not want to tell him about certain aspects, it is rather easy for him to read you due to your inability to be convincing when you lie. It's by constantly questioning you without putting you under pressure by upholding a interested and caring facade that he is soon able to have a rather accurate picture about your gang and its members. That's when he starts using other ways to gather more intel about the individual members of your gang, mainly by letting members from Toman spy on them. All of that of course in secrecy as he wouldn't want to displease you as he's aware that you do not want to get him involved in your life. Draken on the other hand wants to figure out now how capable and loyal the people of your gang really are as you obviously view them in a subjective light and could never seriously criticise them.

🐉​His mind is made up when you land in the hospital with severe injuries from your last fight. His expression is unreadable as he visits you, dark eyes watching you as you muster a grin and tell him that everything is fine and you just fell down the stairs in an attempt to hide from him that you got into a rather intense fight this time before he interrupts you. He thinks it would be better for you to leave your gang. In a short fit of outrage, you nearly get out of bed but he quickly forces you back down and hisses at you to lay still or else your injuries will open up again. His gaze is firm though as he informs you that he doesn't think the members of your gang are good enough to survive gang life out there nor do they possess other qualities needed in his opinion. You're terribly stubborn and he knows that but he can't bear to watch you like this anymore. He will have to find a way to have you leave the gang or to come up with an idea how to break them off. Perhaps he should pay your leader a visit himself and show them just how silly their fantasies are. A good dose of genuine fear may finally help them realise just how dangerous the life of a gang not suited enough is in the streets out there...

Baji Keisuke

🖤​People like Chifuyu can only watch with eyes as wide as saucers as it is almost like watching two Bajis at once when you are around. The similarities between him and you are mindblowing and Baji himself isn't sure whether he should find this amusing or if he should be slightly concerned. Your grin is like a trademark, one that you always flash him even if there are stitches over your eyebrow or if multiple fingers of yours are bandaged. Baji on the other hand always turns up his sleeves whenever he sees your injuries, a feral grin of his own on his face that does little to hide his sparking anger as he asks you which bitch he has to pummel into the ground. The First Division Captain is strikingly possessive and protective and his concern mainly shown in his willingness to beat anyone up who he suspects to be responsible for your emotional or physical strain. He has never gotten a truthful answer from you though as you always come up with bullshit on the spot in hopes of calming him down.

🖤​Whilst Baji may lack in academical knowledge though, he is someone who has a sharp intellect and can understand things well outside of school. He suspects that there is something up that you don't want him to know about and it irritates him that you keep it from him. The irritation is quite visible on his face but he doesn't force you immediately to spit it out what you are keeping from him. As a countermeasure to the wounds you have received though, you find Baji taking the role of the guard dog for you whenever you go anywhere. He's far too stubborn to listen to you when you reassure him that you can spend time on your own without the need for him to protect you. The injuries pile up on you though and he feels more and more like wanting to murder someone as he starts pressuring you to tell him the truth only for you to remain silent. Chifuyu eventually brings up his idea that you may also be involved in a gang and fight with them as your injuries and your horrible lies would line up nicely with that theory.

🖤​Somehwere in his mind he can acknowledge your loyalty to your gang as he is nothing short of dedicated to Toman as well yet there is a double standard that becomes soon apparent. He'd rather have you take a step back from gang life as he deems you as too weak to continue. Far too often do you end up with wounds and injuries that he takes as proof that you are not good enough in fights and that belief is especially strengthened when you end up needing to stay for a longer time in the hospital due to your most recent injuries. Both of you get in an argument as neither of you backs off from their belief and it ultimately leaves Baji with no choice but solve things the way he knows best. With a good brawl. He seeks out your gang himself and challenges them to a fight. If he wins, he demands of them to disband and to not get involved in fights anymore. He's fully prepared to become the villain in your eyes, though that doesn't mean that he'll let you leave him. If you really wanna beat up people that bad though, he wouldn't mind jumping random guys in the streets with you. You look rather hot after all whilst beating someone up...

Mitsuya Takashi

🪡If there is one person in Toman who would see right through your lies even if you wouldn't be such a terrible liar, next to Draken obviously, it's Mitsuya. As level-headed and calm as he is, he serves as the counterpart to your reckless and occasionally feral behavior by attempting to calm you down and talking some sense into your brain. He can tell by simply observing you and taking notice of your injuries that you are part of a gang. Whilst Takashi is also a very essential part of Toman, he surprisingly enough isn't too keen on fighting unless it is absolutely needed which is why your willingness to constantly join the fights of your gang is something he is secretly displeased about. He may not outright scold you nor even let you know that he is already on about your secret that you try to cover with horrendeous lies yet he is already trying to make plans himself. As someone who is a subtle manipulator, Mitsuya gently coaxes you into revealing bits of information about your gang and the individual members every time you two meet.

🪡​Partially he is self-aware about the fact that you essentially do what lots of members in Toman would also do. Inherently he isn't completely against the loyalty and devotion you exhibit for your gang yet all the wounds and injuries you constantly suffer as a result hamper his patience and willingness to let you go on that way. You disregard your own health and body and merely brush it off as little scratches even if he reminds you sternly that one day you may not get away with only a broken leg or twenty stitches. Really, he doesn't want to be overbearing but how can he not end up being very overprotective when you yourself are so incapable of looking after yourself? It gets more noticable as time passes by and he essentially turns into the overly worried mother for you who constantly has to remind you to rest in bed or take it easy to not strain your already injured body. He offers all the help he can give though even if you reject it, he'll end up giving it to you anyways.

🪡​You do not know that yet but Mitsuya has actually already gotten in contact with some members of your gang out of concern for you yet it is when you end up in dire need of an operation that he finds himself confronting them with a much more serious disposition. This has gone too far. You could have died this time around. He demands of them to do some serious reflection on their ways and reminds them that they would stand no real chance if a bigger group would ever decide to take them on. A serious and level-headed composure can be rather frightening under the right circumstances and this is what happens in that moment as he also reveals nonchalantly that he has gotten his hand on some unsavory information that could end up fatal if given to the wrong people. He refrains from violence and instead goes with blackmailing for now, though perhaps his status as a Division Captain is already protection and intimidation enough. Perhaps it would be seen as dirty in the eyes of your gang and even yourself but Mitsuya would be open enough to admit that he has actually held back merely because you see those people as your friends and from what he has observed, they value you as well.

Matsuno Chifuyu

🟡​Chifuyu is the definition of loyal and sticks with you through thick and thin even if your antics threaten to drive him up the wall at times. Your whole demeanor reminds him very vividly of his own Division Captain and even Baji himself likes to make jokes about it when you spend time with Chifuyu. Truthfully spoken, it really isn't difficult to sense that there is something you are hiding with all the injuries that litter your body on some days. You deny it every single time as you come up with an explanation for every broken limb or every scar and stitch that you sport yet seem very unaware of the fact that your lies only fuel his suspicion further. Chifuyu is honestly not sure whether he should be baffled or pull at his hair in frustration whenever you present him with another excuse for an injury. Do you even know that you suck at lying or do you genuinely believe people to accept the lies that you offer? He's worried for you though even if you lie to him again and again and refuse to tell him the truth and those protective instincts push him to grow clingier, worried that with your careless behavior you might end up reopening some stitches.

🟡​He tolerates your bullshit for quite a while though even if he feels like a kicked puppy every time he attempts to ask you if you could tell him the truth only for you to dismiss it with yet another of your stupid lies. Chifuyu is honestly too good to you at times and he is actually self-aware of that but can't help himself. The longer this drags on though and the more serious your injuries get, the more he finds himself pushed closer to the edge. He knows, alright! He knows already that you must be involved in the gang life yourself but it is killing him that you don't let him in on it. He could help you. He could protect you! He's your boyfriend, for fuck's sake. Why are you locking him out? The habit of stalking you is solely born because you refuse to let him in on everything and it is via stalking that he also figures out who the other people belonging to your gang are. He hates to admit it but he feels a sense of anxiety as he realises just how loyal you are to them and wonders if he is just second place as he has entered your life after you had already met your gang.

🟡​He's witness to another violent fight between your gang and another one and when he realises that you are down and seriously injured, he rushes in and takes the beating for you from a member of the enemy gang. Even bruised and battered though, he puts your health before his own as he drives you to the hospital where he waits for hours on end before he can finally visit you. Even then you still dare to lie to him and that's when he breaks. He lashes emotionally out as tears run down his face. Are you serious?! You're still trying to lie to him?? Do you really think of him as that untrustworthy?? It's rare for him to let his emotions overwhelm him easily but it happens in that moment, the most prominent ones are betrayal and a doubtful fear that he really means less to you than your own gang. It's after his outburst that he is finally done with keeping up with your behavior as he reasons that he has in fact been too tolerant about everything. No wonder that you seem to take him for an idiot. He hasn't been assertive enough. That'll change from today on though...

Kokonoi Hajime

💴​Normally Kokonoi would love to mess around with his darling a bit since he can be a tad bit more malicious and sadistic at times yet it's those repetitive injuries that trigger a vulnerable and raw side out of him. Every time he spots you with new broken bones or he notices a freshly stitched wound of yours, his mind automatically flashes back to Akane in the hospital. There is probably no quicker way than to break him down faster than constantly appearing with new casts or stitches in front of him. There has never been a time where he hasn't demanded from you with narrowed eyes to tell him who did this to you so that he can arrange some things here and there to see it through that they never bother you again yet it is your unwillingness to tell him and always present him with a dumb lie of yours that always serves as fuel to the stirring inferno. Whether you see him as an idiot or merely try to hide something from him and just suck at lying, his anger only festers every time another lie leaves your lips.

💴​It really doesn't take long for Kokonoi to already know everything he needs to know and he is beyond unhappy. As someone whose obsession is one build one possessiveness and the desire to control his darling, everything you personify goes against his own wants. You are far too independent, recklessly throw yourself into brawls to defend the honor of your gang as your loyalty lies with them when it should belong to him and risk your own body and health as a result which seems to be a constant fear that has a vice-grip on his heart. He despises your antics and the grin you give him every time you end up with a new reminder of your most recent fight and act as if nothing happened at all. Do you seriously think you'll be fine or do you simply not care? Part of his ire is also turned against your gang though as he loathes them for many reasons. Not only does he see them as a threat to your safety but also as rivals he has to get rid of. He has to cut their ties with you and make you believe that they abandoned you so that he can swap roles with them and become the person you depend on.

💴​Money has always been something he could use to corrupt and buy people and he uses it in this situation as well. He hires thieves to work as spies for him and collect more information on the life your gang leads as well as digging up some dirt on individual gang members. Even if he finds none, he can always make up some stuff. As Kokonoi wants to break your trust in your own gang, he even attempts bribing them with money and manipulating them to abandon you. It's when he is informed that you were sent to the hospital and had to go through surgery that he finally loses composure when he visits you only to be greeted with that same cursed smile that you have been giving him since forever. Do you have a death wish or what?! He flips out for a few moments, hisses out words dripping with venom as he openly admits how he feels about your gang and directs some of his words against you as well. He won't let you risk your life for those people! He can't understand for the life of him what worth they could possibly have. You just wait, he will see it through that you will never see them again.

[ficsforgaza]

for June 16 to June 22

Hi all—please check out this week’s Creator Spotlight! For anyone who doesn't know what this is: every week we highlight one creator with WIPs to sponsor, one creator with open requests, and one fundraiser that is in desperate need of funding. If this is your first time seeing our blog, welcome! Please check out our pinned post for more information about what we are doing to help the people of Gaza!

˗ˏˋ SPONSOR A WIP SPOTLIGHT ˎˊ˗

↳ @kaitsawamura / Link to all WIPs

Kait writes for My Hero Academia, Jujutsu Kaisen, and The Legend of Zelda. Here are a couple of their WIPs up for sponsorship:

“East of My Heart (West of My Soul)” (Series) - Izuku Midoriya x Reader

Your life is one that is abundant with family and the magic in small things.  But when a great white bear comes rumbling at your family’s cottage door one winter’s night, you are obviously taken aback.  Even more so when he speaks to you in a language you can understand and asks for your help.  Come away with him, live with him in the ice castle he calls home for a year and day and release him from the curse that blights him.  You agree to go with him even if as time goes along, it is very apparent that there is more to this polar bear than meets the eye.  There is more to a lot of different things as you learn to love the polar bear as friend and companion during the day but are visited by a mysterious man who insists on sleeping in your bed every night.  Can you last a year and a day to save the bear from this strange enchantment?  Will you learn the true identity of the man you’ve come to care so deeply for?  Will you find yourself (and maybe love) along the way?

“The Farmer and The Wizard” (Series) - Satoru Gojo x Reader

You need a change, a big one. When your estranged grandfather passes away and bequeaths you his farm in a little town just south of the middle of nowhere, you take it as the sign you needed to make a change instead of waiting for one. The farm, while having fallen into a state of disrepair, is just the thing to cure your modern-world ailments. The people are kind and always ready to offer help, if a bit unusual. They have old superstitions, a haunted community center, and a resident wizard. Spoiler alert: those last two on the list take some getting used to. Yes, things are different here but you have a sneaking suspicion that the slow pace and a certain alchemical practitioner are going to remind you that sometimes, all you need is time and a little bit of magic.

˗ˏˋ ACCEPTING REQUESTS SPOTLIGHT ˎˊ˗

↳ @ofoceansandtombsanew / Rules for requests

Nyla is currently taking requests for the following fandoms: Genshin Impact, Jujutsu Kaisen, Chainsaw Man, Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, Attack on Titan, Wind Breaker, and Our Life. Please check out their rules page more info!

˗ˏˋ FUNDRAISER SPOTLIGHT ˎˊ˗

↳ Hashem, Samar, and baby Omar (€575 raised out of €45,000 goal)

(This is a repeat of the previous week’s fundraiser, since it has only had one donation in the last week! Please help them out if you can!)

Hashem and Samar lost everything after October 7, including their home, their jobs, and everything they had prepared for the arrival of their baby, Omar. They were forced to flee to southern Gaza, and have been displaced five times since the crisis began. Their 2.5 month old baby, Omar, was born premature in February, and due to the poor conditions of the tent they are living in, has suffered health complications—even at times requiring hospitalization. They are in desperate need of necessities such as food, diapers, and medical care. Let’s lend them our support ❤️

[pht-art]

Eloise Bridgerton : my thoughts

I don't know how to feel now that I've watched Bridgerton because at first I was so happy to have finally found a character that I relate to and thatseems like me, but I see a lot of people hating her and never liked her since season 1. They doesn't like her because she seems to be rude and selfish and only cares about her well-being and is arrogant but I absolutely don't find her like that and I still adore her. So now I feel like if people find me, they just wouldn't like me. 😂

Here's my thought about Eloise :

I'm sure deep down Eloise wants a relationship with someone, like a real connection, a soul connection. She sees the true picture of society and doesn't want a relationship based on lies, the hypocrisy, the arrangement and forced meetings. She is bored and does not feel in harmony with this society.

With Theo, she wasn't bored, he was a great positivity for her and she felt accepted by him for who she was and not for who she wasn't, when he told her all those bad things, she was hurt because she's not like that.

Lady Whistledown harmed something that made Eloise feel good outside of Penelope and her family. She needed something that would change her from her daily life, that would make her feel alive and Lady Whisltedown took that away from her, insulted and humiliated her.

Of course, when she found out it was Pen, she felt deeply betrayed and hurt. What she did to her really hurt her deeply, she was lost, betrayed.

What Eloise did with Cressida was because she wanted to hurt Pen, she got to know Cressida and realized her situation, she tried to help her but the moment she saw that her brother could have been even more hurt than herself, when she understood that Colin loved Pen to the point of asking her to marry him, she focused on what was most important to her, her family, but she also felt betrayed by Colin, everyone lied to her.

I remind you that she is the only one who went to those who are not like everyone else, Theo, Cressida, which shows that she cares about everyone but no matter who you are, her family will always comes first. She didn't said anything to colin about Pen not because she is selfish but because as she said " I was too brokenhearted to speak of it". In fact it's the fisrt time she is that honest and show her vulnerability. You can see it on Colin's face.

The fact that she is the only one crying during Polin's wedding is a proof of her loyalty and her deep love for the few people she lets enter her heart. She was happy for her friends and her brother after all, she is loyal and a very deep person but her anger and sadness took over and she listened to Kate's advice indeed.

Maybe, and I INSIST ON maybe, she would like to experience that too. When she says "and one's again I am left with the fact that everyone eventually pairs off" I see it more as "why everyone else and not me", it's subtle.

When she says "Just tears from losing another friend to marriage or maybe it was dust", that's HER HUMOR, she is happy for them, she stays true to herself , she may not want to show even the slightest hint of her thoughts.

Benedict told her "Love is not finite Eloise, the friendship you have with Penelope is a lucky thing, as is the one you have with Colin," Benedict is the one who knows her best. She limits her love to what she already knows and the unusual scares her.

I have the impression that Eloise acts like this not because she hates love but because she refuses to love and I think that's because of her father's death and the betrayals she had. She don't want to lose control over her emotions and she is selective (it's not being selfish). She doesn't want to suffer.

Eloise is VERY witty but behind this mask, she is REALLY reserved, very sensitive and does not like to show her emotions and feelings, ( that's why she is disgusted when she sees couple showing love to each other) which is why she uses sarcasm, black humor, ironic phrases and humor at any time.

When they start talking about her feelings, Eloise looks away and changes the subject, always talking about Gregory, so we can no longer focus on her.

Benedict understands her very well, that's why he talked to her during the wedding reception. She is absolutely not childlish, it's her personality and it's her strong shell to not show she feels lonely.

I am so much looking forward to her season just to see how she would be and how it will turn out and to know if I was right. 🙃

It’s quite funny because after Eloise my favorite character is Benedict. The character which I identified the most with has the same favorite as me.…

[toriangeli]

2.06 thoughts

God I love how annoyed Rashid is with Daniel.

"Enduring for Guido" ROFL

Lois McMaster Bujold always has so many great quotes. The one applicable to Armand here is "Never interrupt your enemy while he is making a mistake." That's him during all the flashbacks. He doesn't have to conspire or engineer shit. He can just let everything go to pot, knowing he has the means to keep Louis safe, and everything he wants will come to him.

GO CLAUDIA! God Claudeleine rules this episode. I love how Madeleine doesn't seem scared of Claudia, just shocked.

AMC may be a coward about gay smut, but AO3 authors are not.

I feel like Louis wants to be the Lestat of this relationship so he's never the victim again, and it's fortunate Armand is into that shit (for now). And then he's a victim again in a totally different way.

MADELEINE EATING AN APPLE WITH A SPOON WTF.

"Are you asking, or making me?" Wielding guilt like a pro. You can just say no, Armand, but you don't think "no" gets results.

If they have changed things so Louis makes Madeleine of his own free will, I love it. It's what they've been talking about, with him slowly accepting his own nature. They've given him so much more agency and complexity than the book did. It means he earns that "What died in that room...was the last part of me that was human" thing.

Madeleine's turning being such a sacred thing, so completely different from any turning we've seen so far.

"This is too important a moment in our story to be playing games." Redirecting.

Assad is so good, I genuinely can't tell when Armand's tormented looks are real and when he's playing the innocent. I feel like most of this is him playing the innocent, falsely repentant, because he's laying it on thick. Monologuing. And it seems like his organic expressions are usually a bit more hollow-eyed, if that makes sense. And I'm not sure he actually, in Armand-logic, has a reason to feel regret. He got what he needed out of everything. He survived. Louis survived. He's not happy with what it did to Louis, of course. He's not happy Louis suffered. But this is 77 years where he hasn't had to be alone. He has survived. He sees that as being the priority. Plus, I just do not think he's as powerless as he claims he is over the coven. He put them all to sleep. At the same time. What could all these young-ass vampires do if he ran away with Louis? Still waiting to hear his motivation, though. Whether he was really so threatened by Claudia that he wanted her gone on the chance that one day Louis would go back to her.

God the way the betrayal is done. The music, the quiet chaos in the background, out of focus, as Armand leans against the door frame, looking conflicted.

[the-alarm-system]

The Best way to Combat Anti-Endogenics is Loving Yourselves.

Whether you are traumagenic or endogenic, the best way to combat this infighting and fakeclaiming is to love yourself and your headmates and to write about how wonderful and in love you are with your systemhood.

I have been on both sides, I've endured self hatred and felt self acceptance and it is what led my stance on syscourse.

As many have observed, there has been a lot of pressure on anti-endogenics, many have switched, psychologist have agreed with us, professionals have agreed with us, now all those left on the anti endo wall are simply held back by one thing, something that holds them back no matter how many sources you cite to them. That thing is:

self loathing. the amplification of plural struggle. the agony of being a "broken" individual because you have a disorder.

-------------------

---------------------------

Why does this happen exactly? The focus of origin, the fact that they are so focused over their existence being trauma based and nothing more. To them, system=trauma, system=negative, system cannot be more than trauma. To them endos are systems= endos want trauma=endos think my trauma is good (instead of endos are systems, endos think being a system is good, not trauma).

If positivity was amplified, and real positivity not just validation, there would be a chance that systems may see this and realize that they don't just have to center their existence around their suffering. Trauma may be where I come from, but I can be more than it ever was. I am more than my origin, you are more than your origin.

When I was in anti-endo circles, system equaling suffering pushed me away from accepting myself, but when I found pro-endos I realized that systemhood didn't have to always be bad, no matter how much I suffered.

Being alongside endos was healing me, I was disordered, I was different, but I didn't have to focus on the negative. I didn't have to exist on the negative. I was disordered, but I wasn't seen as broken the same way anti endos viewed me. I was just different, thats all.

Watching endogenics love themselves made me do the same, it made me also support them and love them.

So to Endogenic systems,

LOVE YOURSELF

BE YOURSELF

LOUDER AND LOUDER

TELL US ABOUT HOW YOU LOVE YOUR SYSMATES

TELL US ABOUT HOW SYSTEMHOOD SAVED YOU

TELL US ABOUT ALL THE THINGS THAT HAVE MADE YOU ALL HAPPY TO BE PLURAL

YOU ARE LOVED MORE THAN YOU ARE HATED, I CARRY MORE LOVE FOR YOU THAN ALL ANTIS DO HATE

Stop trying to argue and bicker with them that you're valid, because you being valid or not doesn't matter

Your happiness does.

[neet-elite]

↳ EVENT 36. Sam (Genderbend AU)

Pairing: F!Sam / F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 2,135 Warnings: genderbend!AU, cunnilingus, fluffy, fwb Prompt(s): 20 — AU of your choice Event Masterlist: CLICK HERE!!

A/N: FEM SAM MY BELOVED!!!! big fat fucking titties skater girl sam my LOVE!!!! thank u for letting me indulge in her a little ugh i can't stop thinking abt her <3 i hope my depiction of what F!Sam would act like is good!! i feel like she'd maybe be a little less forthcoming than M!Sam... a little more shy... but still the same puppy underneath it all <3 !! also AHHHHHHH i need to write more f/f ships ugh... i love women so much..

She's always been such a happy girl, right?

A ball of sunshine, others have deemed her. Happy go lucky, carefree, and fun-loving— that's how she's usually described. A natural talent to light up the room with her sunny disposition; even if it's not something she tries hard to adopt. Rather, it's something innate to her as a person, a gift for brightening moods and lifting spirits. Told to her so often in her life that she's turned proud of the fact that a single smile is all it takes from her to cheer someone up, always happy to help whenever a situation calls for it— even if she's not the best at helping. It's nice to be nice, y'know?

But, for as eager she is to extend a helping hand, she's just as talented at being a dumb clutz, too. Unnaturally clumsy and ditzy at times, which is why you're between her legs right now, right?

... Right?

Still, her cheeks feel flushed when you peer up at her briefly from her messy bedroom floor, fumbling around with a band aid between her knees with a gentle sigh falling from your lips. The sound, so light and airy, causes her heart to stutter in return. Begs for her to look away lest she suffers a heart attack from the way you regard her so lovingly, making her feel all fuzzy inside her tummy lungs filled with butterflies from a mere glance. She's Sam for God sake! She falls from her skateboard at least once an hour, you need not fret over her like this— especially when there's no one else home right now. Ah, it's difficult to view the situation as anything other than intimate given the strong crush she's been nursing on your for the last few months, made worse by the way you touch her so delicately, lining up the band aid to her knee perfectly; or so she thinks. She's not looking, doesn't dare drop her eyes to your feather light fingers, or the way they tickle her prickled skin as you press the sticky plaster to her light scrape.

"Seriously, Sammy," You huff at her, but the smile she can hear through your words leaves her feeling petulant. Crossing her arms at her chest, letting out a held onto sigh at your light scolding. She can already imagine what comes next.

"You gotta be more careful, okay? Don't want a cutie such as yourself getting hurt, all right?"

Pouting down at your obvious flirting, a drawn out whine accidentally escapes her. Spilling from her bitten lips at how much she feels for you and your attempt to help, both thankful for how you've patched her up today, and yet still upset at receiving your wanted attention. Like she can barely accept your kindness, uncomfortable with how soft and pliable being around you makes her.

That, and the fact that her knees wobble before you. Thighs trembling from the close proximity of your face between them, her muscles burning with want to squeeze together.

"Don't worry so much about me!" She gulps, swatting your face away from her precious parts only to gawk down at you when you refuse to leave, a playful smile on your face causing her breath to hitch at the way you simply stare back at her. Did you not hear her correctly? Are you intent on ruining her today with only the utmost kindness? It'd be laughable if she wasn't the one affected by your faux sweet smiles and secret touches, her voice coming out as shaky as her heart feels when you simply tip tap your fingers against her wounded knee. "I-I mean it, s'all good now, thanks! So... Um, so you can—"

"Hold on, I need to check if you're hurt elsewhere."

Huh? She's... Look. Sure, she's not the most graceful of girls, but she's pretty sure she'd know if she had damaged anything other than her knee, right? Letting out a breathless laugh at your kind offer, she doesn't think she can last much longer in such close proximity to you, trying to act coy, but her body always betrays her. Especially when it comes to you.

"It's okay! Promise, y'made me all better now!"

"Sammy..." You tut at her, and she's embarrassed by how quickly she shuts up and sits straight, hanging on to your every word as you drawl a hum at her. Like an obedient dog, she listens instead. "C'mon, let me check. It's what friends are for, right?"

"Um, what, uh... What do you— H-Hey—!"

Interrupted by the sight of your head dipping under her skater skirt, her cheeks warm some more at the immediate brush of your breath against her trembling thighs. It's— fuck, she doesn't know what to do! She's spent so many nights daydreaming about this exact scenario, feeling some slick gush out of her as if on command to your hot breath running along her to stain her panties sheer when you press a chaste kiss against the fat of her thighs, but it's so embarrassing; sat on the edge of her bed, in relative privacy with you as her words refuse to escape her tight throat. Caught behind shaky sighs and rushed gasps as you travel up her leg, her bruised and wobbly knuckles—she fell last week too—gripping onto her soft skirt tightly, doing her best to stay present for the unfolding events in fear of having you stop them entierly.

She's just so stunned, so shy when she's around you, a babbling mess before you've even made it to her slick soaked panties thanks to your earlier ministrations. Amusing, isn't it? How simply applying aid to her scrapes and wounds has her feeling so hot and bothered, chest heaving above you as she's treated to the sight of your head poking under her skirt to cause her to unwittingly flash the room, your back peeking out a little more behind, and your saliva trailing down her thigh to dry in the cool air. Makes her shiver against you as you nose at her panties, prompting her to chew on her bottom lip some more to stifle her over eager enjoyment.

"Sensitive girl, aren't you?" You smile between her legs, and she whines in response. Mumbles something back at you, but she gives up half way, stunned into silence at the feeling of your tongue flat against her wet panties, her hips instinctively rutting out just a little to make the angle easier for you, a strong blush adorning her already red hot cheeks at the realisation of just how much she wants this. Wants you.

"Just." You kiss her panties. "Making." Another kiss, and she's gasping out loud for you. "Sure." Fuck, the feeling of your fingers hooking under her sticky with slick panties causes her eyes to squeeze shut in equal parts shame and excitement. Only you could have her acting so soft and submissive; the usual rambunctious attitude she adopts nowhere to be seen when you touch her so gently like this! "My friend." A kiss right against her bare cunt now that you've dragged her panties to the side, her voice coming out all strangled behind a moan as her hands fly to your skirt covered head to grab at.

"Fuck— Wait, I—"

"Feels." A thick lap of your tongue up and down her cunt to slurp up all of the excess slick you've coaxed out of her already has her folding in on herself, her legs hiking up a little out of pure impulse, squeezing her thighs around your head out of sheer need.

"Better." you finish up with a lewd slurp of her hole, and she figures she's in love.

And she knows that you don't view her as just a friend either, using the word as a mere mimic to make her feel better about the whole ordeal. Following your promises with another lap of her slit, before inevitably flicking your tongue against her clit so good already, your hands firm on her thighs to keep her legs open enough to allow you more space to eat her out. Curling your fingers into her thighs, a pleasant shiver rolling down her spine at the teasing pain you nail into her. And she's immediately reeling into your personal nursing, back arching for you as to start to tongue fuck her cunt, drooling saliva down her hole with every stroke of your tongue inside, one of her hands supporting her weight by balling into the sheets under her, the other attempting to clutch onto your hair over her skirt, but she can't find enough purchase. Leaning back on accord for your lapping, little pussy dripping all over your face from how nice you're making her feel right now, some of it running down her ass to leave her feeling all dirty and good.

Sweet sounds of your suckling soon fill her ears, her mouth hanging open to inadvertently praise you with meek little whimpers, bottom lip wobbling just for you and the way you stroke her cunt broadly with your expert tongue, rolling pointed circles against her throbbing clit just to have her leaking all over your chin. And all she can think about is how happy she is to have fallen in front of you today, body feeling so sensitive under your care and attention— far greater than when she touches herself. Her chest tight with both love and lust, moaning your name despite the strain in her uncharacteristically soft and high pitched tone, automatically humping her cunt against your face when she feels you nosing at her clit, tongue squirming inside of her twitchy hole and— oh, she's just so happy to be friends with you, really.

"I'm real close—" She chokes for you, mewling in appreciation for how skilled you are at eating her out, all sloppy and messy and fuck, she can feel the way your drool coats her thighs all tacky too, making her head all dizzy as she chases that high with rolling hips, too lost in the feeling of your soft tongue sucking and slurping all her juices up; doesn't notice the way she so desperately clings to you over her skirt, applying just a little more pressure to the back of your head in an unspoked ask for more. "Please— fuck, please keep going! Do that again, God—" She ends up begging anyway, voice all breathy and rushed in an effort to feel the way you flick at her clit some more, rolling her bud like you know her better than she knows herself, exactly how she likes, she has no choice but to cream all over you after just a few more strokes.

Gushing all over your lips, thighs tight against your head like earmuffs, moaning so pathetically and egregiously when you continue to drink up every last drop her body has to offer you, she's sure she gets a little bit of her slick on her freshly cleaned sheets from how frantically she fucks your face too. Riding her sweet orgasm out with her head thrown back, eyes rolled with her as she pants heavily above you, keening from the acute sensitivity your tongue fucks her into when you continue to stroke her cunt, milking her empty with soft kisses and gentle smiles pressed right against her clit.

And when you try to remove yourself from between her legs, she instinctively disallows you. Keeps your head pinned between her legs, a terrible whimper falling from her lips as she comes back down to reality and humiliation fills her existence at her submissive display.

"Sammy, sweetheart, it's okay. You taste really good, y'know that?"

"Shut up!" She whines some more, drawing it out to emphasise just how embarrassed truly she is to show you such a tender side of herself, coerced out of her from a simple tongue fuck. And yet still, she yearns for you. Craves some more of your affection, gingerly opening her legs enough to set you free, only to ask you a question.

"Did... Did you maybe, um... Y'know... Fall too?"

"Maybe. If you'd rather I did, then I did."

"Ah, right..." She laughs shyly, avoiding your gaze as you pop out from under her skirt and she catches a glimpse of how shiny your lips look from her slick. She feels a sudden urge to kiss it all off of you. "Can I help you too, then?" She questions, then quickly amends her words with a rushed: "A-As friends! I mean, just friends. Platonically..."

And the knowing laugh you let out at her worrying only worsens her position when you call her out on her bullshit. Rightly so, she muses to herself.

"No, yeah, for sure. I could go for some platonic pussy licking too."

[the-himawari-otome]

[Shuuen no Virche] Birthday Short Story - Yves

The birthday celebration of a certain handyman

<Original post here>

･ﾟ･:,｡★ translation under the cut ★,｡･:･ﾟ

Mathis: H-Happy birthday, Yves!

Yves: Thanks, Mathis. And the rest of you guys— I can't believe you went through all the trouble to hold a dinner party just for me...

Adolphe: I mean, you're always helping us out after all. Although... you probably didn't need us to celebrate for you, huh?

Yves: Hey, that's not true. I'm super happy about it!

Adolphe: You say that, but...

*Baaam...*

Ankou: You can't help that thought when you see all the gifts from the townspeople piled up in the garden...

Lucas: Indeed. The moment I saw that huge amount of boxes, I thought you might be moving homes...

Hugo: Haha. He's a real natural charmer, isn't he?

Scien: Well, you won't be running low on supplies for a while.

Yves: Gosh, while I'm grateful for the gifts from the neighbourhood... it feels especially nice being celebrated by my precious friends.

Ankou: ...I see. Our princess and the others should be arriving shortly as well. Please enjoy today's party to your heart's content.

Lucas: I must say, it was surprising that Scien came to participate in the festivities.

Scien: Dahut was nagging me to bring over a birthday gift. I decided to have a drink and a bite to eat while I was at it.

Hugo: Isn't that what the person being hosted should say, not the host themselves...?

Yves: Now, now. Don't sweat the details. 'Tis the occasion, so let's all enjoy it together.

Mathis: That's right! I helped with the cooking too!

Mathis: Ah, but before that... Wouldn't it be better to give him his gifts first?

Lucas: Yes, good point. More guests will be coming later. Let's give him ours first, shall we?

Yves: Huh, you even brought presents? That's too much...

Hugo: Alright, I'll go first. —Happy birthday, partner. Eat this and stay your ridiculously energetic self from tomorrow on.

Yves: Thanks, Hugo. I'll be relying on you too! Is this... a fishbowl? ...And inside is— Woah, there's a fish I've never seen before!

Hugo: It's a big one, right? It's a special catch reeled in by the genius fisher, yours truly.

Yves: It looks like it'll be worth slicing up! I'll cook it up nice and tasty for us.

Hugo: About that. Eat it yourself. Alone. Seriously, by yourself. Down to the last crumb. There's no need to share it with me, got it?

Adolphe: (He's just making sure he doesn't suffer any harm himself...)

Ankou: Now then, as for the gifts from the others—

Lucas: Um. If I am not mistaken, it seems there are ominous sounds and fumes emanating from the gifts all of you are holding...

Adolphe: ...Yours is the same, isn't it?

Scien: It appears all of us had the same idea.

Mathis: I see, everybody brought fresh ingredients that Yves can cook!

Ankou: I-Indeed... However, we also prepared tangible items in addition to the ingredients...

Lucas: Oh my, to think our gifts would overlap to that extent.

Yves: Woah, woahhh...! Is this much okay!? I'm going to happily accept all of it, you know...!?

Adolphe: ...Well, it's fine as long as he's happy. Mine's a whetstone, so you can use it to maintain your sword.

Yves: Great, thanks! ...It really is wonderful to have people who are special to you celebrate your birthday.

Yves: I wonder if it's alright to be this happy. ...Won't God punish me later?

Scien: I won't, so don't worry.

Hugo: Haha. God guaranteed it. Don't fret, Yves.

Yves: ...I see. That's true. I hope I'll be able to continue to spend my birthdays together with everyone I care about.

Yves: And forever with her—who bound me to this fate.

*CLICK*

Yves: ! Hey, come on in. I was just thinking about you. Thanks for coming for my birthday.

Yves: Huh... a present? I see, you also—I appreciate it. ...Can I look inside?

Yves: ...! It's a gorgeous gem— You found it at Marché? And you thought it would suit me?

Yves: ...Thank you, truly... I'm over the moon...!

Yves: I really am blessed with encounters. After all, I was able to meet a girl who's giving me such a wonderful present—

Yves: From the bottom of my heart, I love the happiness I feel for having met you, my hope—

And I pray that in the future that awaits, I will be able to dedicate my first "love" to you...

---

[DO NOT USE OR REPOST MY WORK W/O PERMISSION, THANK YOU]

[komoboko]

𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

Muichiro tokito x gn!reader ・can be read as platonic or romantic ・heavy angst ・muichiro lives in this scenario hurt no comfort ・major kny spoilers ・major character death

Am I a bundle of joy be honest

The day of your death was something Muichiro didn’t think he would ever forget. Memorization was never his strong suit but he knew this would be something that would haunt him.

He never thought of the possibility of loosing you. He knew the mortality rate in the infinity castle was low, even lower when it came to putting yourself on the front line. He just never thought that you would fall along with the many other slayers that loss their lives that same night. He never thought about coming back home alone, how you wouldn’t be making the journey back to see everybody along with him.

His mind is burnt with the image of your body mutilated, blood poured out of you. There was so much blood, to much where anybody would know you were beyond saving. Uppermoon 1, his ancestor had finally crumbled into dust but at what cost? The cost of you being left to rot on the floor until the castle would crumble and destroy itself underneath its own weight? Why did you have to suffer? Why did you have to leave him behind?

7 days. It’s been 7 days since you died and Muichiro struggles, moving slowly through the stages of grief.

It’s difficult for him to look into any photos that included you. His grief that morphed into anger that he expressed alone in the defeating silence of your room. It hurts him to be in there, the memories of you and your presence weigh him down. He doesn’t want to accept the fact you would never return. That your body would never find peace as it was crumbled and turned to ash. That you had to leave him alone on this earth. It hurt him alot it was difficult for him to handle so much grief. It reminded him of the detain of his brother, a memory he didn’t want to remember either.

Death was something that seemed to follow him. His blood flowed with the remains of the Tsugikuni family lineage. A bloodline that was considered some sort of curse, a force of evil and failure for 500 years. Muichiro only lingers in your room, standing in the middle of the room while his eyes face down on the floor. He didn’t want to look up, be met with photos where your eyes were filled with so much light. He couldn’t find it in him to look at your face, the memory of your body still so fresh inside of his mind. It hurt, a pain he didn’t want to bare.

1 month. It’s been a month since the final night before demons were vanquished. It’s then when muichiro memory problem begins to fail him.

When he looks at flowers his chest stings but he doesn’t know why. He walks past places that feel so familiar to him but he can’t remember why it hurts to be around there. Details about you that used to come to him like second nature slowly seep from his mind. He knows your name, your face, your occupation, your birthday, your death date but after that he doesn’t seem to remember anymore. He knows you but knowing you to such a personal level slowly starts to decline.

Your room is still left untouched despite all of this. Your haori that you left on the bed before you went to the infinity castle still lays there untouched. Everything in place how you left it like you would come back and fix it. It hurts him still to walk in there. A burden in his shoulders, one that he doesn’t know how to get rid of. Death was a heavy weight he’s always has had to carry and he wishes he never had to in the first place.

3 months. Things seem to get worse, Muichiro now begins to question even more about things in his own home.

Your room is some place where he’s filmed with less pain and now more confusion. He looks at the things left inside of your room and wonders why they were there. He stares at pictures of you left in there, he knows who’s in the picture yet he doesn’t know why he has it. He knows it’s you, he remembers you but why were you in his home? Why was there a portrait of you and him together that was left on the counter. Why was there a picture of you left on his bedside table.

He knows he couldn’t forget you, he mustn’t but he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why you play such a signifiant part in the space taken up in his estate. He doesn’t know why you take up such an important place in his heart. Why it hurts so much to see you, even if you look so happy in the picture he has right next to his bed. Why does somebody make him feel so much pain even if he has yet to see them in so long?

6 months. 6 months has gone by since the final battle and muichiro has changed.

Tanjiro who was fully healed now, took the liberty to go and visit muichiro once again. He’s sent him letters in the mail multiple times in the past but it’s always good to see people in person. Tanjiro was happy to see Muichiro outside of his estate, taking up on his request to go out and grab something to eat. Maybe visit some of the now retired hashira’s along the way.

The boy went to muichiro estate to start their trip. He waited by the door for a minute but it wasn’t long for Muichiro to come and open it. He smiled greeting the long haired boy before taking the liberty to step inside. His eyes follow around to see some things have changed. Furniture has moved around and there was boxes near by the door, what tanjiro had assumed was things he planned to get rid off.

His eyes fall onto one box that catches his attention. He strolls over before leaning down to grab a picture that was left on top of the box. Blowing off the dust that covered the photo he found a picture of you. A smile fell on Tanjiro’s face before he turns to muichiro pointing towards the photo. “They were always such a lovely person weren’t they?” Tanjiro says looking down at the photo catching Muichiro’s attention.

Muichiro only stares at the photo in Tanjiro’s hand. His face blank, a usual expression to be seen on his face. Muichiro stays quiet for a moment before opening his mouth, he only had one thing to say.

“Who?”

[23victoria]

you know what would be fun😊, if that was a dream that he had and she's actually alive and moves on to find someone who absolutely adores her and worships the ground she walks on. why do women have to suffer😭😭😭 especially because of men😭 you're so sick, like that fic made me SICK to my stomach. I don't think i can look at it again 😭

i’m secretly honored i affected you that much, means my writing isn’t shitty, and it had the emotion i wanted 🤭🤭

just for you anon 🫶🏾

au to Love in the Dark

Y/N stood under the brilliant lights of the Dolby Theatre, clutching her Oscar with a trembling hand. Her heart soared with a mix of disbelief and euphoria. The crowd's applause washed over her, a tidal wave of validation for years of relentless dedication and hard work. As she delivered her acceptance speech, she radiated confidence and joy, the picture of success and happiness.

It hadn't always been this way. Just a few years ago, Y/N had been entwined in a tumultuous relationship with Charles Leclerc, the rising star of Formula 1. Their love affair had been the stuff of tabloids—glamorous, passionate, and ultimately, tragic. Charles had cheated on her multiple times, shattering her trust and breaking her heart. The breakup had been public and messy, leaving Y/N to pick up the pieces of her life while under the scrutiny of the media.

But Y/N was resilient. She threw herself into her work, channeling her pain into her performances. Each role she took on was a step towards healing, a way to reclaim her narrative. Over time, her talent shone through, earning her critical acclaim and adoration from fans worldwide. She moved on, building a life that was rich and fulfilling, far removed from the shadows of her past.

Charles, on the other hand, struggled. His career, once so promising, had hit a series of stumbling blocks. Despite his undeniable skill, he couldn't secure the elusive championship win. His seat in the prestigious Ferrari team was at risk, his future in the sport uncertain. The pressures of the racing world, combined with his personal regrets, weighed heavily on him.

As Y/N celebrated her Oscar win, Charles watched through the screen, a pang of bittersweet regret piercing his heart. He couldn't help but reflect on their time together and the choices he had made. Seeing Y/N so radiant and successful was a stark reminder of what he had lost. His career might be on the line, but it was the emptiness in his personal life that haunted him most.

Y/N, now surrounded by supportive friends and family, had found a new love—one that respected and cherished her. She no longer needed to look back. The future was bright, and she was ready to embrace it with open arms. As she left the stage, her Oscar in hand, she knew she had won more than just an award. She had won her happiness, her freedom, and her life back

[cozzzynook]

The Lost Light is over Ratchet never died. Ratchet and Drift decide to go on vacation and visit some nearby planets. Rodimus at first is having a hard time he's struggling with depression. Living in Drift and Ratchet's apartment while they're gone. He's unmotivated to do anything. Self-harming and contemplating suicide.

He spends all day on social media watching videos about different things. Which inspire him to take charge of his life. He starts by trying things he sees online. He tries cooking and finds out he's really good at it and enjoys it.

He starts painting and learns about makeup and finds that he really enjoys that. He also finds a therapy group where he sees some familiar faces and some unknown. He's surprised to see Soundwave there and the two of them start talking and hit it off. Soundwave talks about some of the things he's been doing. He knows Rodimus is from Nyon and mentions this music he found from Nyon. Excited he has Soundwave show him and when the music played he started singing along. Soundwave was impressed and talked about the club he was working at and how they needed a singer.

At first, he was nervous and unsure but after talking with a therapist he decided to do it. After all, he wanted to make his own money instead of relying on Drift. The first night he sang the crowd loved him and it was a big hit. He would sing songs from Nyon and songs from other artists who'd died during the war. Then with the help of Soundwave the two of them would start writing their own songs.

It also inspired him to make his own channel where he could teach people Nyon recipes or music. Which got really popular.

He moved out of Ratchet and Drift's apartment. Finding his own little studio which he made into a very safe place for him. Where it was very fun and brightly decorated which he loved.

Slowly over time, he started falling for Soundwave although he was scared about taking that leap and going out with Soundwave, Who was letting him take his time and was always there for him.

Then Drift and Ratchet come back from their long vacation. During that time they'd talked a lot of things over and realized they both liked Rodimus and wanted to be with him.

When they finally come back Rodimus is there to greet them and he looks different. He's happier and just seems brighter in a way. They are surprised to learn he no longer lives in their apartment.

Over the next few days, they visit Rodimus' apartment and are shocked when he cooks for them. Drift notices some crystal flowers and is shocked especially when he reads the message. Rodimus tells them there from Soundwave after they released a new song.

Drift and Ratchet then learn he has begun singing at clubs and small consorts as his music takes off. Drift watching the way Rodmius talks about Soundwave realizes he's in love and that they are too late.

My brain is going so many directions with this idea & i really like it. Thank you so much for sharing.

My heart is always conflicted when it comes to picking soundrod or dratchrod because i like both.

I love when Rodimus has a hard time and contemplates suicide or self harm. To me its in his character to suffer behind closed doors and put on a front for others and believe it until he’s alone and then spirals all over again.

He would have a hard time after things end and nothing can distract him from the horrors of war. The things he’s done and the lives he’s lost and killed.

His home is gone and it can never be returned.

He’s the last of his people and he never thought of having sparklings because he feared messing them up and most bots don’t want to have multiple sparklings to the degree he would have to have to rebuild his people. So he accepts being the last of his people and the reason they die out completely.

He doesn’t talk about it and he keeps the scares he makes on himself hidden.

There’s plenty of times he’s opened his chassis late at night when alone in Drift and Ratchets apartment and opened his spark chamber to grip his spark and end it. His frame and processor always knock him out before he can do it fully and he feels this is a punishment for ruining the life of Nyon and all the mechs he’s killed under his terrible leadership.

So he coasts along not really accepting his fate but too weak to try again since the last one really hurt him. Left him knocked out for days on end and starving.

His colors faded deep reds that look black without light. His optics are dim and his frame is a lot thinner than it used to be.

He lets his datapad run to fill the silence in the early morning and thats how he finds a show that makes his spoiler lift a tad bit.

Its a cooking channel that makes his spark buzz a tad brighter and soon he’s binge watching it. Its what helps him get out of bed and now he’s moving around cleaning their apartment.

His frame is still weak, he’s still not back to his old color and his spark hasn’t felt the same since.

He flashes to memory files of holding his spark out of its core and how he really almost succeeded.

He feels something churn in the pit of his tanks and he hates the way his gestation pouch can be felt and seen now without the extra layers hiding it.

To escape the pain he turns on his datapad and sees an art channel.

He’s remembering how much he once loved art and how good he used to be at carving on his desk and the art pieces he used to make when Nyon still lived.

He’s finding himself leaving the apartment for the first time in three months to get food and art supplies.

The guilt eats at him when he uses Drifts money and he thinks of selling his art so he can pay him back. He knows he can never pay him back in full but he can stop living on his shanix.

For the first time in a long time, Rodimus feels happy as he listens to music and cooks a traditional Nyonian dish that he accidentally uploads to ether space. Before he can take it off bots are watching and asking for more.

None know its him since his frame and paint are drastically different and his face isn’t in it. That actually encourages him to make more since no one knows its him and so he makes another video and another until he has at least ten uploaded and viewers are asking him to show the painting he planned on selling that he created when it was too hard to recharge.

He did so, not showing his face plates of course, only to get a very large sum of money donated to his channel from multiple viewers. He’s so happy he cries, its the first time in over a million years that he’s actually cried happy tears but he did it. He finally did it.

He doesn’t exactly know what to do after that.

He has a processor breakdown that leaves him sitting in the middle of the floor with his food burning to char and that sets him off all over again.

Its two days later that he picks himself up from unbearable low fuel and the putrid smell of burning metal does he clean the kitchen and find a group that specializes in private therapy.

He can’t bring himself to paint or cook, let alone eat even if his frame is begging him to.

He enters the private group and sees faces he knows and just..leaves.

He doesn’t make it far because he drops from starvation.

He wakes up on a fuel drip and a mech sitting besides him he recognizes as Soundwave who puts a servo on his chassis to keep him still.

Turns out he damaged himself more than he knew when he almost succeeded in taking himself out. His spark was permanently damaged as a result and would never be as strong as it used to be. He would be fine but he could never enter battle again or do strenuous activities without multiple breaks. He could say goodbye to long drives where he pushed himself past his limit like every speedster loved doing.

He almost forgot Soundwave was there with him until he felt a digit brush a tear.

“Rodimus: will join Soundwave in a new group. Objections: not an option.”

He should’ve found that pushy and an invasion of his space along with an over step but he..went with it.

Letting Soundwave take him to a fuel cafe where he got the most delicious strawberry energon he later made into a parfait as a gift for Soundwave treating him.

The mech left him blushing at his compliment towards his baking and Rodimus was asking if Soundwave would like to try some of the fuel he makes for the cooking channel he sometimes does.

He didn’t expect the question to come from his dermas or for Soundwave to agree but he does and he finds he enjoys bringing a personal bowl to Soundwave and one for the new group he attends.

He sends an apologetic bowl of fuel to his first group that he ruined and they sent letters hoping for his recovery and a chance to meet if he wanted.

He..found himself shying away from meeting face to face with others but he enjoyed messaging and short calls.

He spent most of his time cooking and making art for his channel while Soundwave sat in the background playing music he liked to create and music he found from Nyon.

His viewers got a glimpse of Soundwave’s lower frame getting close to his one video when he hummed and danced along to an old Nyonian song meant for two. He didn’t mind Soundwave being close since the song encouraged it and he found he didn’t mind resting his helm on Soundwave’s shoulder as he hummed along to it.

His viewers lost their minds thinking the two were married with the natural chemistry between the two but he cleared it up quickly saying they were just acquaintances.

“Rodimus: a friend of Soundwave, not acquaintance,” the musically inclined mech corrected making Rodimus roll his optics and laugh.

He didn’t realize how long he went without laughing until that moment and he later learned how much the sound meant to Soundwave when he heard it added to a new song Soundwave was working on.

The former spymaster gathered multiple songs from Nyon and gifted them to Rodimus. He also made songs with clips of Rodimus humming and used Rodimus’s laugh as his identification for when he would call or message Soundwave.

In return Rodimus offered to teach create a painting for a Soundwave who accepted but asked Rodimus to make it at his home while singing for him.

“Rodimus vocals: a gift Soundwave wishes to relax in.”

The mech had a way of making Rodimus smile and feel warm inside in a way his flames could not.

He agreed, singing old Nyonian lullabies he once sang to sparklings while painting the constellations that once shined above his home past the infectious smog once atop high buildings or on the outskirts of the city.

Soundwave never hid that he recorded Rodimus singing to enjoy for himself and one day he asked Rodimus to sing with his group at a night club he enjoyed playing at.

Rodimus was visibly about to spiral in his nerves so Soundwave proposed Rodimus wear a mask to hide his face plates and sing in the back of the group instead of the front. He was still nervous but agreed liking that much more.

He’d heard about the nightclub being fancy and so he decided since no one would see his face plates it was fine for him to look at the channels he kept to himself.

He started off light since he wasn’t familiar with doing his own makeup yet, only watching on the screen, but he felt it looked nice. He slipped on the simple black sheer dress and met Soundwave at the club.

He wondered if he did something wrong when Soundwave just stared at him for a long time but eventually the mech reached out and handed him a bouquet of flower crystals that he liked from Soundwave’s yard. The mech had a very abundant garden filled with flowers Rodimus loved to smell and touch. He wasn’t a gardening mech but he did enjoy drawing and smelling them. Rodimus mentioned as a passing comment if he should grow his own cyber fruits and vegetables so his food would taste even better.

The night goes fantastic. The crowd loves them and he gets to hold the flowers as a grounding tool as he sings. He brings them back to Drift and Ratchets apartment where he takes off the face mask and smiles, placing the flowers in a vase. He contemplates making Soundwave a treat but decides against it. He sends him a message saying he had fun and a few days later he agrees to come see Soundwave at his home. Wearing a gold waist chain that showed off his gestation tank pouch and curvy waist that melded perfectly into his hips.

He hoped Soundwave didn’t mind his choice to wear derma gloss and some optic shadow. It fit the deep red and almost black tones of his paint job that became his permanent colors after hurting his spark. He found he liked the colors on himself though he does miss his vibrant colors he felt these were more true to who he was now.

He rang the doorbell holding the face mask in his servo and was greeted to Soundwave standing in the doorway with his optic mask on and lower guard off revealing a scarred face plate with his dermas pulled back on one side as a series of scars go from his revealed denta to his audial receptor.

Rodimus had never seen a mech so beautiful.

His spark stuttered a bit making him struggle to vent. The guard Soundwave was holding fell forgotten as he rushed to help Rodimus vent and calm his spark. Rodimus didn’t make the situation worse but he didn’t make it better with how he just stared at Soundwaves face.

He felt the flicker of hesitation in Soundwaves em field before humiliation took hold.

Rodimus didn’t think Soundwave should ever feel ashamed of his face. He made sure to tell him as such.

Touching the unscarred half of soft dermas with gentle digits that shook as he focused his hazy optics on the mech before him.

“You..you look..,” his spark felt heavy as it did light sharing the emotions for Soundwave to see through the wisps of his flames and whispers of his emotive curling beneath Soundwaves plating until it reached his spark.

He always felt too much and too deeply..but to Soundwave he felt..normal.

“Correction: Rodimus, is beauty incarnate.”

“Two things can be true Wavey.”

He doesn’t notice when they slip inside Soundwaves home, all he knows is that he finds comfort laying in the field of flowers with Soundwave beneath the sun. He’d tried returning the mask only for Soundwave to ask him for another night at the club and he can’t find it in himself to say no. He felt the mask resting besides him and the digits of a mech tracing the pattern along his hip plating. So close to his tank yet it didn’t even bother him.

It was the morning after their latest gig at the club while Rodimus was getting ready to record a new dish on his channel when he noticed the large empty dug up space beside Soundwaves garden. He asked the mech what he planned to do with it, when Soundwave stood behind him. Chassis to his back strut, servo resting on either side of him on the table as Rodimus stood comfortably waiting for his answer. Feeling his processor turn to bubbles as he enjoyed Soundwaves touch and presence.

“Purpose: cyber fruit and vegetable garden. Intended for: the spark that I wish to see beating beside me.”

Soundwaves words didn’t fully register to him for a few clicks but when they did he tried to tell Soundwave he deserved better. Someone who wanted to live and didn’t have to find reasons in the form of blogging channels and art. Someone who could give him everything he needed and wanted that didn’t have a spark condition caused by their own servo because they couldn’t handle living anymore.

To his patience Soundwave waited until Rodimus was finished before proving him wrong.

“Rodimus: normal like every mech. Suffered war. Consequence of survival follows all survivors. Soundwave: did not always want to wake either but group and hobbies makes things easier. Makes living better. Rodimus: makes Soundwave living better. Soundwave: wishes Rodimus saw himself as Soundwave sees him. Query: let Soundwave show Rodimus?”

Its hard to think past venting and leaning against the counter when Soundwave basically told him he wanted to spend his life besides him.

Its oddly grounding to let Soundwave rest his helm against his chassis. Feeling the beat of a strong spark so unlike his own against his audial that he finds himself wrapping his arms around him yearning for more. He closes his optics, feeling the ridges of Soundwaves frame against his own and the tentacles that release and wrap loosely around his waist. Those black and purple feelers tickle him lightly to ease his tension and Rodimus finds himself slipping from reality. Lost in the smell of Soundwaves scent of crystal flowers, heavy solvent cleaner and the natural musk that only Soundwave seemed to carry.

He’s whispering yes as he fades and feels his mind slip into a comfortable lull and he allows the former spy master and gladiator to lift him. They settle in Soundwaves berth where he gets lost entirely and welcomes a recharge he didn’t know possible.

At spark he’s awkward and has a hard time bringing up his feelings but the first thing he asks Soundwave when he wakes is if they can stay like this.

“I want to stay like this with you…I’ll give you anything I can to keep you. Whatever food you want, whatever dessert or song I can offer to ease your day. I’ll do it. I don’t really have much to offer but I can try.”

And really he’s never spoken so honestly from the spark that didn’t require him to without the presence of a battlefield.

His answer comes in the form of Soundwave resting his slim digits above Rodimus’ spark and speaking in the deep voice that Rodimus associated safety and happiness with.

“Rodimus: is the offer. An offer: Soundwave wishes to keep for himself forever.”

“Then you have me,” he gazes up, shifting closer, feeling their different sparks harmonize in a way neither have felt before.

They don’t merge sparks or conjunx in this moment. They decide to wait. Properly court the other with the intent to take their time while leaving a scent on the other so none will try intervening. Rodimus doesn’t think anybot will be interested in him til Soundwave points behind them while in the market to the multiple mechs and femmes staring at his aft and hips.

“Shut up,” his embarrassment is met with a smiley face on the purple mechs face plate. He can’t find it in himself to be upset especially when he receives Soundwaves tentacle wrapped around his waist while they continue on.

Not long after Rodimus meets his old friends Arcee and Springer who are extremely shocked by his paint job and new frame. He doesn’t tell them what happened or what he’s been through physically and mentally. Instead he tells them about his channel and they don’t pry. They see how happy he looks, how comfortable he is in silence now and see the bag of paint tubs on his arm.

“I started painting again,” he tells them and they get so excited for him. Asking if he’d like to come back to their apartment and catch up. They admit how much they miss him and don’t want to let time slip by again or go without talking to him in person for so long again.

He agrees because he truly did miss them too and no matter how much they differed in the past they always stuck by each other even when they didn’t understand the others reasoning. So nods a little misty in the optics and sets up a time. He’s about to leave when a feeler lightly tickles him before a tentacle rests below his spoiler.

He can’t help lighting up and feeling his processor become bubbly as he introduces Soundwave to Springer and Arcee. The two are in shock by how the two act towards each other but they roll with the flow. Soundwave is polite in greeting them with a nod and doesn’t do more than listen while Rodimus chats with them a bit more.

Soundwave is carrying the heavier bags and they notice Rodimus is wearing derma gloss and optic shadow. He once wore it during an undercover mission and they remember him saying he liked it but nothing ever cane about it. They were glad to see him doing things he liked and if Soundwave helped him to do them and made him happy, they wouldn’t object.

Especially when they saw how caring Soundwave was with Rodimus when they came to get him. Last they heard he was at Drift and Ratchets apartment but apparently he hadn’t been there for almost a month. They were surprised yet again by how happy they were to know he was at home with Soundwave in a lovely place instead of the cold and lonely apartment that would make Rodimus feel lonely.

“We’ll have him back before ya know gladiator mecha,” Arcee parted as she slung an arm around Rodimus neck with a wink at Soundwave to lightly tease him. The mech was surprised but didn’t reject it and Springer was thinking this could be good after all. Rodimus hadn’t really paid much mind since he didn’t feel any animosity in the air.

He ended up showing his friends the cooking channel he started and made them a traditional Nyonian meal that they devoured in one sitting making him laugh. He showed the art pieces he’d made and they recognized his humming to be the mech who sung at the night club. He admitted that was him but refused to sing. He enjoyed blushing and being nervous in a way that didn’t put him on edge. He felt at home with the two and congratulated them on becoming conjunx.

“Can’t wait to congratulate you and Mr.Cryptic at your conjunx ceremony,” Springer suggested wiggling an optic ridge as he elbowed Rodimus lightly.

“How many sparkling nieces and nephews are we gettin,” Arcee gushed, before going on about how she’s always wanted to be an aunty to Rodimus’s sparklings and how she couldn’t wait to buy all the cute outfits and teach her nieces and nephews a real fight since the boys could never keep up with her.

Rodimus felt his spoiler lower a bit but he brushed it off and asked the two what their plans were and what they’ve been up to. Arcee immediately dove into talking about her fighting studio and Springer actually decided to take up teaching self dense classes. They both traveled for their jobs together but spent most of the time apart so they could have venting room.

He was happy to hear about their travels and it reminded him how much he missed being in the stars and visiting other cultures.

He smiled listening to their stories when he felt himself growing tired. He was about to excuse himself when Arcee wrapped an around him and said she’d walk him back to their little brothers future Conjunx. Arcee was always so ready to make him feel humiliated in a way only a big sister could.

He didn’t realize how late it’d become until he was walking in the dark with Arcee who kept an arm around his neck. He appreciated the comfort but he also knew she was about to ask him something personal.

“Go ahead and ask already. I still don’t like emotional suspense.”

She laughed at that but began speaking anyway.

“Soundwave is really nice to you huh?”

He nodded, he knew thats not where she was going but he waited.

“I can’t see his optics but I can feel him,” he looked towards her waiting, “the way he feels around you is..the way bots in holo stories used to feel. Its like watching two characters get the best ending one can never picture happening in real life. Only, it is…”

He smiled at her before looking ahead seeing the area change to slowly become the large property Soundwave owned.

“What I’m saying is..I want you to enjoy all of it. I have everything I could ever want with Springer..Percy is coming by too with Brainstorm. I know Percy misses you a lot. I’ll make sure to tell him not to be overbearing though. You know how he is with you. Such a carrier,” she snorted making him laugh nodding.

“I..I know how you feel..how you used to feel about sparklings..I mean..and I know by how Soundwave feels around you that he’d give you whatever it is you desire and if you still crave having sparklings like you once did..you should have them..be it adoption or with you tanks..you should allow yourself that happiness. You deserve it. Me, Springer, Percy, even Blurr and Kup when they get back..we won’t let anyone do anything to you just because you’re a tank carrier. Alright, little sweet spark?”

He felt his shoulders shaking and optics fuzzing at Arcee’s words and he hated how small he felt in her arms. He felt like a sparkling needing their older sister all over again and he hated it. But he would never refuse the warm hug she gave him nor how he melted into her arms and cried his fears in the forms of sobs. Too scared to tell her what he’d done and how he might not even be able to have them anymore. How unworthy he felt to have them when he was littered in scars not received from a battlefield with a frame that bore the proof of his failed attempts.

“I don’t care what you’re telling yourself in that processor of yours Roddy. You always have and always will be a good mech, multiple mistakes and all. We all have them. Some just more than others while some can hide them. Point is, don’t hold yourself back. When you’re ready, do whats best, okay?”

He nodded his helmet, unable to form words and eventually, he wiped his face plate and smiled up at her a little.

“You’re so mean ta me,” he slipped, using his accent as she used her own. It made them both laugh and their departure easier with the promise of seeing each other very soon and him telling her to message him when she got home.

“Rodimus: okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, preparing a solvent bath, “I’m okay. Did you have fun?”

A nod and Soundwave joined Rodimus in the solvent bath where the smaller mech massaged the old wounds and kinks from the ex-gladiators frame. Soundwave reheated the bath after, gently removing the armor from Rodimus’ protoform. He took off the lower guard for his face plate and raised Rodimus wrists to his dermas where he placed wisp touches along the scars Rodimus bore after war.

This wasn’t the first time Soundwave had done so but every time he did Rodimus felt a part of himself break and reconnect inside.

He both feared and loved how intimate he could be with Soundwave. He’s never been open to such affections beyond quick fragging but he’s happy to say he’s fine with anything as long as its with Soundwave.

A few months past and Rodimus finds himself going back to Drift and Ratchets apartment to clean and welcome them home with Perceptor on his heels and Soundwave out with his friends enjoying a music festival.

After reuniting with Blurr, Kup, Brainstorm and Perceptor, Rodimus found his circle of friends growing again and he was happy with it. Of course, Perceptor was the one to pull him aside and carrier him asking about his loss of weight and paint change. Rodimus was never good at lying to Perceptor or any of the wreckers really, but especially Kup and Perceptor. Kup knew he’d hear everything from Percy and Percy wasn’t leaving until he got answers.

It was…painful, sharing what he’d done to himself to another beside Soundwave. He expected scolding, frustration, even anger or told he was illogical. He wasn’t expecting a frame hug that popped his plating out of place and tears.

Perceptor understood the best he could and wouldn’t let Rodimus out of his sight or arms after. It wasn’t too questionable when they came back to the group hours later but it was a noticeable question in the air that the others didn’t bring up thankfully.

Later that day Kup came by with Percy to bear hug his popped plating back into place and he felt guilt for making the old mech shed a tear but Kup told him not to.

“Bots have fights all time..sometimes…its with themselves. When you have a fight with yourself next time lil one, we’ll be there to have your back. Okay?”

It meant more than he thought possible and he finally felt his world fully shifting into place. And with the arrival of Drift and Ratchet finally returning he was happy to have it come full circle as he greeted the two along with Percy who stayed further back so the three could greet each other.

Rodimus wasn’t surprised when Drift hugged him since the mech was a real hug creature at spark, he was startled when Ratchet hugged him but he did hug the mech back.

“Welcome back guys. I hope you enjoyed your vacation,” he smiled leading them to the kitchen that smelled like utopia. The two were practically drooling at the mouth smelling Rodimus’ food and Perceptor was already eating his own plate at a distance after waving at the two.

“Roddy? Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“I got into a cooking channel that turned into me starting my own,” he smiled. He nodded to Percy who stood there for a while before hugging him and telling him to message him when he was heading home.

“I’m fine Percy, I can walk back home. Its not that far,” he laughed.

Perceptor just looked at him with a smile and nuzzled his helmet repeating himself. “If you need me I’ll be with Brainstorm at the collectors show. Mech needs to be taught how to appreciate good quality instead the things he brings home.”

“You guys foreplay is still so weird to me,” Rodimus laughed being a little slag before giving Percy a kiss to the side of his face plate and pushing him out the door.

When he came back Ratchet and Drift were looking so confused and mildly hurt?, so Rodimus quickly cleared the air.

“Percy has always been such a carrier ever since he met me. You probably didn’t see it on the ship but he’s basically my carrier. He even got it documented legally,” Rodimus laughed.

“Him and Brainstorm are conjunx. Oh he say’s hi and welcome back and so Arcee, Kup, Springer and Blurr. They’ll come see you guys later when they have time,” Rodimus smiled cleaning up the last of the dishes.

The two quickly understood about Percy because him and Brainstorm did have something going on while on the Lost light and he was a bit of a hover when he was near Rodimus which was actually quite a bit now that they thought about it. It made sense Rodimus was Percy’s bitlet but they were confused about one thing in particular.

“Hey Roddy? What did he mean by message him when you get home?”

“Oh! Sorry about that! I meant to tell you guys but I didn’t wanna disrupt your vacation and I was so busy making sure it was clean for you when got back. I moved out a while ago, it hasn’t been long but long enough to make sure it wasn’t too dusty for when you came back. Oh and it’ll never be close to repaying you but I left a little something for you guys.”

Rodimus went over to the drawer and pulled out an envelope handing it to the shocked couple.

“I wanted to pay you back. I’ll never be able to pay you back in full but..I wanted to try,” Rodimus smiled shrugging his shoulders.

Inside was a nice amount of money one didn’t just come by in a few months of hard work.

“Kid, how did you get all this?”

Ratchet looked like he’d blown a gasket and it made Rodimus laugh.

“I’m really good at drawing and painting and so I started an art channel and people donated money and paid for my paintings.”

Rodimus went back to the counter to fix the crystal flowers he’d left. They still looked as beautiful as ever and it made him feel bubbly in the processor all over until he was pulled from his thoughts.

“Ya take up gardening too kid?”

Ratchet was smirking when he said and Drift was looking shocked still.

“Kid ya didn’t have to move out ya know? We like having ya around.”

His smile was gentle and it made Rodimus spoiler flicker.

“I..really..thank you Ratchet, that means a lot to me.”

“Oh, no I don’t garden plants..I kill them actually,” the pout on his face was beautiful but the next emotion was a jump of his spoiler and he looked excited.

“These came from Soundwave actually! He gifted them to me at our first gig at a nightclub. He says hi too but he’s at a music festival with his friends right now.”

They’d never seen Rodimus’s spoilers express so much feeling and it left them with a growing ache in the chassis.

“But I’m really good at gardening food. For some reason I kill plants but the crystal fruit and veggies I planted at home are thriving,” he shrugged. “I definitely want you guys to come by and taste em when you can. I think you’ll really like my strawberry crystals Ratch, they’re nice and sweet just how ya like. Drift I planted some melon and grapefruit crystals too. I can get em less sweet since you don’t really like that.”

“Woah, slow down Roddy…you said at home..with Soundwave?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” Rodimus blushed looking to the side. “We um..we’re..Soundwave is..” his spark left off a little wave of love and the two felt it.

“Sorry! Sorry. I still can’t control that,” he bashfully chuckled, rubbing at his chassis above his spark making Ratchet slip into medic mode.

He was on rodimus before the other could tell him he was fine.

“Wait, Ratch. I’m fine promise. My doc already knows and I take meds for it. It was just from excitement.”

Ratchet wasn’t at all happy with hearing Rodimus developed a spark condition while they were away and Drift was about to worry himself out of his frame plating with how jittery he looked standing behind him about to help Ratchet open his chassis right where they stood.

“Kid,” Ratchet was putting on his medical scanner over his optic and reading Rodimus’s vitals before coming to a stop when he saw the diagnosis.

“Don’t.”

He stepped back from both of them.

“Just..tell him when I leave okay?”

His spoiler fell and he wrapped an arm around his waist. They could see how much weight he lost and they were obvious to his paint change. Its just now Ratchet knew why and soon Drift would too.

“I’m fine now. I promise.”

He turned his helm looking towards the door when Ratchet pulled him into a hug.

“Kid. Please..don’t ever..don’t..don’t do that again. Please?”

“What the frag is going on?”

Drift was panicking and Roddy hated to see his friend panic like that.

“I’m not dying! I just, did something in the past..I’m okay now.”

Roddy left Ratchets hug and hugged Drift who squeezed him tight. When he felt the hug loosen before becoming almost unbearable he knew Ratchet shared his diagnosis.

“I’m fine now. Promise.”

He smiled a little.

“Its you guys welcome home celebration. Probably shouldn’t be worrying about this when we should be celebrating hm?”

They were extremely reluctant but allowed Rodimus to pour them and himself a glass of high grade, though they noticed he didn’t pour much into his own.

“I’m glad you guys made it back safe. I missed you both. So tell me, what all did you do on your vacation? Please don’t tell me the frag stories I’m traumatized enough from Brainstorm telling me his and Percy’s,” he informed breaking the tension making the two laugh.

He smiled listening intently at every story told and before he knew it, it was getting really late and he was yawning into his servo.

“I’m really glad you guys had so much fun. I can’t wait till next month.”

“Next month?”

“Yeah! Me and Soundwave are going off world. I miss going into space so he got us a nice lil ship to travel to a sister planet. It won’t be for long but I’m so excited.”

The two noticed the way his optics glazed and his spoiler lifted to full tilt. The way his spark hummed a little louder and his smile was brighter. The way his servos came to his waist as if expecting another to be waiting right there for him. The gestation pouch on his tanks that they never saw before. How light his laughter grew and how calm his shoulders looked.

It hurt as much as he looked beautiful.

What ifs ran through their processor as the night came to a close and a knock sounded on their door. Rodimus got up to answer with a sway in his step that didn’t feel sexual at all. He was comfortable with a processor that was floating in a way all too familiar to the stories one read in books.

“Hi Soundwave. Back from the festival already?”

“Soundwave: had fun. Purpose: to greet Rodimus friends and ensure safety.”

They saw the way Soundwave handled Rodimus and the way his tentacles looped around his waist resting comfortably around him. The way Rodimus melted into Soundwave and almost forgot his surroundings told them everything they feared.

“I hope to see you guys soon. Message me when you want to meet up after settling back home again? If ya need I’ll be more than happy to come back and cook. I don’t want Drift burning the apartment down,” Rodimus laughed.

He came over to give them one final hug before parting with a wave and Soundwave nodding at them.

“Rodimus: enjoy welcome party?”

“It was fun,” they heard him say as they disappeared behind the complex’s door.

Leaving them to stand in the doorway with sparks aching and optics longing.

“We were too late Ratty…”

“It seems that way kid…”

Ratchets sigh wasn’t enough to hide his disappointment and sadness.

“It seems that way.”

Back in their home Rodimus laid in their nest where he made a little extra space that gave him and Soundwave more room.

The room was dark save for his blue optics and spark that ignited the space and four purple optics that gazed so softly at him accompanied by a purple spark that he thought the world of.

He was so happy he failed all those many months ago.

If he hadn’t, he would be missing out the most beautiful mech with the most beautiful spark in existence.

It’s something he never plans to miss out on.

[automaticstarlightcomputer]

learned today that some people appreciate and enjoy (?) their periods... yall are holding us back as a species, just sayin.