#it's been in the back of my brain from then on though when it turned into a random whole comic page idk | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stickyspeckledlight · 2 days

Text

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

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

Ao3

Word count: 15.4k

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

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

(Written before 2.2)

You stand on the top of a tower.

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

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

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

You know this song and dance, by now. The park is closed at this time of night, but, and it might be your greatest achievement of them all, you found a way to sneak in undetected. Granted, there wasn’t anyone to stop you, but you were always good at being quiet, so rarely are you noticed.

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

You know the area like the back of your hand, so you turn off your phone’s flashlight as you make your way. It’s a small clearing of forest, but it’s perfect. Bushes and trees surround you in a half-circle from behind, and in front of you is the ledge of a cliff. From here, the sky has a clear view and it is always lovely whenever there’s a sunrise or sunset. Sometimes, when your mind wanders, you wonder how long you’d fall if you tripped over the ledge. But those are just musings you have no intention of acting on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything stands in place. “What?”

“I’m not gonna arrest you!”

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

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

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

“Who said the law needs to be followed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a good thing you can’t be seen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

He sees you’re on the balcony.

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

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

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

(But oh, it’s because it’s something resembling something warm which has become so familiar…and a sturdy rock he can hold onto)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you just projecting?”

“Make that three.”

“Bruh.” You deadpan. You’re quite amazing to be able to momentarily take yourself out of reality, he muses. “I’m not desperate,” you insist, practically hissing the words.

(He’s a bit jealous)

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. “Well…I…”

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

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

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

(Yet when it comes to you, something unpleasant twists his tongue, whenever he calls you disposable and he can’t truly come to vocalize such a statement)

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

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

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

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

“Hmmm…how about no?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yep.”

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

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

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

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

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

He hums and grins. He pulls you back and flips you around so that you lean against the railing, slightly hiked up so the tips of your toes just barely press against the ground. It grants him an unfettered view of your expression, almost comical shock morphing into fear as you register your newfound positions. You may not be entirely dangling over the railings…but you’re still at his mercy. You don’t hold onto his hand for dear life because that’s just what he’s decided. And you don’t want him to pursue that option or even fancy it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re beautiful.

It’s an honor, he thinks.

(And stand so highly elevated)

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

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

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

(It reassures him, in some strange way)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(He hides his arm behind his back)

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

—

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

Trapped in his hold, out of endless possibilities, Aventurine elects to merely guide your forms to sit on the edge of the bed. He releases you, but whatever relief you felt was burned away when he slots your hand with his own, the other held behind his back. Like this, you two must look like a normal couple. One that had a fight, but then cooled down enough for them to sit and have a serious conversation; to communicate their feelings to one another, leading to a gentle reconciliation and promises to do better. But Aventurine…you’re sure that he holds a butcher knife, hidden behind his back, in moments like these.

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

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

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

Your mind, badly addled, nods.

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

“Cut…to the chase?”

“To the takeaway.”

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

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

You think and think about everything and nothing. You think about your cotton scarf. You think about your parents. You think about your degree and how useless it’s been. You think about the tiramisu you made earlier, and how it needed to set in the fridge overnight.

But no matter what you think about, or what you stop thinking about, you cannot stop thinking about Aventurine.

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

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

Your body becomes lead.

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

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

And then he lets you go after what feels like years. Something burning and cold and wonderful enters your nostrils and mouth—air, air, air air air air you need air air air air air—

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

Love, Aventurine.

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

Love, love, love, love, love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You never attempt it again.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He feels something cool seep into his pants and legs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Took you long enough.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happiness.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

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

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

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

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

It’s where he first bit you on the luckiest day of his life. It’s bruised and tender, red and ugly and scarred. Renewed countless times, it is beyond repair. Moments ago it held a crimson sheen, but its been smeared throughout your collarbone and shoulder. The way it smears makes it appear like a red mist, like a curling wisp of smoke that dirties clouds and infects rainwater. He brings you impossibly closer, to keep you from becoming red mist. At the same time, should he squeeze just a bit too hard, then away you go into the mist.

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

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

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

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

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

I love you.”

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

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

(What does his face look like?)

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

Dimly, he realizes that your destruction didn’t just kill a part of you. He’s buried beneath the fire and rubble, too.

[And it’s lovely.]

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

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

#yandere #yandere hsr #yandere aventurine #destroyed onset #aventurine x reader #yandere aventurine x reader #yandere x you #yandere hsr x reader #tw noncon #tw suicide #next fic is gonna be sitcom esque #the calm before the storm 😉#and also because i need to write the reader being happy in a #not fucked up way LMFAO

143 notes · View notes

sequinsmile-x · 3 days

Text

Quality Time

She missed her husband, even though he was right there with her.

Part of the Love Languages series

-x-

Hi besties,

This is just...pure fluff really because that is all my brain was capable of after a very busy few days at work.

This is just these two idiots being idiots for each other.

I really hope you like it, as always please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: pregnancy

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

It’s late when he gets home.

He feels the tension in his shoulders start to ease the moment he steps over the threshold into the house, the sense of home washing over him as he closes the door behind him, locking out anything other than his family on the other side.

He pauses as he turns from the door when he hears the low hum of the television. He checks his watch and frowns when he realises just how late it is, surprised that anyone is still awake. He walks towards the living room, a purpose in his step, and as he gets closer he realises it’s one of his wife’s favourite reality TV shows, something she’d sworn him to secrecy over when they first started dating. He half expects to find Emily asleep on the couch, slumped over with her hand pressed against her stomach after she’d lost the battle against sleep to stay up for him, but instead when he walks in she’d wide awake, her focus torn from the TV as he enters the room.

“Hi honey,” she says, sitting up a little straighter when he walks over, one of her hands on her baby bump as she kisses him before he joins her on the couch, slipping under her legs as she raises them just enough for him to sit, “You made good time.”

“Traffic wasn’t bad,” he replies, squeezing her foot, smiling softly when she groans in pleasure, “You didn’t have to wait up.”

She shrugs like it’s nothing, like she wasn’t just shy of 8 months pregnant and constantly exhausted, “It’s okay, I wanted to see you.”

He frowns, seeds of concern planting deep in his chest, her tone of voice, the way she was holding herself tightly, both of her hands on her bump as she absentmindedly drew patterns on it.

“You’re tired. I wouldn’t have minded if you’d just gone to bed, I’ll be here in the morning anyway.”

She scoffs, unable to stop herself, hormones, exhaustion and irritation she knows he doesn’t deserve swirling in her gut, “Yeah, if you didn’t get called away for a case.”

His concern for her immediately gets worse, the flowers of it taking up all the space in his chest, burning against his lungs as she tries to figure out what is wrong. She’d been okay when they spoke earlier, relieved even when he told her that they were about to fly home. It’s a flash of his past life, a momentary collision of his marriage to Haley forcing its way into his marriage to Emily.

She’d never had an issue with his job, with their job, and she understood the unpredictable nature of it. Things had been different lately since she’d stopped going on cases with the team, he knew that, and he knew she missed being a part of it.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

She blows out a breath, embarrassment at her outburst colouring her cheeks, and she shakes her head, “Nothing. Sorry, I think I’m just hormonal,” she flashes a tight smile at him, “Your kid is ruining me.”

He squeezes her foot again to get her attention after her failed attempt to deflect, his face nothing but kind as he looks expectantly at her, their promise to never lie to each other on the tip of his tongue, “Em…”

She looks down at her bump and clenches her teeth, desperately trying to stave off the tears she can feel pressing at the back of her eyes. Pregnancy had left her on a razor's edge, everything sharp and making her prone to breaking down at the tiniest thing. It was driving her crazy, irritation at herself that only ever seemed to make things worse, her head swimming with emotion she was trying and failing to push down.

“I…” she says, clearing her throat when her voice wavers, shaking her head at herself as she chuckles humourlessly, removing a hand from her bump to wipe tears from her cheek, “I just miss you,” she says, wiping away another tear. She shrugs as she avoids eye contact with him, embarrassed in a way she doesn’t understand, her love for him overwhelming even after all this time. “That’s all.”

“Em,” he says softly, moving closer to place a hand on her knee, squeezing gently as she looks up at him, his smile gentle as their eyes meet, “I’m right here.”

She blows out a breath and rubs her hand over her belly as she feels the baby move, a constant reminder these days that she isn’t alone. She’d spent so much of her life chasing something exactly like this - a family to call her own. She had Aaron and Jack and the baby and she always would.

She’d never be alone again.

“I know. I think it’s because you’re going on cases and I’m not. I miss spending time just the two of us - which we never got a whole lot of anyway,” she smiles, an edge of sadness mixed in with the happiness as she reaches for his hand and places it on her stomach where the baby is kicking, “And we’re about to have even less of it.”

She’d stopped going on cases earlier than she’d originally intended. Pregnancy had been much harder on her than she’d anticipated, the nausea in the first trimester giving way almost immediately to exhaustion when it faded away. She’d wanted to carry on, content to sit in precincts and work on victimology because it made her feel useful, like she was still contributing to the team, but Aaron and her doctor convinced her it was time to stay home just as she turned 6 months pregnant. She hated that they were right, that she felt better for it, and she mostly hated that it meant she saw less of her husband than she was used to.

Since the start of their relationship, they’d spent practically all of their time together. It was clear from their first date that they were it for each other, a type of pull she knew she’d never felt before, her love for him overwhelming from even before their first kiss. They spent all their spare time together, she slept at his most nights - content to hang out with him and Jack until the little boy went to bed and then they’d get some time alone. Despite initially saying they wouldn’t, they snuck into each other’s rooms on cases before they told the team about their relationship. They were both aware that they slept better with the other there, a type of peace neither of them thought they’d ever experience again.

She missed him. Their bed felt bare without him, their choice of buying a super king even though they snuggled, more than half the bed empty even with them both in it, feeling all the more absurd when it was just her and her pregnancy pillow in it. Occasionally Jack would sneak in and join her, his small hands on her face as he woke her to tell her he’d had a bad dream. She’d feel guilty by feeling relieved when she had him there with her, the little boy she loved as her own pressed up against her whilst her baby shifted under her skin.

Aaron smiles softly at her, rubbing his hand on her bump for a moment longer before he links their fingers together and lifts their joint hands to his mouth. He presses a delicate kiss to her knuckles and it gets her attention, her eyes meet his again, and he tucks some of her hair behind her ear.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, “I miss you too.”

Even though it was almost six weeks since she stopped going away on cases he still found himself looking for her, his eyes flitting around a room she wasn’t in to look for her reassurance, for the love she always freely gave him. He missed having her there, her smile sometimes the only good thing that would happen to him on a hard day at work. He found it difficult to sleep in hotel beds that she wasn’t in with him, her weight against his chest, her breath skipping across his neck as she slept, both as essential to him for a good night's sleep as a dark room and a decent mattress.

She was his safety net. His port in a storm. And whilst he was excited for this next step in their life, close to desperate sometimes to meet their baby, to see the face he’d imagined for months, he knew he’d miss this stage.

She smiles sadly at him and stamps a kiss against his lips before she rests her head on his shoulder, “Sorry I kind of ruined the mood the moment you got home.”

“You could never ruin the mood,” he assures her, turning his head to kiss her temple. He tugs her in closer, a tightness in his chest that had been there for days easing now she was in his arms, and he feels an idea start to form, a smile spreading across his face as he pulls back to look at her, “Why don’t we go somewhere? Just the two of us.”

She hums, her eyebrows knitting together as she looks him up and down, “What? Like a babymoon?”

He frowns, tilting his head as their eyes meet, confusion painted across his face in a way that she finds nothing short of adorable, “What the hell is a babymoon?”

She chuckles and runs her fingers through his hair, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she tries to tamper down her amusement, “It’s a trip you go on before the baby comes. Pen was telling me about them.”

He smiles and nods, “Then yes, exactly like a babymoon,” he says, not missing how her smile gets wider as he says it, “We could go to Virginia Beach. Get a rental right near the water. Spend some time just you and me before this little one joins us and life gets a lot busier.”

She wants to do it more than anything, wants to spend some uninterrupted time away with him, something they hadn’t done since their honeymoon almost 8 months ago, but she sighs, the reality of their lives causing anxiety to spike in her chest.

“What about work? We’re both taking some time off when the baby comes, I don’t want it to be a problem.”

Aaron squeezes her hand reassuringly, “Em, we both have enough leave days banked to take a year off if we wanted to,” he says, smiling when she nods, “If you want to do this we’ll do it. I’ll book us a place to stay tonight.”

She doesn’t have to think about it, doesn’t have to mull it over anymore and she nods, kissing him fiercely as she leans in.

“Yes,” she says, kissing him again before she pulls away, “I want to go away with you,” her words disappear into a laugh as he pulls her in for a hug, her bump pressed up against his side, as he kisses her temple. She sinks into it, into him and wraps her arms around him, her cheek against his shoulder as she sighs, a relaxed feeling washing over her for the first time in weeks, “If you think about it, it’s perfect timing.”

He furrows his brow as he pulls back to look at her, curiosity sparking in his eyes as she tries to suppress a smile, a hint of mischievousness in it that never fails to make his stomach swoop, “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

Her smile only gets wider, “Well you got me pregnant on our honeymoon,” she says, shrugging playfully, “It seems like a nice way to bookend the pregnancy.”

“Em.”

___

He knows they’ve made the right decision the moment they get to their vacation rental.

She’s instantly more relaxed than she has been in weeks, a softness to her smile that makes him want to call up the owner of the beach house and offer to buy it off of him.

“I can help with the bags you know,” she says, her eyebrow raised at him as he gets their bags out of the trunk of their car, her pregnancy pillow tucked under his arm as he shuffles towards the stairs leading up to the house.

“I’ve got it,” he says, ignoring the strain in his back as he makes it up the stairs, smiling at her when she rolls her eyes. He sets down the cases and crouches down to press a kiss to her bump, “You’re already carrying the most important cargo.”

She chuckles wryly and runs her fingers through his hair, fighting a smile as he kisses her bump again, “You’re ridiculous,” she says, shaking his head as he straightens back up, her gaze drifting to where her pillow was still tucked under his arm, “If you drop my pregnancy pillow I’ll kill you, and we both know I’d be able to - even if I am the most pregnant person to ever exist.”

He clears his throat, well aware that whilst her threat was playful she’d be mad if she thought he was laughing at her.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he says, kissing her again before he digs through his pockets for the key to the house. He unlocks the door and pushes it open, his hand splayed on her lower back as he guides her in, “Why don’t you look around, make yourself comfortable, and I’ll get everything in from the car. The owner said his wife would leave lemonade and homemade cookies.”

Her eyes light up and she looks down at her stomach, already walking into the house before she replies, her focus on their unborn child, “Did you hear that, baby? Cookies!”

When he’s done bringing in their things, the suitcases carried up to the bedroom and her pillow diligently placed on her side of the bed, he finds her on the back porch sitting in the swing, her gaze fixed on the ocean and the seemingly unending horizon. She turns to look at him as he steps out, her smile wry as he unfolds a blanket as he joins her, laying it over both of their laps, making sure her bump is covered, when he sits down.

“It’s not even cold out,” she says, wrapping both her arms around one of his, her hand squeezing gently at his tricep as she lays her head against his shoulder.

“I know,” he replies, resting his cheek against the top of her head, “But I’ve got to look after the two of you,” he adds, placing his hand on her bump, smiling at the movement of the baby, something that got no less amazing no matter how often he felt it, “So,” he says, kissing Emily’s forehead before he pulls back to look at her, “We have four days to do whatever we want.”

She hums and tilts her head to look up at him, the reality of being here with him, the next few days stretched out ahead of them washing over her, “I’d like to say we could have a crazy amount of sex and barely leave the house,” she laments, “But I think all I want to do is nap, eat and sit right here with you.”

“Then that’s exactly what we’ll do,” he assures her, resting his hand on her neck, his thumb tracing her jawline, “As long as I’m with you I don’t mind what we do,” he says, leaning in to kiss the tip of her nose, “And, I have it under good authority that a restaurant just down the street has to die for mac and cheese and they deliver.”

She moans, the sound turning into a delighted laugh as she closes her eyes, “You really know what a pregnant woman loves to hear.”

He hums, kissing her forehead before he lets his hand fall back to her bump, “Maybe I just really know my wife.”

She can’t explain the feeling that swells in her chest, threatening to pull her under as tears press at the back of her eyes. It was moments like this, moments when it was just him and her and their love for each other when she let herself feel the happiness she never thought she’d get, let herself bask in it.

She wasn’t lucky, this hadn’t fallen into her lap. She’d fought for this. Fought to get here and sometimes she’d lost, tripped and fell as the battle seemed too much, but she’d made it here. Made it to him, and he’d done the same to make it to her. They’d endured so much apart, but she knew whatever came next, the good and the bad, they’d face together.

She cups his cheek and rubs her thumb back and forth over his skin, “You’re the love of my life, you know,” she says, her cheeks warm with love and a hint of embarrassment, “I can’t imagine wanting to do any of this with anyone else.”

“You’re the love of my life too,” he says, and he places his hand over hers on his cheek and leans in to kiss her, “I can’t imagine doing it with anyone else either,” he says, frowning at himself when he says it, realising it sounds clumsy because he had done it with someone else.

A shaky breath escapes him, her admission not new but unexpected in the moment, their conversation about her favourite pregnancy food suddenly turning into more. He loved her so much it hurt sometimes. It was different to how he’d loved Haley. They’d grown up together, had initially grown together and then apart, both of them still in love with a version of themselves that no longer existed. He and Emily loved each other for who they were, for what they’d gone through, and he knew he’d have it for the rest of his life.

He sighs at himself and shakes his head, “I mean-”

“I know what you mean,” she says softly, cutting him off as she presses her thumb into his lower lip, “I’m glad we came here.”

He rests his forehead against hers, “Me too.”

They sit there for a few moments in silence, the only sound the waves crashing against the shore in the background. The moment comes to an end when her stomach audibly makes a noise that makes them both laugh, the baby almost moving in tandem.

“I think baby wants some of that mac and cheese,” she says, leaning into his palm when he wipes away a stray tear that had escaped her lashline.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss against her lips before he kisses her bump. He stands up to find the stack of take-out menus the owner had left out, but she stops him, her hand tight around his as if she didn’t want him to go, “I’ll be right back.”

She sighs and relents, letting go of him before she winks at him, “Make sure to bring me some of those cookies on your way back.”

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” he says as he steps back into the house, “Absolutely anything.”

-x-

Tag List:

@ssa-sparks , @ptrckjcne , @glockleveledatyourcrotch , @hotchnissenthusiast , @danadeservesadrink , @ssamorganhotchner , @emilyprentissisgod , @notagentprentiss , @freesiasandfics , @emilyshotchniss , @thecharmingart , @paulitalblond , @hancydrewfan , @camille093 , @whitecrossgirl , @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess , @florerenceremintonthethird, @jareauswife , @ms-black-a , @beebeelank , @aubreyprc , @zipzapboingg , @psychopath-at-heart , @criminalmindsgonewrong , @fionaloover , @kinqslcys , @prentissinred , @ccmattis-22 , @denvivale317 , @thrindis . @hotchsguccitie , @cmfouatslota77 , @alexblakegf , @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch , @emobabeyy , @victoiregranger , @stormyweatherth , @wanderingdreamer009 , @ssablackbird , @luhwithah , @lex13cm , @prentiss-theorem, @dont-emily-me , @mrs-ssa-hotch , @jocyycreation, @itsmytimetoodream , @hotchnissgroupie, @controversialpooh, @capsshinyshield , @canuck-eh

Join my tag list here!

#hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss fanfic #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotchniss fan fic #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron x emily #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #hotchniss

54 notes · View notes

getvalentined · 2 days

Text

I've never done a full breakdown of everything that happened to my version of Vincent while he was under the knife (although there is a partial breakdown from like 12 years ago on Ask Vincent Valentine), but @spinejackel tagged my recent Vincent doodle gushing about autopsy scar (Vincent Has a Y-Incision headcanon supremacy!) so I figured it was probably a good time. This is also probably the best method, since I can apply the right tags and trigger warnings to hopefully keep it from hitting the people who would be disturbed.

For anyone who doesn't know, figuring out the fucked up physiology of victims of science is like my entire jam. I think this is what happens when you let a chronically ill child watch Akira and the original Bubblegum Crisis OVA and most of the works of Masamune Shirow. All that before FF7 even existed. This means that the explanation under the cut may seem excessive, and this post is very long. I've been building it over over a quarter century, I don't think there's any avoiding it at this point.

Warnings for body horror, nonconsensual body modification, medical horror and torture. Basically, if there's anything you can think of related to becoming a victim of science under the rule of an unethical sci-fantasy oligarchy, it's probably in here to some degree. It's explained plainly and simply, in clinical but not visceral detail.

My headcanons for what Hojo did to Vincent are pretty specific, albeit not precisely comprehensive; 27 years later I still don't really have a particularly solid concept for how he turned Vincent into a shapeshifter, although at least we know it's not something entirely specific to Vincent—Hojo repeated that facet of the experiment in Azul, but not in any other SOLDIER operative even in DeepGround, implying that it's only possible if very specific physiological conditions are met. The minimal concept I do have involves a twisted application of the concept of incarnate summoning as it appears in FFXIII-2, but it's very vague and also not the topic of this post. Maybe later.

Regarding the Y-incision/autopsy scar, my headcanon is that once Hojo tweaked Vincent into being able to regenerate from any injury—an enhancement that is confirmed to be entirely Hojo's work in Dirge—the professor of course felt it necessary to run various tests quantify the usefulness of his handiwork. He did this first by inflicting various surface injuries, then by causing more extreme bodily trauma, which eventually culminated in Hojo removing the majority of Vincent's internal organs in order to measure how long it took them to grow back and, assuming they did grow back, how the new ones compared to Vincent's original parts.

To be able to observe this as closely as possible, Hojo kept Vincent's torso open for the entire process—which he repeated twice more in order to check the weight, size and structure of the newly-grown organs in comparison to the originals. This study proved that most of them did grow back, but the majority of them stopped developing much earlier than was appropriate for Vincent's age and size. The difference was consistent, Hojo just never figured out why most of them grew back smaller and less-developed.

The reason this happened is based the fact that most of the organs in the human trunk are used in digestion and other related processes, and Vincent's regeneration means he doesn't need to eat or drink anymore. His body only expended as much energy as was completely necessary to develop those organs to the point of being functional rather than normal, because they're not really necessary. Vincent is glad he still has them, though, because he does still occasionally eat (usually in social situations) and also he'd be really sad if he couldn't even have coffee.

Vincent's brain activity remained normal during the entire process, although that may have something to do with Hojo driving a bunch of fluid lines into his head and flooding the inside of his skull with mako to keep him awake the whole time even while deprived of oxygen. (Rebirth spoilers, but seeing the bit in the Nibelheim Protorelic questline where Hojo does something super similar to this, after this has been my headcanon for decades, was a trip.)

Two organs didn't grow back at all: Vincent's appendix and one kidney. This was also the result of efficient energy expenditure, as the human appendix isn't necessary for survival, and only one kidney is really required. (Each time Hojo removed the new kidney, the one that grew back would be on the opposite side, which bothered Hojo to no end.)

His lungs grew back a little larger, possibly because his skeletal structure never quite recovered after his first transformation into Galian—his arms and legs are noticeably too long for his body, although not to the point of looking impossible, and likewise his ribcage settled to breadth that would allow for larger lungs. He doesn't really need these anymore either, related to his brain being exposed to so much mako during the process that it can now operate without oxygen if necessary, but switching himself over from aerobic to anaerobic respiration is really unpleasant and Vincent tries to avoid it when he can.

His heart was pretty normal by the time Hojo was done with him, although his heartrate had dropped to like 20bpm even when elevated. Again, if respiration isn't necessary, there's not much reason for the system to be active. (By the time Lucrecia was done this had dropped to around 5bpm on average, although it's completely arrhythmic and jumps all over the place when he's not either particularly active or on the verge of a transformation.)

This was the experiment that left Vincent susceptible to degradation, which Hojo didn't realize until after finally closing him back up. Upon realizing that Vincent's body wasn't responding properly to a different test (a repetition of an earlier experiment related to the regeneration of external tissues and features), Hojo just kinda threw him in a tube to be disposed of at a later date, kinda like that scene in Arrested Development where there's that dead dove in a bag in the fridge. The incision healed at some point during the period that Lucrecia was working on him, but early enough in her work that the tissue couldn't flawlessly regenerate (like it does in the present), leaving him with one more gnarly scar on top of all the rest.

Vincent is self-conscious about all the physiological changes brought on by what was done to him, often to the point of loathing. His left arm is the worst—it rotted off while he was in the throes of degradation and grew back as something that he hesitates to call his arm—but Vincent hates that Y-incision scar almost as much. Some days they tie.

(It has come up in appropriately horrified conversation with Shalua that, considering how his regeneration works, Vincent could probably get rid of all the scars on his chest if he somehow peeled the skin off his torso in a single swath. He will not be doing that. Besides, it might grow back the wrong color/texture/etc, like his left arm. Not worth the risk, much less the suffering.)

Also I gotta finish off this entry with the extremely stupid headcanon reveal that Vincent's (honestly fairly impressive) dick was cut off during the first round of bodily trauma regeneration tests—and Hojo has never felt the sort of rage he experienced upon discovering that it grew back bigger than before. This occurred early enough in the experiments that Vincent was not awake for it, and thus has no idea how the fuck this happened, and does not want to talk about it ever thank you very much. I've never mentioned it in public anywhere because it is extremely stupid, but I hope someone out there finds it as funny a concept as I do.

#vincent valentine #headcanon warning #body horror tw #torture tw #medical torture tw #it's all described in scientific detail #not visceral at all #but it's still very much horror #so please be aware #and do not engage if you're not into that #fandom ramble

49 notes · View notes

q-gorgeous · 2 days

Text

Wing-Bully

fanfiction

ao3

word count: 5267

No one knows au except dash baxter @xscarletsakurax

this is a rework of something that was gonna go write some other writing i did but then i split them into two different fics because the halves didnt vibe with each other kjhgvcf

hidey hey

“Dash, you’re here so we can work on our project for Lancer’s class. We’re not supposed to be down here.”

“Come on, ghosts aren’t even real. How dangerous can it be down here?”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Dangerous enough that we should really be wearing jumpsuits to protect us from ecto-contamination.”

He walked over to the closet that was down there and pulled out his jumpsuit while Dash laughed at him.

“Matching outfits with your parents? Lame.”

“Don’t complain to me if you get ectoplasm poisoning then.”

Danny pulled on his jumpsuit and groaned at the sticker on his chest. He pulled it off and tossed it away.

“What’s this?” Dash pointed at the deep hole in the wall. Danny walked over to him.

“That’s my parent’s ghost portal. It didn’t end up working though.”

Dash pushed him towards the portal. “Why don’t you go check it out?”

Danny frowned at him and tried to catch his footing. “No. I don’t know what’s wrong with it. I can’t-”

“Haha, go in.”

“Dash, stopping pushing me-”

Danny tripped backwards over the threshold of the portal. He tried to catch himself on something on the wall but all he ended up doing was pressing a button that for some godforsaken reason was on the inside of the portal. It hummed around him and after a few moments everything went green.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Glad to see you’re not dead, nerd.”

Danny looked up to see Dash. It was too early in the morning to deal with him after yesterday.

“You already knew I wasn’t dead.”

“A man can dream.” Danny rolled his eyes at Dash’s comment.

“I remember someone crying a lot of tears yesterday when they thought I was dead.”

A blush rose on Dash’s cheeks. “My adrenaline was running like crazy! It’s not my fault your screams triggered some kind of primal response in my brain!”

“Crying is a primal response now?”

Dash rolled his eyes back at him and crossed his arms. “Have you figured out your whole ghost thing yet?”

“It’s literally been one day.” Danny stared at him. “How could I have figured anything out yet?”

Dash leaned in close to Danny and he glanced at Dash’s lips for a moment before his gaze darted back to Dash’s. “Maybe your parents have some sort of cure. Or maybe it was a one time thing. I don’t know.”

“Why do you care so much? It’s literally your fault this is happening.”

Dash raised a hand and looked like he was reaching to place it on Danny’s shoulder. “I just-”

Dash was interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind them. They turned around and were met with Sam and Tucker. She was glaring at Dash with her arms crossed.

“What are you friends with him now?” Sam asked, angrily gesturing at Dash.

“Woah, so what if he wants to be friends with me?” He asked, stepping towards her.

She barked out a laugh. “Come on! You’ve been bullying him the entire time I’ve known both of you. Why would he want to be friends with you? You must be blackmailing him or something.”

“Sam, he’s not blackmailing me.”

“How can we trust that? You could be lying because he’s blackmailing you.” Tucker frowned at him and reached out a hand, placing it on Danny’s shoulder. “I don't want what happened in elementary school to happen again.”

Danny shrugged it off. “That’s not what’s going on. Why can’t you just trust me on this?”

“Because this isn’t smart.” Sam said. “Why do you guys need to be friends?”

Danny threw his hands into the air. “Why are you getting so defensive about this? You’ve literally only seen us have this one conversation and you’re already mad at me. For all you know we could have been assigned a project together or he’s asking about his tutoring sessions with Jazz. Maybe he had to reschedule and wanted me to tell Jazz.”

Tucker shuffled where he stood but Sam still stared at him with crossed arms.

“Yeah but are you going to tell us the real reason?”

“Does it matter, Sam?”

Out of the corner of his eye Dash saw Danny start slowly sinking. He panickingly grabbed Danny’s arm to prevent him from sinking any further into the ground. Danny tried to keep his expression neutral but Dash could tell he was shaken.

“Oh. Is that what’s happening?” Sam looked between the two of them.

“Is what happening?” Danny asked, frowning at her.

“What kind of enemies to lovers bullshit is this?” Dash’s eyes widened at her outburst. What was she talking about? What did she think was happening?

His gaze landed on where his hand was still wrapped around Danny’s upper arm and he pulled it back like he’d been burned. Sam scoffed.

“Sam-” Tucker started but she interrupted him.

“Do you even realize how toxic that kind of relationship can be? He’s just going to hurt you.”

Danny recoiled at her words. “What are you even talking about?”

“The fact that you two seem to be getting real cozy with each other? Are you dating or something?”

Dash stepped in front of Danny. “How shallow do you have to assume the only reason I’d be talking to him now is if we’re dating? For your information, we used to be friends as kids.” Dash frowned at her and watched as she backed up. “Just because you’re self conscious about your major crush on Fenton doesn’t mean you have to take it out on us because we’re having a simple conversation.”

A blush appeared on Sam’s cheeks before she angrily stormed away.

“Sorry.” Tucker said as he looked between them again before he followed after her.

Danny watched them as they walked into the school. He was quiet for a few moments before he turned his gaze back to Dash.

“Sam has a crush on me?”

Dash groaned. “That is what you’re focused on?” He started walking towards the school.

Danny followed next to him. “But I didn’t know that! How did you know that?”

“You’re just about the only person who didn’t know, Fenton.”

Dash pushed through the front doors of the school. Danny had a dazed look on his face.

“Is that why everyone calls me clueless?” He whispered.

“Clueless strikes again.”

Danny frowned up at him. “Oh what, you’re so observant, are you?”

Dash pushed open the front door of the school. It swung closed behind them. “More than you. I’m not even friends with Manson and I could see the blackened heart eyes she was giving you.”

Danny shuffled his backpack on his shoulders as they walked down the hall. “I’ve just never seen her that way. I don’t like her like that.”

Dash’s brows shot up on his forehead. “You don’t?”

Danny shook his head. He veered off to the right and Dash followed him to his locker. “She's just a friend to me.”

Dash leaned against the lockers while Danny tried to open his but his hand just ended up passing through the dial lock. He groaned.

“Maybe you should tell her that, then. Get it over with so she doesn’t try to kill anyone that even thinks to get close to you.”

Danny rolled his eyes. He finally got his locker open. “She wouldn’t kill anyone for getting close to me.”

“I don’t know.” Dash drawled. “She looked like she was gonna claw my eyes out back there. Like a creepy bat girl.”

Danny slammed his locker shut and turned to look at Dash. “You know, if we’re going to be doing whatever this is, I would appreciate you not making comments about my friends like that.”

“But she can talk to me like that?”

Danny frowned. “No. I literally told her there was no reason for her to be talking to you like that for having a simple conversation with me.”

“But she’s allowed to not like me?”

“That’s your own fault.” Danny rolled his eyes. “She has every right not to like you.”

Dash huffed. He was about to say something but then Danny started sinking into the floor again. Danny panickingly grabbed Dash’s forearm to prevent himself from sinking any further in. Dash pulled him up and when he set him back down, his feet were solid again. Dash looked around them and miraculously no one else in the hall saw what happened.

“I’m already over this.” Danny mumbled as he let go of Dash.

“Do you think you’ll get control over it eventually?” Dash asked him.

“Hopefully. Otherwise I’ll probably have no choice but to ask my parents for help. I really don’t want to do that though.”

“Maybe we could do some training? Or practice? You won’t get used to your powers if you just try to ignore them. If you try to do it, then maybe you’ll understand how to not do it.”

Danny nodded. “That makes sense. I guess that’s what we’ll have to do.”

They came to a split in the hallway. Danny looked up at him.

“Well, I’m going this way.” Danny hooked a thumb over his shoulder as he turned to face Dash.”

Dash nodded. “See you later. Hopefully you don’t drop anything today.”

“Hopefully. We’ll see.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Thirty four beakers.

Danny was finally getting ahold of his powers and all it took was thirty four dropped beakers and a lifetime ban from handling anything fragile while he was at school.

Aside from the frequent ghost sighting, things were starting to look up.

“Manson!”

If only Dash could learn to keep his thoughts to himself when it came to his friends.

“What is this garbage?”

He stomped up to where the three of them were sitting at their table in the cafeteria. Sam frowned at him.

“It’s not garbage! It’s recyclable organic matter.”

“It’s garbage.” Danny and Tucker said together.

Danny gasped out a breath of cold air. He looked around him. He saw a lunch lady ghost behind the food counter.

Dash followed his gaze to where the ghost was. He saw it just as she walked behind the wall.

Dash looked back at Sam and held up his plate of mud, pushing himself between Danny and his friends. “When I asked for a mud pie, I thought I was gonna get a mud pie. Not a literal mud pie!”

“Actually, it’s topsoil.”

“Whatever. Are you going to actually eat this garbage?”

Danny slipped away while Dash argued with his friends. Maybe Dash arguing with his friends could actually be useful for something for once.

He found somewhere to hide and transformed. He flew invisibly back to the cafeteria to the room the lunch ladies worked in. She was floating there looking around and the food and the lunch trays. She kind of looked like Tucker’s grandma.

She caught sight of him. Danny was ready to bolt as she floated up to him, but she wasn’t making any moves to attack him.

“Hello.” She said sweetly. “Can you help me? Today’s lunch should be meatloaf, but there’s not any here. Did someone change the menu?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. They’re trying something new this week.”

Danny jumped back as her hair suddenly flamed up with her anger.

“The menu has been the same for fifty years!” She shouted at him.

“Wait-”

She levitated some plates and shot them at him. Danny dodged and caught them, avoiding getting hit. What was up with this lady? Why was the menu so important?

“The menu is sacred! Lunch is sacred!” She spoke in her sickly sweet voice again. “Would you like some cake?”

Danny looked at her, confused. “If you’re offering-”

“No one gets cake until the menu is changed back!”

She held her arms up and meat started flying towards her from every direction. It engulfed her and turned her into a meat monster.

“Meat is the most important food group! Without meat, you’ll remain puny and muscle-less!”

“I’m not arguing with you there.” Danny mumbled. He geared up for a kick but she grabbed his ankle and sent him flying across the room.

“I will restore the sanctity of the lunch menu! As soon as I find out who changed it!”

She disappeared in a tornado of meat.

The ghost was gone for now. Danny flew through the wall of the school and collapsed onto the ground. He transformed back and tried to push himself up. He was so tired. He’d never used his powers like that before. He groaned.

“Hey.”

Danny opened his eyes and looked up. Dash was standing there with his hand outstretched to Danny. He looked at it for a second before he reached up and grabbed it, pulling himself up with Dash’s help.

“Thanks. That ghost wiped me out.”

“No problem. I wanted to make sure that ghost didn’t kill you. I was trying to find you when I saw you fly through the wall and hit the ground out here.”

Danny nodded. “Yeah that wasn’t fun.” He looked down and saw that he was still holding onto Dash’s hand. He pulled it away and coughed. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I should go check on Sam and Tucker though. I want to make sure they’re okay.”

“The ghost attack was pretty contained.” Dash said. “I’m sure they’re fine.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Ah.” Dash said. “That’s fair. Sorry about dragging out that argument with her.”

Danny shrugged and started walking away. “It distracted them long enough to let me slip away for a bit so. No harm done. At least not to me.”

“Good luck. Hopefully she doesn’t chew your head off.”

Danny pulled the door Dash had walked out open and stepped back inside the school, shaking the hand that had been holding Dash’s. He made his way through the hallways to find Sam and Tucker.

Sam slammed open the cafeteria doors as Danny stumbled down the hallway.

“I still can’t believe you’re talking to that meathead.” She shot at him with no preamble. “He literally antagonizes all of us. And then you ditch us to go meet up with him? I saw you two outside.”

“Sam-”

“What can you say to defend him?” She turned to look at him. “He beats you up all the time.”

“Not anymore.” Danny said.

“What?” Sam stopped walking.

“He doesn’t beat me up anymore.”

She didn’t say anything to that for a few moments. She shook her head. “I still don’t trust him. I don’t get how you could forgive him so easily.”

“I-” He stopped. Had he forgiven Dash?

Sam shook his head. “Let’s just get to class.”

Danny looked around them. “Where’s Tucker?”

She rolled her eyes. “He said he smelt meat so he went to track it down through the hallways. I don’t know if he’s found it yet.”

Danny scrunched up his nose. He knew exactly what meat Tucker was smelling. “He’s just gonna go eat whatever random mystery meat he finds?”

“Apparently.”

Danny didn’t respond after her last stilted reply. He followed behind her to their next class. When they walked in she went straight to her seat but he looked up and made eye contact with Dash. Dash gave him a questioning look and Danny just shrugged at him before sitting back down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dash walked into the Nasty Burger. Football had just ended and he was hungry.

As he was walking to the counter he saw Danny sitting at a table with his friends. Dash smirked and walked over to them.

“Hey, nerds.” He placed a hand on the table and leaned his weight into it.

Sam rolled her eyes. “What do you want?”

“I just came to say hi to my favorite nerds. Is there a problem with that?”

“If we’re your favorite does that mean you’ll stop making fun of us?” Tucker asked thoughtfully. “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, Sam.”

“He’s not going to stop making fun of us, Tucker. The two of them are over there ‘trying to be friends.’” She said with air quotes. “And he still picks on us all the time.”

“I’ve tried talking to him about it, Sam, but he has a hard time with it.”

She shot Danny a look. “So why be friends with him? Why give him a chance? What do you see in him?”

“Just because he doesn’t like you-”

Sam scoffed. “Maybe you’re too insecure about your own crush on Danny.”

Danny whipped his head to look at her.

“What?” Dash laughed it off. “What are you talking about, Manson?”

“Yeah, Sam, what are you talking about?” Danny stared at her.

“Isn’t that what’s been happening this whole time?” She shot back at them. “He’s got some kind of weird feelings for you, he’s trying to get into your pants. Get on your good side. The pulling the girl’s pigtails because you like her bullshit? Don’t you see how weird his sudden change in actions towards you is?”

“What about your sudden change in actions?” Danny shot at her. “Do you realize how much of an asshole you’ve been lately?”

“Well, maybe if you weren’t friends with-”

Danny threw his hands up in the air. “God forbid if I make new friends! Or try to get along with someone instead of fighting! Or even make decisions for myself.”

“Danny-”

He cut her off and stood up. “No I’m-” He gasped and Dash saw his ghost sense fog out of his mouth. He frowned. “I’m going home. I need some time alone.” He turned and started walking towards the door.

“Danny!” Dash followed behind Danny out of the Nasty Burger.

The ghost was flying above the parking lot shooting ecto-blasts every which way.

The door slammed behind Dash and Danny turned his head to look at him.

“I need some time to think. Please just go back inside.”

He called on his transformation rings. Once they passed across his body he jumped up and flew into the air towards the ghost.

He watched Danny fight the ghost. He could tell he was angry. He was sloppy today.

Danny missed a dodge and got hit through the air by the ghost. He ended up turned facing the opposite direction so he didn’t see it start to charge at him.

Dash’s heart raced as he watched the ghost fly up to Danny. His heart stirred with feelings he wanted to push down. He didn’t need to put himself in danger for Danny. He didn’t feel that way. Danny didn’t feel that way about him.

But as the ghost got closer, Dash couldn’t help as the anxiety skyrocketed. His resolve broke and he picked up a big piece of asphalt off the ground and chucked it at the ghost. It turned to look at him.

Dash froze when the ghost’s eyes landed on him. What was he doing? Was Danny really that important to him now?

The ghost’s mouth filled up with ectoplasm and shot it towards.

He wouldn’t be able to move in-

Danny knocked Dash out of the way of the ecto-blast just in time. His arms wrapped around Dash’s chest and he flew back. The blast hit the ground where he’d been standing just a moment before.

Dash wrapped his arms around Danny as they slammed into the ground. He groaned as his back slid across the pavement and Danny looked down at him. He started feeling the back of Dash’s head, running his fingers through his hair.

Dash opened his eyes and looked up at Danny. He looked panicked. Like something was wrong, but he literally just prevented anything from being wrong.

“Dash, are you okay?”

He nodded. “Back hurts. Head’s fine.”

Danny leaned down and lay his head on Dash’s chest. Dash’s hands slid down Danny’s back and rested at his side and he closed his eyes again. He really didn’t like this whole ghost hunting thing.

The ghost roared behind them and Dash felt Danny’s head shoot back up.

“Shit! How did I forget about the ghost?”

Dash waved his hand above him. “Go. I’m fine. I’m just gonna get my bearings on the ground here.”

Dash listened as Danny finished fighting the ghost. It ended quickly and he could hear Danny’s footsteps as he walked to stand over Dash. Dash opened his eyes and his heart jumped at the way the sun shone on Danny’s white hair.

Danny held his hand out to Dash and he slowly reached up and grabbed it. Danny pulled him to his feet and looked at their hands. He let go a moment later.

“I think we need a new rule. No interfering with ghost attacks.”

“What?” Dash frowned at him. “That thing was about to gobble you.”

Danny crossed his arms. “Yeah, but if I didn’t get to you on time you could've gotten very badly hurt. I thought I knocked your head on the ground when I knocked you out of the way.”

Dash shrugged. “But you didn’t.”

“We can’t rely on that.” Danny looked away from him. “Just promise you won’t interfere like that again?”

Dash wasn’t sure if that was something he could actually do. But one look at the expression on Danny’s face told Dash he should at least try.

“Yeah. I promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny was nodding off in the middle of class. They were given time to work on their homework today but all Danny wanted to do was sleep. Having to fight all these ghosts all the time was making his life way too stressful. He wasn’t to sleep or get his homework done or even get to class on time. It was starting to get to him.

He yawned. While his eyes were shut he heard someone sit down next to him. He opened his eyes and saw Dash in the next seat over.

“You look tired.”

“Thanks, captain obvious. I didn’t realize.”

Dash shrugged. He slouched back in his seat. “Your friends are whispering about you back there.”

Danny turned and looked over his shoulder at where Sam and Tucker sat at the table in the back of the classroom. When they saw him looking Sam turned back around. Tucker just waved at him awkwardly.

Danny waved back at him. “I wish they’d just sit over here with me.”

Dash waved them off. “Who needs ‘em if they’re going to be treating you like that.”

Sam snorted behind them. Dash turned to look at her. “You got something to say Manson?”

“As if we could treat him any worse than anything you’ve ever done to him.”

Dash shrugged as he faced back towards the front of the classroom. “Hey, at least my character arc is positive. I’ve made amends.”

“You’ve hardly even done anything. What kind of character arc have you actually had?”

“I-” Dash started but then he stopped. His brows dropped down and he looked at Danny.

It hit Danny then that the only thing that really changed with Dash’s behavior was how he treated Danny. He didn’t pick on him anymore and he had cared about him, but he immediately resumed the same habits with both of Danny’s friends. Any time that Dash covered for Danny’s whereabouts during ghost fights, the only thing he could think to do was antagonize Sam and Tucker. He could never think up any actual excuses that wouldn’t cause more problems.

Danny missed part of the conversation. By the time he tuned back in, Sam was glaring at Dash from across the room.

“Just because he’d rather spend time with me than you-”

Danny’s ghost sense picked that moment to go off and he couldn’t think of a more convenient time for it to have happened. He stood up sharply and made his way out of the classroom quickly. The door slammed behind him as it closed and he was a couple steps down the hallway when the door opened behind him again.

“Danny, wait-”

“Why do you do that?” Danny turned and frowned at him.

“What?” Dash’s brows furrowed.

“Why do you dig at them like that? Make them feel bad about what’s going on?”

“Manson-” Dash started but Danny interrupted him.

“No. Sam and Tucker are mad at me because of you. They think I’m always ditching them to go hang out with you instead.”

“That’s not my fault!” Dash shouted back at him. “That’s the ghost’s fault!”

“But they don’t know that!” Danny stared at him. “All they know is that I’m on good terms with you now and I disappear all the time. They know something is up.”

Dash shuffled where he stood. He knew he was causing a rift between Danny and his friends. No matter how much he liked to antagonize them, he wasn’t proud of it. He wasn’t trying to put distance between them.

Danny sighed. “She keeps making jabs about us being together like it would be crazy. Like it would be the worst thing in the world.” Danny looked up at Dash. “I would like it if it wasn’t the craziest thing in the world. If it could actually be true. But with the way you treat my friends-” He shook his head.

Everything around Dash stopped. What?

“Danny-”

A blue mist came out of Danny’s mouth again. He shook his head.

“I gotta go.”

“Wait-”

Danny ran around the corner away from Dash.

“What did you do to him?”

Dash looked down the hallway to see Sam glaring at him. Tucker stood next to her.

“What?” He asked.

“He just ran away from you? What did you do to him?” She stomped her way over to him.

“Nothing!” Dash held his hands up in a surrendering motion. “We were just talking and he had to go-”

“We’re in the middle of class. What else would he need to be doing right now?”

“Yeah. Why would he be leaving?” Tucker asked.

“He, uh, went to-”

Sam ran past him and around the corner Danny went down, Tucker close on her heels. Dash followed behind them knowing Danny would already be gone but they didn’t stop there. They ran down the hallway and out the door leading outside.

“Danny?” She shouted. “Where are you?”

Dash was the only one that noticed Danny floating in the sky. He was fighting an animal type ghost.

“Uh, guys, I think we should probably go back inside.”

He pointed up at the sky and Sam and Tucker followed his finger. Sam’s eyes widened and she looked around the front of the school again.

“Danny!”

Phantom must’ve heard that one because he turned his head to look down at them. The ghost took that moment to hit Phantom, sending him flying through the air. Now he was much closer to them.

This ghost looked horrifying. It was animalistic but it looked uncannily like a person. Stringy, hair looking fur and teeth curved into a creepy smile.

“Get to safety! Now!” Phantom shouted down at them. He shot another ectoblast at the ghost.

“We have to find Danny first!” Sam shouted in a panic.

“He’s not out here.” Dash turned to go back inside the school. “Let’s just listen to Phantom and get somewhere safe.”

“That hallway doesn’t lead anywhere except outside! Where else could he be?” Sam asked, still turning around looking for Danny.

“He didn’t-”

“Danny!” Tucker shouted.

Dash growled. Why didn’t they just listen to him?

The ghost let out a shriek and Dash squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears.

“Go inside, now!”

Dash’s eyes opened at Phantom’s shout. He looked back up into the air.

Dash stared at the ghost that was hovering in the air in front of them. It was cackling, its head thrown back into the air. It looked back at the ground directly at Sam and promptly shot an ectoblast out of its mouth. Dash saw Sam’s mouth open the slightest bit and everything slowed down. Danny turned, following the path of the blast but when he tried to fly towards her the ghost grabbed onto him, trapping him.

This was one of Danny’s best friends. She might hate Dash’s guts but Danny cared for her more than she hated him.

Without another thought, he pushed himself into a run and sprinted his way across the grass. He put himself between her and the ghost and grabbed her just as the blast hit him in the back.

He could hear Sam scream as they fell to the ground. Tucker was shouting from somewhere else but Dash couldn’t make much out past the ringing in his ears. He could hear scuffling in the air above him but it was muffled. The pain in his back radiated out and he could feel it in every jostle as someone shook his body.

Everything started fading away and Dash hoped he wasn’t dying. Distantly, he wondered if this is how Danny felt when he died in the portal.

The voices fell away and so did Dash.

~~~~~~~~~~

Slowly, the world came back to him. The first thing he noticed was the steady beeping nearby. The second thing was how bright the lights were against his eyelids.

He groaned and he heard some shuffling to his left. Someone placed a hand on his arm.

“Dash?”

His heart skipped a beat and he slowly pried his eyes open. He was laying in a bed in the hospital and Danny was standing to his left.

“Danny?” Dash croaked out. He tried to sit up but Danny pushed him back down against his pillows.

“You shouldn’t move too much. You got hit pretty bad.”

“You got the ghost though?” Dash asked.

“Yeah, he got the ghost.”

Sam and Tucker walked into the room and stood next to Danny.

“Uh, no I asked if Phantom got the-” Dash fumbled, trying to cover it up.

“It’s okay, Dash.” Danny said. “I told them. I thought it might be better if they knew.”

Dash looked at Danny’s two friends. They didn’t look like they were mad at him anymore. Or like they hated him. It was relieving that they knew. Danny didn’t have to keep avoiding them or keep secrets anymore.

“If we’d known in the first place we could’ve helped, you know.” Sam said, shooting both of them a look.

“Yeah. A team always needs a tech guy.” Tucker crossed his arms in mock frustration.

“But we do understand why you guys have been acting weird for the past couple months.” Sam turned to look at Dash. “Thank you for helping him even though you didn’t have to.”

Dash nodded, dumbfounded.

She stared at him a moment longer and pulled her gaze away. “And thank you for knocking me out of the way of that hit. Sorry it landed you here.”

Dash shook his head. “You’re Danny’s friends. You’re important to him. I didn’t want you to get hurt because of all this ghost stuff.”

“That’s a nice thought, but you should also try not to get yourself hurt.” Sam said.

“Yeah.” Danny frowned. “You promised.”

Dash shrugged. “We can call it karma.”

Tucker stepped forward. “We need a name.”

“A name?” Danny looked up at Tucker.

“Yeah, like a cool ghost hunting team name.” He waved his hands in the air. “What about Team Phantom?”

Sam snorted. “That sounds dumb.”

Tucker planted his hands on his hips. “Well, do you have any better ideas then?”

Danny’s hand slowly made his way down from his arm to his hand as they talked. He entwined his fingers with Dash’s and gave him a squeeze. Dash squeezed his hand back.

Everything would be okay. Everything was okay.

#gorgi writes #danny phantom #danny fenton #dash baxter #sam manson #tucker foley #swagger bishie #kinda #phic phight 2024 #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #phic

25 notes · View notes

acourtofthought · 2 days

Note

Regarding Lucien’s scars. I think it’s basically a headcanon in the fandom that Lucien still has the scars on his back from being whipped, but if those are present in canon too, that could be interesting. Howeverrrr… the facial scar must be kind of a big deal for Lucien. Amarantha attacked him 50ish years ago and then within a few days she organized that masquerade ball “in Lucien’s honor” - the masked theme was a scheme to help him basically hide what she did to his face. Then the masks were plastered to the faces of everyone in Spring Court because Tamlin didn’t accept to sleep with Amarantha. So here’s Lucien, hiding his scars for 50 years no matter how uncomfortable the whole mask situation may have been… but now his facial scar that he cannot hide anywhere (unlike Azriel’s hands) is just in full view for anyone who looks at him. I think there is no question about it. He must be self conscious about it, especially since he thinks Elain is the most beautiful female he has ever seen and she doesn’t reciprocate anything yet. People have been writing about it here on tumblr recently but I really hope SJM explores Lucien’s character from this perspective too. I assume he must feel very inadequate compared to Elain. She has so much (family, friends, connected to the IC, safety and security, beauty, etc.), whereas Lucien refers to himself as a whole lot of nothing. He doesn’t have a home or even a court, he’s basically all alone in the fae world, his closest allies are two humans who so far don’t have much power or influence in Prythian. I assume he is probably also unhappy with his looks after such a traumatic experience. I hope SJM explores this, I think that would be a really cool addition to Elucien’s healing journey. Even though Lucien is quite snarky and cocky outwardly, his inner monologue seems very self conscious. Ahhh SJM give us the angstttttt

I AGREE!!!!!! I think while there are sincere aspects of Lucien's personality that are (hahaha, I just accidentally typed snocky which was my brain getting confused on whether I wanted to type snarky or cocky first) snarky and cocky, I also feel it's a default mechanism too. Lucien is known to take care in his appearance and he is aware of appearances. Even in book once he was a bit of a fashionista, commenting on how Feyre's tunic wasn't as pretty as a dress and being amazed at how positively fae she looked when she did finally put one on. There's also this: Lucien said, "True. But indulge me: you're a human woman, and yet you'd rather eat hot coals than sit here longer than necessary. Ignoring this" - he waved a hand at the metal eye and brutal scar on his face-" surely we're not so miserable to look at. Lucien must be constantly aware of others looking at him and I'm guessing he's never sure if it's about the eye or if his scars are unappealing to them. For someone who does care about appearances, whose job it is to talk to High Lords and make friends to be a successful emissary, there is definitely an inner discomfort he's trying to brush off through his nonchalance and jokes about his appearance. I think you're right. Elain is beautiful to the point that people talk. Eris somehow heard across courts that Lucien's mate is a real beauty. She had heiresses jealous of her at barely thirteen. Her mother commented that if her beauty held, she'd be able to secure them a decent match on the marriage market (Elain was 11). So Lucien comes along and not only is he given this super special, sacred bond with her but she turns out to be the most beautiful female he'd ever seen all while knowing that she's in love with someone else. And there he is, with no home, no family name, a scar running down his face and one eye. I would take Lucien in a second and we know that many in the ACOTAR world reference his good looks but you can see how he would struggle with his appearance. You can see how Elain literally took his breath away and she did not seem effected by him (I imagine we'll find out that wasn't the truth in her POV but it's how he perceived it at the time). He thinks she doesn't want him or need him and I definitely think we're going to find that he's been feeling very insecure about her perception of his physical appearance.

#lucien vanserra #pro elucien #pro lucien vanserra #elucien

48 notes · View notes

tinyperson00 · 2 days

Text

ok.. I have a theory

spoilers ahead‼️

So we all know how Nezuko and Tanjiro are immune to sunlight right? But why is that.. why havnt any of the demons before been able to do this..? Have they just been too scared to test it? Well I dunno if this has already been put out there before by someone else, but this is my theory.

So later on in the manga its revealed that Kie (the Kamado's mother) knew the location of the blue spider lilies. The blue spider lilies were the sole thing Muzan was looking for throughout his entire life as a demon. This was because they held the ability to let the demons walk in the sunlight. So Kie Kamada knew the location to these flowers, which ended up leading to her death by Muzan. My theory is that what if when Tanjiro and Nezuko were little, Kie would harvest the flowers and use them in recipes to eat? This would explain why they are able to withstand the sunlight since they have the blue spider lilies inside their blood now. When the Kamado house was attacked it was later revealed that Muzan's reasoning for this was not actually to just find food and have a quick kill, but rather to find the location of the blue spider lilies from Kie and turn the rest of the family into demons. Most of them died from being injected with too much of Muzan's blood, however Nezuko managed to survive. Muzan didn't realize she was alive until he found out she was living in the sun, so he never took any interest in the Kamado's until finding Tanjiro. Back to the spider lilies, in Nezuko's memory of her lullaby with her mother they were shown walking a path most likely on the mountain they live on. In her lullaby she talked about having strange features from eating different berries and plants. What if this was also a hint at the fact that they were walking to the place where the spider lilies grew in order to harvest and eat them? This theory may be a stretch, but if you think about it its not too far off. In the sunlight countdown arc when Muzan is near defeat, he says to Tanjiro -

Maybe Muzan didn't explicitly mention the spider lilies, but its still probable that he realized the connection between them and the Kamado's. Its very possible that they could have been consuming the blue spider lilies for a long time, even though a few generations.

This theory may be a bit of a stretch in assumptions, but Im sticking with it. Kie knew the location of the blue spider lilies, and both Nezuko and Tanjiro were able to withstand the sunlight. They lived high in the mountains in a secluded area, and they were often shown walking down paths when they were younger. Think about this theory when you read the manga again, it may seem strange but theres a lot of connections to it.

after reading the manga 5x and watching the anime at least 3x.. your brain starts to wonder and think of strange theories like these. What do you guys think? Is it really that far off..?

#bored #avoiding sleep #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #manga #theory #tanjiro kamado #nezuko kamado #kie kamado #muzan kibutsuji #demon slayer theory #Kny

31 notes · View notes

imajinxnation · 3 days

Text

Killer And The Wife-Beater

Donnie Barksdale x FEM!Reader x David Allen Griffin

SUMMARY // You and your husband, Donnie are in Los Angeles for a short trip to just get out of town for awhile, when you both stumble across a man who looks oddly like your husband, to which Donnie gets a brilliant idea..

TW // Smut, Angst, Abuse, Cheating, Hitting, Reader is a shit person too, Knife Play, Degradation..

DON'T SAY I DIDN'T FUCKING WARN YOU!!

Also, I can't call Keanu's character David in this because that's my Dad's name.. so I just call him Griffin.

Honestly, I haven't watched The Watcher yet, so please don't hate me if it's not the best depiction of his character!!

Gif credit to @meier-mar for both

"Mm.. Donnie.."

As of right now, you're on your back in Griffin's home, on his bed with Donnie's head between your thighs, licking and sucking at your clit as if his life depended on it. Meanwhile, Griffin was watching from a chair in the corner of his room, groaning and palming himself through his jeans at the sight of your husband eating you out like there's no tomorrow.

Now, you may be wondering how you ended up in this position.. Well, you and Donnie were on a trip in Los Angeles, needing to get away from town for awhile and have some time for yourselves. You had been waiting for Donnie at a local café, when a man who looked almost exactly like your husband came up to you, asking if he could take some pictures of you, telling you that you were absolutely gorgeous.

You weren't one to turn down a man who was complimenting you, so you complied and posed for some pictures for him. Unfortunately, that time was cut short when Donnie had finally arrived, a pissed look on his face, pushing Griffin away and nearly breaking his camera in the process. This caused a fight to break out between you two, Griffin just standing there, watching you two fight, until you and Donnie both started getting extremely violent..

Griffin pulled you two apart after Donnie slapped you, and you retaliated by punching him in the chest back. Griffin tried to calm you both down, even though he was secretly enjoying the little couples spat you were having, but then, as another retaliation to Donnie's jealousy and rage, you grabbed Griffin by the shirt and made out with him in front of your husband.

You thought this would deter him, make him angrier.. and it did, but it also turned him on. Seeing your tongue inside another mans unsuspecting mouth, and Griffin's tongue fighting back against yours, giving into lust.. It made Donnie's brain spark with ideas..

And that's how you ended up where you are now.

"Baby girl, such a fuckin' slut.. Makin' out with another man in front of me, and now havin' him watch us fuck.." Donnie growls into your twitching pussy, his hands gripping your thighs tightly so you can't escape his relentless tongue.

Griffin groans at Donnie's words, unbuttoning his pants and undoing the zipper. Griffin pulls his pants down, and pulls his cock out of his underwear. He squeezes his hand around his thickness, precum spilling out of his pink tip.

"Look at him! Look at him while I fuck you," Donnie growls out once more before sucking and licking at your clit harder than ever, his beard scratching your inner thighs deliciously.

You do as he says. Moaning wildly, you throw your head to the side to watch Griffin as his gloved hand strokes his thick cock, making eye contact with you and groaning.

"Gah! Oh God, Donnie! Gonna fuckin' cum!" You moan loudly, nearly screaming, your hands frantically grabbing onto your husband's long hair.

"That's it baby girl! Cum for me, make him watch you cum for me, and only me! Do it, whore!" He growls, keeping up his pace with his tongue.

You scream, cumming hard onto his long, skilled tongue, your hands gripping his hair so hard your knuckles turned white. Donnie pulls away from your swollen clit and gives your pussy a firm slap, making your body jolt. As you come down from your high, Donnie looks over to Griffin, his cock still hard in his gloved hand.

"Get the fuck over here, city boy. You want my fuckin' whore of I wife, you can have her. For tonight at least.." Donnie sneers at Griffin, but switches places with him, now sitting in the chair where Griffin was.

You pull yourself up onto your elbows, still panting as you watch Griffin, wondering what he was going to do, how he would position you, what his cock felt like.. You loved Donnie's cock, don't get me wrong! But Donnie wasn't as thick as Griffin, and you had a feeling Griffin would stretch you out juuust nicely.

Griffin slowly walks to his bedside table and pulls out a small knife from his top drawer, the metal glinting in the lamp light. For a second, Donnie's heart dropped and became protective of you, ready to stop Griffin from hurting you, but before he could, Griffin silently dragged the dull part of knife across your collar bones.

He drug the knife down further and pressed the cool metal against your nipple, making it harden more at the coldness. A sadistic grin played on Griffin's face as he led the knife down further, across your ribcage, stomach, and finally to your pubic mound, making you gasp, your eyes widening at the sharp object being so close to such a sensitive area.

Donnie watches carefully, making sure that knife doesn't pierce your soft flesh. Sure, Donnie has hit you multiple times, but hitting wasn't the same as cutting.. And if Griffin cut you or sliced your delicate skin in any way, shape, or form? Well then he'd be a dead man walking.

Griffin slides the flat part of the knife through your arousal, gathering a decent amount of your juices on the weapon before bringing it to his lips and licking the knife, his eyes lighting up at the taste of your slick.

"Mm.. how sweet and delicious.. but not this time." He throws the knife to the floor and aligns his cock with your entrance hastily, desperate for release.

He pushes in hard and fast, not waiting for you to adjust to his pulsing thickness. He groans and hisses in pleasure as his cock is engulfed by your tight heat, not expecting you to be as tight as you are. Griffin grunts and starts thrusting hard but slow, wanting the pleasure to last for both of you. Meanwhile, you're a moaning mess under him, his thick cock stretching you out just as you had hoped it would; deliciously. There was a slight stinging, but you honestly didn't care and the pleasure overpowered everything else.

"Fuck! You're so fucking tight.. What, he not stretch you out? His cock that small?" Griffin teases, looking over at Donnie and smirking right at him.

Donnie's face turns red in anger and embarrassment, you can practically see the steam pouring out of his nostrils from the heat of his anger. Donnie growls and finally pulls his cock out, pushing his pants and underwear down onto the floor and coming closer to your face. He grabs your cheeks in his hand, his grip hard and warning. Donnie makes you look up at him while you moan, your pussy getting obliterated by the thickest cock you've ever had.

"You little cockslut.. you want dick so bad then you can fuckin' take mine too. Suck." Donnie demands, slapping your face before placing his dick into your awaiting mouth.

You do as he says, engulfing his cock in your wet mouth, licking and sucking, your moans sending vibrations through him, your hand taking the part of his shaft where your mouth couldn't reach. Griffin groans at the sight and speeds up his pace, fucking you faster and harder, bringing your legs up to lay over his shoulders, giving him more access and hitting deeper than before, making you nearly scream in Donnie's cock as you bobbed your head on his length, moaning frantically.

"That's right, baby girl.. you like having two cocks? Bet you'd fuckin' looove even more, but guess what, sweetheart? After this, you're mine, and I ain't gonna share you ever again.." Donnie hisses out as you lick over his slit, bringing your head up to suck hard at his tip before going back down on his cock.

Griffin ignores Donnie's words and groans deeply, his pace faltering and becoming sloppy, getting closer and closer to the edge, both you and Donnie could tell. Griffin showed no sign of stopping or pulling out, only going faster, trying to bring himself to the edge and cum, not even bothering to try and make you cum. You could definitely feel a pressure in your lower stomach, but it wouldn't be snapping any time soon without any stimulation on your clit.

"You cum inside of her, city boy, and this will be your last day on Earth, ya hear!?" Donnie snaps at Griffin.

Griffin looks up at him with a shit-eating grin before thrusting into your abused pussy harder, pushing as deep as he can in defiance to your husband.

"I'd like to see you fuckin' try, redneck!" Griffin grunts out. Though he had challenged Donnie like that, he knew he'd probably die if he came inside of you, and he didn't particularily feel like meeting death that night.

So, as soon as he felt himself near the edge, he pulled out, making you whine from the empty feeling, and started rubbing and jerking his cock frantically over you until one particular squeeze sent him over, thick, creamy spurts of cum covering your stomach, and even on your tits a little bit.

Donnie pulls his dick out of your mouth and quickly speeds over to where Griffin was hovering over you, his cock dripping cum still. Donnie pulled him up onto the floor and punched him hard where he knew it would knock him out, sending him falling to the floor, looking peacefully asleep with his softening cock pulled out of his underwear still.

Not bothering to fix the way Griffin looked, Donnie took Griffin's previous place, shoving his length into your heat. Even though the city boy had stretched you out significantly, you were still so tight. You moan out at the intrusion, loving the feeling of Donnie's cock inside you, like it should be. Griffin's cock was nice.. but you still prefered your husband's as to his.

"City boy didn't even make you cum, did he? My poor baby girl, so pent up.. Let me fix that for you.." Donnie smirks and licks his thumb before bringing his finger down to your clit, giving you the stimulation you craved.

That is what finally made you scream. The feeling of your husband's cock pounding into your tight pussy while his thumb rubbed furiously at your clit, not only focusing on his pleasure, but yours aswell. That's what turned you on; his willingness to put aside his own pleasure for awhile to take care of your sexual cravings.

"Fuck, honey! Gonna cum! Gonna cum all over your cock!" You moan and scream out, making Donnie thrust harder, his thumb working magic on your clit.

Your eyes widen as you feel the band in your stomach snap and waves of pleasure wash over you, making you scream, your head thrown back and your back arching off the bed. Donnie let's out a loud groan in response, thrusting hard one more time before breaking, his warm cum filling you up, spurt after spurt. He collapses on top of you and immediately groans in disgust as he realizes he now had Griffin's cum on his body..

"That's disgustin'.. we're gonna take over his shower before we go, cause I don't want his cum on you and especially not on me! Fuckin' gross shit.." he mutters the last part, making you smile and laugh.

"It was either that or letting him cum inside me.." you tease him.

Donnie growls and pinches one of your nipples playfully as a warning.

"Never.. you're mine and you're only allowed to be stuffed full of my cum.. Understand, whore?" Donnie growls lowly into your ear.

You giggle and smirk, "Yes, Sir.."

31 notes · View notes

pattypanini · 1 day

Text

Sam Kiszka x Reader Uncharted Territory

Summary: A weekend trip with your high school best friend Sam leads to new experiences you've never had before.

Word Count: 3.7k

Taglist for Oneshots

A/N: Hi everyone! Here is @mar-rein12 and I's second oneshot. We've been in a Sam mood lately so this was so fun to write. Thank you for all the support on the last oneshot! Please enjoy our first Sam oneshot, Uncharted Territory.

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, penetrative sex, oral (f + m receiving), praise, VIRGIN SEX, fluff, dirty talk, submissive/dom, alcohol, flirting.

Y/n’s POV

“Sam, what should I wear?” You shout at him from your room. You both had rented an airbnb for the weekend, to see some of Sam’s friends play in a concert a couple town’s over. You stare at all of the outfits sprawled across your bed, as Sam makes his way in and plops himself right onto all of the options.

“Sam. I can’t really decide what to wear if you’re laying on top of my clothes.” You giggle at him, and shove his shoulder playfully. He looks up at you from the bed with a big smile plastered across his face. “Get up, come on.” You reach your hand out, for him to grab and pull him up off the bed. He takes it and stands up beside you.

“Okay so I have this purple corset with blue jeans. A black leather tube top, with a black leather mini skirt. And a…”

“Okay before you continue on, I’m gonna need to see these on before I can make a decision, sweets.”

Sweets. Something that Sam had called you since your freshman year of high school. You met Sam when he was a Sophomore in band. Both of you played piano and often played together in shows so you learned to become friends pretty fast. After he graduated, he started to play in a real band with his brothers and friend and they were slowly gaining traction. As a little graduation treat from Sam he wanted to take you on a little road trip to Ann Arbor. He lied to Airbnb saying that he was 21 so you guys could have a house in the area for the weekend.

“I’m waiting, y/n.” You roll your eyes at him, picking up the purple corset and jeans. You work to remove the leggings you are wearing, when you realize Sam is still looking right at you.

“Excuse me sir, I’m gonna need you to look away.” You give him a little smirk.

Sam rolls his eyes, laying back onto your bed. “If you insist.” After covering his eyes you wait there for a moment to see if he’d keep his promise. Like clockwork, he peeks through his fingers and sees that you are still staring at him.

“SAM!” You playfully scream at him. “Keep them shut, or else I won’t try them on for you.”

“Whatever you say, sweets.” He closes his eyes again and you quickly change into the first outfit.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now.” You take a step back and let him take it all in.

“Okay I like it, I don’t know if that’s the vibe for the night though.” He begins to grab the next outfit to throw it to you before inspecting the skirt. He holds it up in the air while making a face. “Y/n, what the fuck is this gonna cover?”

“It’ll be covering just enough.” You walk over and grab it from him along with the tube top. You shove a blanket over his face and change into the second outfit. You push your feet into the black leather boots and tell him to remove the blanket. After his eyes adjust to the light he takes a long look up and down your body, not saying a word. “Sam, say something. Is the skirt that short?”

“Sweets, I’m not going to lie. You look really fucking sexy.” You feel your cheeks blush at his words. “I have such a stunning best friend. I think that’s what you should wear.” He takes one final look at you before he gets up and walks out of the room.

He turns around quickly when he reaches for the door, “I’ll be waiting in the living room for whenever you're done.” You can’t help but be taken aback from the fact that Sam called you sexy. You kind of liked it? Was it wrong to like being called sexy by your best friend? Maybe. You choose to push the thought to the back of your brain and continue to get ready.

Once done with your makeup and hair you walk out to the living room and Sam grabs the keys to drive you both to the concert. After a 30 minute drive you arrive and Sam walks around to help you out of the car. He told you that you “weren’t allowed to get out yourself”, and that he would be covering you when you got out of the car “in case something popped out.” You don’t get why he cares so much, but you figure he is just trying to be nice.

As you make your way inside the loud building, you find an empty spot in the crowded music venue. As they begin to play you sing along with some of the songs you recognize and dance along with Sam as much as you can. Sam was being recognized by a few girls in the audience. They wanted to talk and take pictures with him, and you didn’t mind. You liked that he was getting the recognition he deserved. After finally returning back to you he apologies for having to talk to so many people.

“It’s okay, I know that they are just excited to see the cute bassist of Greta Van Fleet in public.” Sam smirks at you, refocusing himself on the band on the stage.

“How are you liking the music? I know it’s kinda different. I wasn’t sure if you would even like it in the first pl-.”

“Sam, I’m having fun. I’m enjoying the music too. But, It would be way more fun if someone would dance with me.” Sam grabs your hands and begins spinning you around before grabbing your waist and pulling you into him. He was very handsy, much more than he had been in the past, at prom and other events.You sway along with him for the next couple songs, your ass presses harder against him as you feel him growing beneath you. You knew this had an effect on him whether he wanted it to or not, you began to feel like he was enjoying it more than he led on. His hands trail up your stomach, resting right below your tits. Your legs feel like jello beneath you, and a wetness is forming between your legs.

“Sammy, I don’t know if this is alright to say to your friend but this is really turning me on, like more than it should.” He smiles down at you, beginning to rub his hands over your hips. He leans his head down, bringing his mouth close to your ear.

“If you think it's wrong then the stuff I think about is criminal.” He presses a light kiss to the side of your face, refocusing on the band. The rest of the time spent in the crowd was a blur. All you remembered was Sam’s arms wrapped around you the entire time, and feeling like you were gonna pass out in them. After the set finishes up, Sam says a quick hello to his friends. You both begin to make your way to the car and drive back to the Airbnb.

Once your boots are off, you make your way to the kitchen and sit down on one of the bar stools.

“Woah what is this?” Sam says from inside the fridge. He comes out and shows a bottle of wine. “I guess the last group to rent the house left some wine in the fridge. You want a glass?” You nod your head and he searches for glasses for the two of you. After filling two glasses, he places them on the living room table, coming back to you to carry you to the couch.

“If we're gonna watch something Sam can I at least change into something more comfortable?” You say as you feel your skirt begin to ride up on you. He looks down to see your skirt becoming smaller and looks back up to you.

“You can just take everything off, and leave it off.” He says, placing a hand on your exposed thigh.

“You're being very different tonight Sam, what's come over you?”

“I don’t know sweets, I mean you’ve always been hot but something about tonight is just making me realize it even more. You in that tiny little skirt and having you dance all over me, is making me lose it. Like I need you, badly y/n.”

You didn’t know what to say, or what he was alluding to. “What do you mean Sam?”

“I'm saying I’m really turned on y/n, and that I want to please you. You can say no, but I want to so badly, and I’m thinking you might feel this way too.”

You’d be lying if you said you haven’t thought about him like this before. Thinking about your best friend late at night when you couldn’t sleep, slowly inching your hand into your underwear.

“Sam I would I just- I never really did anything with anyone before.” You say shyly, even though you know he would never judge you.

“And? I’ll take good care of you baby, and make you feel so good. We can take it very slow, how does that sound?”

“I… don’t know what I’m doing, but if I am going to lose my virginity to someone my first pick would be you.”

“You're not losing anything, sweets, you're gaining an experience with someone. And I’m going to make sure it is perfect for you. So how about we take this skirt off.” You stand up and turn around, allowing him to unzip and pull it down to the floor. His hands trail over your hips, giving a light squeeze to your ass.

“So beautiful…can’t wait to have my face between these gorgeous thighs.” He says, while gently squeezing your thighs. He sits you back onto the couch, “can I take this off for you too sweets?” He grabs the hem of your top, giving it a light tug.

You nod and he takes his hand around your back, unzipping your top. You were left in nothing but your thong, since you had not worn a bra tonight.

Sam’s eyes take in your whole body, his eyes lingering at your bare chest. You can’t help but feel exposed, maybe that's because you were fully naked in front of your friend. You begin to close your legs, but Sam interferes immediately. His hands grab your knees and peel them apart.

“What do you think you're doing y/n, I can’t eat that pretty pussy with your legs closed.”

You have a sudden rush of confidence. You sit up just enough, slipping your thong off and tossing it onto the ground, and spreading your legs for him. “Go ahead then, Sammy.”

“You’re so sexy y/n. I’m gonna make you feel so good. Don’t you do a single thing, just sit back and enjoy the feeling darling.” His hands travel up and down your thighs, rubbing them soothingly to calm your nerves. You tense up a little at his touch being so close to the heat between your legs. “Just relax, and let me know if at any point you want me to stop.”

You give him a nod and watch his head disappear between your legs. You feel his lips kissing up the inside of your thigh, as a shiver travels up your spine. You shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as you are. His lips are inches away from your pussy now and you are getting impatient.

“Sam…please.” You practically whine out, definitely sounding ridiculously desperate.

He lifts his head up to look at you. “Aw, does someone want something? You're gonna have to beg for it.” His finger goes through your slit, collecting your wetness. “I wanna hear you whine for me, and beg for me to eat your pussy. You think you can do that for me, be a good girl?”

“What do you mean?”

“If I’m doing a good job, you’ll have no control over it. So don’t be holding any of those pretty noises of yours in. Got it.” You nod your head and Sam goes back down between your thighs, leaving light kisses all the way down to your heat. When he finally reaches your core he lightly flicks his tongue over your clit, something you had thought about many times but could never prepare for this feeling.

Your hands immediately connect to his hair, wanting to push him further.

“Sammy… Oh my god.” You push his face impossibly closer, his nose resting on your clit as his tongue fucks into you. You let out a loud moan, only spurring him on.

“There it is baby. Let it all go for me.” He continues lapping you up and you’re practically squirming beneath him. “Don’t hold back for me, yeah?”

His voice. His filthy words. It was pushing you towards climax.

“Sam, I think I'm gonna…”

“Go ahead baby, let it go. Cum all over my face.” He attacks your pussy with his tongue, giving it his undivided attention. You were feeling the knot forming in your stomach, you knew you were close.

“OH FUCK SAM!” He continues to lick you through your release, your whole body feels like it's floating. You’re sure you’ve never felt this good ever in your life. When you come down from high, you regain your senses. You look down at Sam, as he peels his mouth off of you.

You pull his hair slightly, for him to look up at you. “Now, let me return the favor.” You stand up from the couch and grab his hand to pull him up with you. You position yourself in front of him, sinking down to your knees. He smirks down at you, as you begin to unbutton and unzip his pants. You slowly pull them down his legs, when you hear his raspy voice.

“Sweets, I can’t believe this is happening right now.” You look up at him, as his pants reach the floor, with concern in your eyes.

“Do you… want me to st-” You question, not what to push his boundaries. You are already pushing the “friend” boundary.

“Fuck, no. Keep going.” He gives you the sweetest smile and that is all the reassurance you need. Your fingers find their way to the waistband of his boxers and give them a gentle tug, releasing his cock. He kicks the boxers off with his feet and you can’t help your stare.

His dick was right in front of your face, you felt all the confidence you had dwindling. You gulp harshly. You weren’t sure what to do, you’ve never sucked a cock before.You didn’t want to accidentally hurt him. Sam can sense your dilemma and moves to take your hand in his. “It’s okay, sweets, don’t be scared to touch it.”

He moves your hand to his shaft and you gently wrap your fingers around it. The skin is so velvety soft, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. His hand wraps around yours and begins to help you stroke him. “That’s perfect y/n. Stroke it just like that.” His hand releases itself from yours, moving it to rest in your silky hair.

You stroke him a little faster and in a rash decision, you let go of him to spit into your palm. When your wet hand lands on him again his head flies back. “Fuck, y/n. Feels so fucking good. Put your mouth on me, wanna feel your wet tongue swirl around my cock.” You never knew Sammy was capable of speaking with such vulgar tongue.You are fucking loving it though. You follow his instructions, leaning your mouth down to be level with his cock.

“Yeah, Sammy?” You lick a stripe up his shaft to tease him. “You’re supposed to be my best friend. I don’t think best friends suck off their best friends, Sammy.” Your mouth encloses around his swollen, leaking tip. He lets out a needy whine. You pull off of him. “I think that’s what you like about it though, right? You like that it's wrong?”

“Y/n… please. Just fucking suck me. I’m so hard, I need to cum so bad.” You glare up at him, as he looks down at you with pleading eyes.

You can’t let him have what he wants that easily. “Answer the question.” You grip his dick in your hand again, giving him a hard stroke, hoping to coax the answer out of him.

“Sweets, I fucking love that it’s wrong. I’ve wanted you for so long though. Just never thought you felt the same way.” He admits, you never thought you would love having power over him this much.

“I’ve wanted you for so long too. Now, since you were a good boy and answered my question…” You take his cock in your mouth. Engulfing and welcoming him into your wetness and warmth. You moan around his cock, when you feel him twitch inside your mouth.

“Yep… better than I could have ever imagined.” His hands are gripping at your hair, curses and moans flying off his plump lips. “I’ve pictured this so many times.” You too have pictured this too many times to count. You pick up your speed, humming lightly around him.

“Y/n, I’m not going to last. Feels too good.” You smile around him, continuing on with your steady pace. “Y/n…” He pulls you off of him, taking a step back to look at you. He reaches up to unbutton his shirt, now standing completely bare.

“D-did I do something wrong?” You stumble out. Great, you successfully fucked everything up.

“No, sweets. Quite the opposite, but I need to feel what it’s like in that beautiful pussy of yours. Couldn’t take not knowing anymore.” He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you want that darling?”

You soften your gaze, and quickly nod your head. You were thinking the same thing, just too nervous to initiate it.

“Words.” He has a certain tone of authority in his voice, that you can’t help but rub your thighs together after hearing.

“Yes, I want it so bad.” You stand up from your knees right in front of him.

“Go lay down on the couch, I’ll be right back.” He says, disappearing up the stairs. You walk back over to the couch and lay down on your back, your head resting on one of the decorative pillows.

Moments later he is making his way back down the stairs. You look over the back of the couch, to see a shiny foil packet gripped in his right hand. He walks around the couch to stand above you.

“Whatcha got there Sammy?” You smirk at him, he just rolls his eyes at you.

“Can’t be getting you pregnant, although I wouldn’t be opposed. It would be a beautiful baby, looking just like you.” He says pushing his fingers through his hair. After unwrapping and sliding on the condom he meets you on the couch, hovering above you.

“Were gonna take this slow y/n, I need you to talk to me here okay? Tell me if you need me to stop or slow down.”

“Okay Sam, I trust you.” He smiles at your comment before leaning down and spitting on your pussy to wetten it even more than it already is.

He lines himself up and pushes into you slowly, filling you up with his thick cock. A slight sting hits you but after a few seconds you get adjusted and give him the okay to continue. Sam slowly pumps in and out of you, trying to read your body language. After seeing that you were used to it he began to speed up.

“You feel so good y/n, so wet for me.” He pants as his thrusts get sloppier.

“Sam, please I need more, harder.” Your hands reach around him, leaving scratches on his back.

“Such a slut, begging for more. You think you’ve been a good enough girl? You think you deserve more?”

“Yes please Sam, I’ve been a good girl. I wanna feel you hit the back of my pussy.”

The need for him was strong, and he could tell. His thrusts pick up, becoming more direct and forceful.

“Right there, Sammy. Fuck.” You clench around his cock, nails digging deep into his back.

“Oh god baby, I’m gonna cum if you keep squeezing around me like that. So tight.”

That was enough to send you over the edge. As your moans fill the air the familiar knot begins to form in your stomach once again.

“Oh fuck Sam I’m cumming don’t stop.” Your body squirms around underneath him.

“That’s it baby, all over my cock. God, you feel so good, oh fuck-.” With that, he releases inside of you.

You feel the wave of pleasure wash over you and soon after Sam pushes his final few thrusts into you, before pulling out. Sam’s body collapses onto you as you try to catch your breath.

“God I wish we could have done that sooner.” Sam says as he begins to pick his warm body off of you. He removes the condom and puts on his boxers. You hear him run to the room and grab some of your pajamas from the room for you. As he slides them onto you, you wonder how you hadn’t acted on this before. Not just in a sexual manner, but something more than just a friend. He had always been like this and maybe you were just blind to never see before.

“Sammy, that was amazing. Thank you for making my first time so special, I wouldn’t have wanted it with anyone else.” Sam grabs a blanket and wraps the two of you up while turning on the TV.

“There's no one else in the world I would have wanted to experience that with more.” He pulls you into a tender kiss, and in that moment it feels like there are no worries in the world, just you and him, and that’s all that mattered.

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

Anyone else feeling fertile after reading this? Just me...

Taglist: @peaceloveunitygvf @mar-rein12 @terry-66 @jennabobenasblog

#greta van fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van smut #gvf #gvf fic #gvf smut #sam gvf #sam kiszka #sam kiskza #sammy gvf #sam kiszka smut #sam kiszka gvf #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka fic #sam kiszka fanfiction #smut fic

18 notes · View notes

conchcronch · 2 days

Text

Making a Mess Part 3

Sanji x Zoro

Sanji’s vow to stave off drinking comes to a swift end when he finds himself in the red light district being handed free drinks. Yet another night of drinking with Zoro leads to them repeating their first night together.

If you haven’t already, please read part 1 and 2 before continuing, otherwise it won’t make much sense.

NSFW below the cut.

“Sanji, you’re gonna’ come ashore with us right?” Nami asked him as he collected the empty glasses he had served the girls’ drinks in.

”How could I turn down an invitation from such a beautiful lady, my sweet Nami,” He smiled.

”Even if you’re still taking a break from drinking it’ll still be fun to have you!” Franky added from where he was playing volleyball with Usopp, Chopper and Luffy on the deck of the Sunny.

”I was thinking of stopping at the night market, I’ve heard it’s got some rare ingredients I’d like to try to get my hands on.”

“Get me more sake, Curly,” Zoro called as he climbed down from the crow’s nest.

”Get it yourself Moss-For-Brains!” Sanji bit back, his demeanor immediately changing at the swordsman’s words.

“At least I’ve got brains, all you think about are tits and-“ Zoro expertly dodged Sanji’s first kick before grabbing his second one. He held it tightly, finally meeting the cook’s rage filled gaze, smirking for a second before lifting the leg he held as high as Sanji’s muscles would allow it. Clearly not expecting Zoro’s attempt at a counter, a gasp slipping past his lips as Zoro winked before letting his leg go with a slight shove to push him off balance, giving him time to walk away before Sanji could get another kick in.

Frustration built in Sanji but he opted to let Zoro be, choosing to silently collect the last few cups from his crewmates and hoping no one noticed the wink…or how flushed his cheeks were after.

They avoided each other like two positively charged magnets until they all went ashore. Avoiding each other wasn’t new, it had been a daily occurrence but after that night, things had changed. Sanji found Zoro sitting in his kitchen, sometimes even napping in the booth while he prepped in between meals. They hadn’t talked about that night, but it was apparent they both remembered it, the wink made that very clear.

Once everyone got to town, people began walking in pairs. As Sanji walked in the direction he was told the night market was, he felt someone close at his heels, turning to see Zoro. He shouldn’t have been surprised but he was, even more so when the man spoke “Want help?” They kept walking, now side by side as they maneuvered the growing crowds of this town’s tavern scene.

“N-No I’m alright, don’t let me get in the way of your drinking.” Sanji waved him off but Zoro’s pace never faltered.

“I’ll drink after, figured you’d need someone to carry your bags since you’re so dainty.” Sanji felt his brow twitch in annoyance but before he could come up with a retort they noticed the crowd thin. Zoro looked around, pulling Sanji to the side while he pulled a small notebook from his back pocket to look at the directions he had hastily wrote when someone a few islands over had told him about it.

“Says it should be around here,” Sanji looks up from the pages and scans the surrounding area. “I guess we’ll keep looking.” Sanji grabs Zoro’s forearm, knowing that if he let go now, Zoro would surely get lost. The swordsman didn’t fight this, not agreeing that he would get lost, but the feeling of Sanji’s hand wrapped around his exposed arm had his blood pumping more than he’d want to admit.

They kept walking, turning down an ally when Sanji thought he smelled meat being cooked. As the sun finally dipped under the horizon they turned a few corners and found themselves on the edge of town. The streets were lined with dim lanterns that cast a flickering red glow as they walked under them. Sanji still had his nose in his notebook, as though the directions would appear only for a second and he’d miss it if he looked away. A smile spread across Zoro’s lips slowly as he looked around at the bars and the people who were along the paths, taking special interest in anyone who would make eye contact with them. Zoro hastily wrapped his arm around Sanji’s waist, forcibly pulling him to the side of the path and coming to a stop. “Okay, not that I’m complaining, but this definitely isn’t the kind of night market you’re looking for.” Sanji looked around, it took a bit for it to sink in, but when it did his face flushed. “Come on Curly, we walked all the way here, might as well take in the sights.” Zoro smirked, grabbing the cook’s tie and pulling him towards the nearest bar. Sanji managed to wrench his tie from the other man’s hand, stopping just outside the threshold. There were a few scantily clad women walking along the building, trying to make eyes at Zoro who paid them no mind.

“I’m not sure I wa-“ Zoro grabbed the tie again.

”Stop doing that!” Sanji groaned, trying to pry the larger hands off the fabric while being led into the crowded bar. Zoro stopped and pulled enough Berries from his pocket to pay the cover for the both of them before tugging on the tie again. “I’m not a dog!” Sanji had to yell over the music, finally ripping the tie out of Zoro’s grasp and tucking it back into his buttoned blazer. They quickly found a pair of stools at the bar, Zoro immediately ordered two shots as Sanji was looking around the bar, but he didn’t know what or who for. He just wanted to look busy even though he could feel Zoro’s eyes burning holes into his back. Sanji’s gaze fell on a small stage that he could just barely see over the crowd that had gathered there, it wasn’t until he watched a woman wearing a dress that left very very little to the imagination that he realized the type of club this was. He watched as she dragged herself along the single golden pole before spinning around it as she ran her free hand up and down her body.

“Oi, Curly,” Zoro said close enough to his ear that he felt his lips brush along his lobe for a fraction of a second. He turned to look at the man who handed him a shot.

“So much for not drinking for awhile,” Sanji attempted to yell over the music that had suddenly gotten even louder. The drink burned the entire way down his throat as he tried to recall the last time he had done a shot…if ever. He hadn’t even been holding the empty shot glass for 10 seconds before Zoro replaced it with another full one before tossing back his own. “What’re you, made of money?” Sanji had to yell over the music but Zoro couldn’t hear. Just as Sanji was about to repeat himself, louder this time, Zoro pulled Sanji’s stool as close to his own as he could before leaning so close he could feel his breath on his neck. That, paired with the alcohol rushing through his system, was a problematic combo.

“They’re free,” Zoro yelled, voice gravelly. Sanji could just furrow his brow in response. Zoro nodded over his shoulder towards a guy sitting at the end of the bar, he had been staring since the two sat down. “Don’t put too much thought into it, just take it and say thanks.” Zoro put another glass in Sanji’s hand before holding his up towards the stranger even going as far as to shoot him a wink before tossing it back. Sanji mimicked him, minus the wink.

Sanji could feel the alcohol warm his thighs, his cheeks felt hot as he watched the woman spin around the pole. Zoro said something but Sanji didn’t catch it so he leaned into him, feeling his body sway into the other man’s who slung an arm around his shoulders and brought his lips right against his ear. “You wanna go somewhere quieter?” He nodded, forcing himself up, Zoro’s arm slipping down to his waist.

“Where would that be?” Zoro tugged him, leading him away from the bar and up some stairs. “How do you know where we’re going?” They got to another floor and the swordsman started peaking into rooms, ignoring the closed doors. The music thumped downstairs while moans could barely be heard from the closed doors.

“These places are all the same,” He muttered, finding an empty room and tugging Sanji inside, closing the door behind them. Both men flopped on the curved couch, Sanji’s eyes glued to the silver pole in the middle.

“You come to these places a lot?” Zoro picked up an abandoned glass of clear liquid, sniffed it before drinking it.

“Gotta’ blow off some steam sometimes, y’know,” Sanji nodded. “No you don’t.”

“The hell do you mean I don’t?”

“You never blow off steam.” Zoro leaned back against the couch before stretching his arms above his head, his shirt pulling up enough to show off his treasure trail.

“You don’t know what I do.” Sanji began digging through his pockets until he pulled out a cigarette from one and his lighter from the other, taking no time at all to light it and inhale deeply. Exhaling directly in Zoro’s face.

“I know that you popped a boner the moment I held you against that wall.” Zoro beamed with a cocky grin. If it hadn’t been for the alcohol coursing through his veins he would have been beyond flustered, but instead he felt a competitive burst.

“I had drank a lot.” Zoro reached both arms back, resting them on the top of the couch back, his knees spread wide as he smirked at the other man.

“Yeah, like it wouldn’t happen again.” He said sarcastically, Sanji opted to stay quiet knowing that Zoro was probably right. Sanji inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with smoke, holding it for a few seconds before pushing it out his nostrils. When a few more seconds went by Sanji finally met Zoro’s eyes,

“Why’re we here?” Sanji asked, resisting the urge to crunch the cigarette between his front teeth in frustration. The urge only growing when he watched Zoro shrug.

“You’re the one that dragged me across this town, I’m just trying to make the most of it.” Sanji’s eyes scanned over the other man, taking in the way his white shirt was stretched across his large chest, the fabric struggling to hold when his chest was at the apex of an inhale.

Zoro could barely handle the way Sanji’s eyes slid over his body, lingering on his thighs before slowly making their way back up to his chest. He watched as Sanji unconsciously ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip leaving a shine over them. It was becoming too much for the Swordsman who pushed himself up, the alcohol tingling in his loins as he used his foot to nudge the blonde’s knees apart enough to be able to stand between them.

Sanji would be lying to himself if he tried to say he didn’t love the way the other man towered over him. If he had a few more drinks in him, he’s fairly certain he would have leaned over and mouthed at his covered semi but thankfully for his ego he maintained his relaxed posture, puffing a cloud of smoke up at Zoro who remained unmoving. “What’re you waiting for? Or did you forget what you were doing?”

“Big talk from someone who can’t admit that they want me.” Sanji rolled his eyes, leaning forward and around Zoro to tap the ash from his cigarette in the ashtray before leaning back again, a smirk playing across his lips.

“Like you said, it’s just blowing off steam.” He knew it was probably more than that, he knew that it was something to do with who he was dealing with that made him keep putting himself in positions to repeat their first night together. But he would rather never cook again than admit that to anyone.

Something in Zoro changed but Sanji was too dumb to notice. Zoro reached out and grabbed the cigarette, pulling it from his lips and snuffing it out on the table before handing Sanji one of the shots that had been on the table when they got here. “Smoke tastes terrible.” Sanji begrudgingly did what was silently instructed to him before putting the shot back on the table. Zoro still didn’t move.

“Jesus Marimo, are you waiting for an invitation?!” Sanji was getting frustrated, his dick was half hard in anticipation and Zoro was fully aware of that, that was part of the reason he wasn’t going to give in so quick.

“I want you to say it.” He bent his leg just slightly so it could ghost over the bulge.

“Say what,” Sanji knew exactly what Zoro wanted, he wasn’t a complex person and even less of a complex lover. But Sanji wasn’t nearly drunk enough to be so free with his words, especially when it involved him admitting how much he craved the swordsman he swore to kill one day.

“Say you want me.” Sanji huffed out a laugh.

“I don’t need to say shit, I could go downstairs and find 5 people that do what you did ten times better.”

“That may be true but at least I won’t infect you with something that would give our poor doctor a heart attack.” Zoro reached behind him for the other glass of unknown alcohol and knocked it back. “Just say it and I’ll give you what we both want,” he reached his hand forward to grab Sanji’s tie, tugging him forward a bit.

When Sanji stayed silent Zoro shrugged as he stepped away from Sanji, letting the tie slip from between his thick fingers before walking around the table in the center of the room towards the door. “Have fun jerking off in a private room, I’m gonna go find a good fuck.” And just like that, Sanji was alone with his half hard dick and alcohol clouded brain.

He couldn’t force himself to get up yet, practically praying his dick would go down enough that it wasn’t noticeable so he could get out of the bar and back to the ship without risking unwanted attention. He carded his fingers through his hair, silently cursing himself for not being able to just swallow his pride and say something.

After a few minutes Sanji had finally deflated enough to start heading back to the ship, only half concerned about whether Zoro would find his way back or not.

But before he could even make it to the exit he saw Zoro with the guy who had been buying them shots earlier. The man was still sitting on the bar stool and Zoro was standing between his knees, arms thrown around his neck, eye staring at the stairs where Sanji now stood. He could tell Zoro saw him by the corners of his lips turning up in a smirk as he kissed the man.

“Fuck.” Sanji grumbled, balling his fists as he cleared the distance between them in a few long strides, he grabbed the front of Zoro’s shirt and yanked him away from the stranger. Zoro smiled the biggest Sanji had ever seen, knowing he had gotten exactly what he wanted. Sanji pulled him back up the stairs, but only made it to the landing before he slammed Zoro into the wall like the swordsman had done all those nights ago.

“Say it.” Zoro said, hands already on Sanji’s chest and snaking around to the back pockets of his pants.

“You’re a lot of work”

“Not what I meant.” Sanji used his height to his advantage and lowered his head so he could smell the gin on Zoro’s breath. Zoro’s hands on Sanji’s ass pulled him close, so their crotches were pressed together, neither of them surprised by the other’s hard on. “It’s fine,” Zoro nipped at what little of Sanji’s neck was exposed under his one undone button. “I’m sick of waiting, I’ll have you begging in a few minutes,” Zoro pushed him back with one hand before using the other to grab the front of his shirt and pulling him back to the room they had been in moments earlier. Zoro slammed the door shut and all but threw Sanji into the couch. He landed sprawled out, barely having a second to get his bearings before Zoro straddled his lap.

“Sounds like a challenge,” Sanji smirked, his bangs pushed out of the way of his eye so he could see Zoro in his full glory.

“Not a challenge, a promise.” Zoro leaned down and started to mouth at his neck, one hand gripping the back of the couch to hold himself up while the other worked on unbuttoning Sanji’s shirt. One of the lower buttons got stuck and instead of pulling back from Sanji’s neck, Zoro tore the fabric apart.

“What the fuck!” Sanji went to push him off but before he could, Zoro’s hands were all over his chest. They slide painfully slow up his chest, they were wide enough to almost wrap around Sanji’s sides. Zoro was sitting watching the cook’s expression as his thumbs brushed experimentally over each of his nipples, watching the way Sanji’s lips parted before he caught his lower lip between his teeth just in time to stifle a moan that was about to slip out. He kept his left hand where it was, lazily teasing the cook’s nipple while the other hand slid up to his neck as he admired the hickies from their first encounter that were just barely there. “If you think this will get me begging, you’re sorely mistaken.” Sanji managed to say without his voice wavering as much as he expected. Zoro huffed a cocky laugh.

“If you think this is me trying then you’re sorely mistaken. I’m just thinking.”

“Oh god, don’t strain yourself Marimo,” Sanji smirked half a second before Zoro’s grip in his neck tightened, his thumb biting into the chef’s windpipe just enough for him to feel it.

“God, it’s like you want me to leave you again.” Zoro adjusted himself on Sanji’s lap, making sure he was still painfully hard, earning a whimper from the man under him was just a bonus. Zoro leaned over Sanji, his lips a few millimeters away from the other’s and slowly began grinding against him. Zoro was quickly getting irritated the longer Sanji managed to keep his mouth shut. He could tell that he was enjoying this, he even felt his cock twitch every so often. Zoro dragged his lips along the chef’s cheek, along his jaw and down to his neck, hoping he would get some sort of reaction.

He began sucking the skin roughly, surly turning it red and purple. He could feel Sanji’s jaw clench and as Zoro shifted his weight and moved his leg from beside Sanji’s to between them, pushing his knee as high as it could go he heard the whisper of a moan. He kept going, doubling down with some moans of his own which worked wonderfully.

Sanji was moaning and whimpering like a whore, even when Zoro pulled away to look at him he kept whining, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Please,” Zoro grinned.

“Please what, Curly?” He asked while grinding more against him, groaning a bit while doing it.

“You know what.” He pleaded.

“I really don’t, remember I’ve got moss for brains.” He could hear Sanji whine a bit and just as he opened his mouth to speak, Zoro slipped his hand into his pants as if it were something he had done a thousand times. His hand was immediately covered in precum, he wrapped his calloused hand around Sanji’s burning hot cock and began to stroke him. Sanji all but cried at the contact before Zoro felt two sweaty hands grab his forearm, bringing his attention up to the other man’s face. His eyes were glassy, lips red from him biting them and he shook his head slightly. “You don’t want me to?” Sanji shook his head again but then swallowed hard and in a very raw voice said,

“I want nothing more than you to, but I’m gonna’ cum if you don’t stop,” his voice was shaky and cracked as he spoke. His grip loosened as Zoro pulled his hand from his slacks and sat up. There was a heavy silence as both men were trying to figure out what to do next, neither wanting to look at the other.

After a few minutes, just before Zoro was about to get up, Sanji sat up. He slowly pulled his legs from between Zoro’s thighs, unbuckling his pants and feeling relieved at the lessened pressure. He looked over, seeing the last of the abandoned shot glasses left by someone before them. He reached over, knocked one back before turning his attention back to Zoro who had become very invested in the cracks and dents on the wall behind Sanji.

It wasn’t until he felt Sanji’s hand on his chest, applying just enough pressure to tell Zoro that he wanted him to lay back. “I…I didn’t like the thought of you making me…and never offering anything in return.” His face was burning up but it was impossible to tell if it was from the alcohol or the sentence that left his bitten lips.

“You don’t have to…” Sanji was on top of him now, looking down at him. Zoro so rarely saw both of Sanji’s eyes that when he did he couldn’t look away.

“I want to, I know you’re dumb but you can’t be that dumb, right Marimo.” For some reason that name, that name that had always pissed Zoro off didn’t this time. The way he said it was different, the gentle touch of his hand in Zoro’s hair and the way his lips felt pressed against the Swordsman’s. It was sloppy, sure, it tasted of nicotine and gin but Zoro didn’t think he had ever been kissed like this.

At first, Zoro grabbed his waist, pushing his dress shirt up enough to feel skin. But as Sanji continued the kiss, the swordsman found himself wrapping his arms around the smaller man and pulling him flush against him. His hands went from his waist to his ass, loving the way the muscle fit into his palms. Zoro barely registered Sanji’s hands pulling at the bottom of his T-shirt, signaling that he wanted it off. Zoro reluctantly let go of his ass so he could sit up, straddling his hips like Zoro had done only a bit ago to him. Sanji pulled his shirt off of him then struggled off the tattered remains of his own. While he was doing that, Zoro unzipped his cargo pants but didn’t take them fully off. Sanji reached into the open pants and only a bit clumsily groped Zoro’s aching bulge. Even though it was clear Sanji was unsure of himself a heavy groan fell from Zoro’s lips as his head fell back against the crusty cushion.

Feeling emblazoned, Sanji awkwardly tries to wrap his hand around Zoro’s cock through his underwear. He fiddled, hoping for it to feel right in his hand but without much overthinking he yanked the underwear down and under his balls so it would stay. His hand wrapped slowly around Zoro’s shaft, stroking it with unsure hands, trying to get used to the feeling. Zoro on the other hand, was trying to control himself. He wanted nothing more than to tell Sanji how to do it, tell him to tighten his fist, cup his balls and for the love of god go faster. But he resisted, knowing that Sanji was still getting used to this and was going at his own pace.

Sanji was quickly getting more accustomed to the feeling, deciding he wanted more than this, he crawled up from between Zoro’s thick sun kissed thighs. He moved up along his sculpted form, leaving a trail of wet kisses that turned into him dragging his tongue along the man’s salty skin. Without so much as a first, second or third thought, he latched onto the swordsman’s nipple, flicking it with his tongue and feeling Zoro’s cock twitch in his grasp. He looked up through his lashes at Zoro, pleased to see his head was thrown back and a heavy sigh left his parted lips.

While Sanji was distracted by teasing Zoro, his hand had slowed to barely stroking his aching cock and Zoro was boardering on feral the longer it went without any motion. Sanji detached his lips from Zoro’s nipple and nibbled his way up to Zoro’s chin, loving the way he could feel his laboured breath against his face. “Jesus, Curly,” Zoro all but grunted, causing Sanji to pull back and look at him with a slightly concerned expression. “You’re fuckin’ killing me.” Zoro reached down both of his hands, leaning forward a bit to reach, he covered Sanji’s hand with his own and started guiding him to a pace that was less frustrating. “Need you to go faster.” Sanji sat back on his haunches, giving the other man’s cock his full attention now. Loving the way the girthy cock looked wrapped in three hands. Zoro watched Sanji who’s breathing was quick and his cheeks flushed, when he noticed Sanji nod, he let go and leaned back. A long groan left his lips as Sanji maintained the exact speed and pressure Zoro had set, he couldn’t help but blindly reach out for contact of any kind. He managed to find Sanji’s face, pulling his attention up to his face he sighed out a “Fuck, just like that.” Sanji moved his head so he could catch Zoro’s thumb between his teeth before closing his lips around it and sucking, his eyes fluttering closed. “Such a good boy,” In any other situation, Zoro would never have said something like that so early in their sexual relationship, but when he saw Sanji’s clothed cock noticeably jump he made a mental note to call him that more often.

As Sanji kept jerking Zoro’s cock with one hand, he reached into his briefs pushing them down so he could finally give his dick the attention it so desperately craved. Zoro quickly notices, grabs the waist of Sanji’s now open slacks and tugs him a bit. “Come ‘ere,” He says, wanting Sanji to straddle him.

Once Sanji resumes his position on Zoro, Zoro bats away Sanji’s hand that was still on his cock and replaces it with his, encircling both of their dicks and holding them tightly against one another. With one hand occupied, he uses his free hand to grab Sanji by the throat again, pulling him down until their lips are smashed together.

Zoro’s pace is fast and rough, and the kiss mirrors that. It’s all teeth, tongue, and moans which normally Sanji would be against but he is reveling in it. “P-Please don’t st-stop,” Sanji whines into Zoro’s mouth, biting the swordsman's bottom lip instead of his own.

“Told ya’ I could make you beg.” Zoro grunted, the corners of his mouth upturned in a cocky grin.

“Fuck you,” Sanji says, his tone was meant to be harsh but it came out as a whine.

“Would love it if you did” Zoro growls out, his pace on their cocks increasing until Sanji finally snaps, his cock spilling on Zoro’s stomach. He goes as limp as he can without getting his stomach covered in their cum, Zoro lets go of his neck and very subtly moves over so Sanji can collapse onto Zoro’s side to avoid the puddle. Zoro loosens his hand enough that Sanji’s cock is freed from the feverish pace he is going at to try to reach his own peak. It isn’t until he feels Sanji’s hand replace his own, mimicking his pace bringing him closer to his edge. Zoro can feel Sanji’s warm breath on his neck, and paired with the attention his cock is getting he doesn’t last much longer, cumming with a groan from far back in his throat.

They both laid there for a bit, enjoying their afterglow together. Zoro fidgets enough that he can wrap his arm around Sanji, pulling him even closer than they already were, given how narrow the couch is. Neither of them commented on this intimate gesture, both chalking it up to the post cum fog.

Zoro gropes the sticky floor blindly until he manages to find his forgotten t-shirt, using it to wipe up the cooling mess on his abs. Sanji took this as a signal to squirm out of the cramped spot he had between the back of the couch and the larger man, sitting up and watching Zoro, taking him in for a few seconds. Loving the way he could see his tan chest, minty treasure trail that was now slightly crusty with dried cum.He could even see some prominent veins leading down to his cock. “You always leave your cock out after sex?” Zoro joked, lifting his ass up enough that he could pull his pants back into place before stuffing his deflating cock back in.

“Do you always use your clothes to sop up your cum?” Sanji countered as he sorted himself out, watching as Zoro stuffed his soiled shirt in his back pocket so it dangled as he walked.

They both made their way out of the bar, Zoro pulling Sanji through the crowd towards the exit. The moment they were out in the cool sea air, Sanji fished around his pocket for a cigarette, lighting it before having to quickly grab Zoro as he started off in the opposite direction of the boat. They walked silently back to the ship, neither of them bringing up the fact that their hands had been intertwined since they had left the bar.

The silence was broken by Sanji just as Zoro was about to start climbing the ladder onto the Sunny, “They’re gonna know.” His gaze following the trail of hickies he had left all over Zoro’s chest and neck, some even going down to his hips and below the waist of his pants. Zoro managed to catch the slight shake in Sanji’s voice, squeezing his hand ever so slightly before letting it go and shrugging.

“We’ll just tell ‘em we found a set of twins or some shit. No one will ask you, and if someone asks me, I’ll make up something.” He started climbing the ladder, looking back at the blonde man who’s fingers were seconds away from getting burnt by the ash gathering at the end of his cigarette. “It’ll be fine, Curly” He winked and climbed the rest of the way up once he felt the other man begin to climb behind him.

#one piece smut #ao3 #sanji x zoro #one piece #zoro smut #sanji smut #zosan

16 notes · View notes

higgity-diggity-dummy · 3 days

Text

These Strings That Bind Us

first chapter; previous chapter

So this is the first chapter of this fic that I’ve posted since a few of my irl friends have started following me and now they get to see the crazed fanfiction maniac I am and I don’t know if they’re ready.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

chapter 3:

Nico scanned the room he was left in. He knew logically that he was safe. That he was allowed to be… gay. And that the people that just overheard his conversation with Percy likely didn’t hate him for it.

They probably do hate you though. Even you can’t like yourself.

He just… didn’t like that knowledge to be floating around.

It was then, after observing all the sleeping and uninterested patients that he saw the face of a particular blonde peering through a corner.

“Hey. Sunshine. I see you.” Nico said trying to mask his worry.

How long had he been there?

Will exhaled a laugh. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to… stalk…? I was going to check up on you but you were talking with Percy and I did to want to interrupt.”

“How much did you overhear?” Nico asked, deciding to cut to the point.

Will turned pinker. “Nothing! I swear I wasn’t trying to listen into your conversation. I was just watching,” he said getting redder. “I mean-! I wasn’t like ‘watching’ watching. But I was also not listening. I was just waiting for an opening is all. So I could check up on you. Because that’s what I’m here to do right now. Check up on you that is.”

Will snapped his mouth shut, trying to stop the word-vomit from getting worse. He had a flight-or-flight look in his eyes, as if how Nico responded would be the deciding factor in how this interaction went. He wished Will hadn’t stopped. He couldn’t pin down the exact reason why he liked hearing that incoherent mess of speech, but he did. It took a bit longer for him to realize that while he was brain was occupied by the rambling of the boy across from him, it was too full to waste energy on worrying.

Nico tried -really tried- to think of something comforting or cringe-reducing to say but he could help it when a laugh slipped out.

And another. And one more. And five seconds later he was miserably failing to stifle his giggles with his left hand.

“Wha-“ Will started. “What is it? Are you ok?Did one of my siblings but you on laughing gas or something? It was Kayla wasn’t it?!”

This made Nico laugh even harder. “Oh gods no. You’re just really weird. In a good way. You kept on saying more and it made it get worse and worse.” He laughed again. “Thank you for that. Holy hades I needed a good laugh.”

Will didn’t even flinch when Nico described his little speech as pathetic. If anything, it seemed to make him more confident. Composed. “Well I’m glad you feel joy at my expense,” he said rolling his eyes. “And you have a pretty laugh too. I like hearing it.” He smiled at Nico, his gaze moving to the glow between them.

Oh right.

Stop getting comfortable. Especially with him.

Nico shifted in his seat, moving so his arms are crossed with his left ring-finger covered by his arm. He failed to avert his gaze from Will’s disappointed eyes.

See? Even if it weren’t wrong, you could never be with him. You fail everybody, and Will is no different.

A few beats of silence.

“So uh… checkup?” Nico suggested.

“Yes! Right. Let me just…” he trailed off. Something about clipboards and procedures that Nico did not have to energy nor interest to pay attention to.

Will got the information he needed. Apparently a lot of Nico’s story was already in the documents.

“Like I said: I know your history,” Will stated with faux-intimidation. Nico rolled his eyes.

When they got to the physical checkup Nico started getting jittery. He felt awkward saying something to Will about it, but he really didn’t like being touched so much. Especially because Will’s hands were so… methodical. It was bringing him back.

To the times of your torment? Good. Revel in it. In the feeling of pain. Relive it all. Maybe if you look tortured enough somebody will even pity you. Why do you think you want that so badly? You know how hard it is to be yourself. Trying to share that burden with somebody else is plain selfish.

Will noticed. Probably. He didn’t point it out, but he tried to lighten the mood, albeit with terrible references to things Nico did not have the current cultural knowledge to understand.

Something about Nico being “Mr. Perfectly Fine” when asked about he was feeling. Or responding to Nico’s remarks about his werewolf scratches with saying, “oh! ‘Tis but a flesh wound I see!” (He seemed really proud of himself with that one). And he kept calling Nico a “padawan”? What even was that?

Yet, despite the utter confusion that had overtaken Nico, it was a good distraction. Will had or hadn’t brought a laugh out of him a couple of times. Nico was or was not starting to feel a lot more comfortable, especially with Will around.

And the string they shared absolutely was not glowing more warmly with each passing moment they spent together. Of course not. Never.

~~~

After that checkup, Nico offered to help around the infirmary. He did this, of course, hoping that his complete lack of any medical knowledge and “aura of death” would be enough for Will to refuse the offer.

He did not.

Figures.

What Will did do however, was introduce anyone and everyone imaginable to Nico. Whether that be random patients, his siblings, his Roman siblings that he (being the social-magnet-golden-retriever that he was) had gotten close with after the war, or some poor soul that happened to be within the vicinity of the two of them. It was weird. Nico didn’t know how to feel. Nobody had treated him like a person they could show others to. He was usually hidden away. Chose to keep himself hidden away.

Nico was starting to like being seen though. It helped that Will was there too. Unlocking the prison of isolation Nico had made for himself and dragging him into interactions when they were in the middle of filing paperwork. When he introduced Nico to a new person, he almost sounded proud. Like knowing Nico was something they could envy about Will.

“Oh hey [person] have you met my friend Nico?” Will would say. “Yeah he’s the coolest kid in camp! Go on Nico say hi,” pride radiating from his voice. “We met a few days ago when he almost stabbed me haha. He really saved my skin out there. Even if he was seconds away from passing out while doing it.”

Nico would never admit it, but he kind of liked the attention Will was giving him. It was as if Will’s words of affirmation were able to fight off the self-doubt demons would otherwise occupy much of Nico’s thoughts.

Not only that, but he also liked meeting people.

Yes. Him. Nico di Angelo. The son of Hades. Well known social recluse. Enjoying the communion of others.

Was that new? He thought he was an introvert to the core. The idea of people was supposed to make him want to hide under a rock a perish. Was it just that he was so much of a social outcast that he fooled himself into thinking that?

Dear gods, he was not going to spend the time going down that rabbit hole any further.

Nico felt a tug on his string finger. Will had started doing that in order to touch Nico without touching him. Nico hadn’t decided yet how he felt about it. Well, his heart obviously had, but he’s choosing to ignore that stubborn organ in all matters pertaining to Will. He looked up, slowly bringing himself back to reality.

Back to the storage/office room they were (as Will had put it) “chillin’” in. Back to the smell of antiseptic spray and old files. Back to the blonde idiot staring into his soul, seemingly trying to solve a puzzle.

“…what?” Nico broke the silence.

Will stared for a beat longer. “You were staring off into space for a while. Are you ok?”

He thought for a moment too long.

“Yes,” was the response Nico decided on.

Will stared even deeper with a curious look. “…ok… sure. What were you thinking about then?”

Nico was just about to bark out a basic response of “oh nothing”, or something like that, but he stopped himself. He didn’t need to hold himself back. Not when Will was looking at him in that eager and open way that he does.

“I was thinking about how much in my life has changed,” since you entered into it, “in the past few days.”

Maybe he didn’t say the whole truth, but Will was enough to make him no outright lie.

“Really?” Will backed off some, face turning from questioning frown to genuine smile. “How so?”

Oh. So this was gonna be some cheesy heart-to-heart, was it? Nico was not opposed to that idea. He looked back up at Will’s bright expectant eyes.

He actually rather liked the idea.

He talked to Will. He was trying to keep it short (Will was always busy) but the more he talked, the more they kept talking. And talking. And talking. Somehow they moved from life the last few days to life in the past few years. Family, in all possible definitions of the word. Friends, in all their shades, hues, and complexities. Enemies, in all their surprising humanity.

Will’s voice changed depending on what he was saying. He slurred together his words when they were talking about old interests. He would pause or stutter when they transitioned to deep topics, and slowed down when they got comfortable there. His voice got all jittery and slightly more high pitched when he was excited about something.

And the way he listened… the way it felt like he hung onto every word Nico said like it was written in scripture…

Nico kept wondering when Will would leave. He would find some excuse about having to check up on a patient, or outright say he didn’t want to stay there.

Wouldn’t want to stay with you. Why would anyone want to spend time with you. You’re boring him and he will leave you—

But Will hasn’t left. How long has they been there? They sat down on a nearby desk a while ago. Will was still with him.

Will, talking about his mom and how much he misses her. Will, listening to Nico’s stories of his childhood in Italy. Will, leaning into the beats of silence that would occasionally fall between them with a rare comfort. Will, inching closer to Nico with each passing second. Will, making their string glow impossibly brighter with the effect he had on Nico. Will, coiling the string around his fingers until there was no space between his and Nico’s hands. Will, cutting himself off mid-sentence just to graze Nico’s hand.

Will. Will. Will.

How long had it been? It was dark outside. Not that Nico cared. In the moment all that Nico cared about was right by his side, chatting animatedly, listening with care, leaning against Nico as he got more tired. Nico couldn’t imagine falling asleep now. His heart was beating so fast one would think he was about to be killed by some monster.

For some reason this moment felt more important than any of those past life-or-death experiences. He was safe. Nobody was in danger. But all those times he was fighting to live. Now he’s living to be alive.

With Will.

He looked over at the boy now resting on his shoulder and smiles. His mouth slightly open and he’s just barely snoring. It’s adorable. Nico’s heart warms with affection.

Affection. He liked using that word in this moment. He smiled.

He liked using that word for Will.

~~~

The Apollo Cabin did not cut him any slack when he brought a sleeping Will back in a bridal carry late into the night.

~~~

“Hey! It’s Mr. Perfectly Fine!” Will exclaimed to his siblings when Nico had entered the infirmary office.

Nico had caught a glimpse of Will hunched over his desk, with an exhausted expression written on his face just as Nico had walked in. It seemed like he was talking to his siblings, Kayla and Austin, about how he can “totally handle all this work” and that he’s “not burnt out”. They however, were willing to drop that conversation to snicker at Nico regarding whatever it was Will had just said.

“Seriously? You have no other jokes,” Nico retorted. “What is that referencing? I’m convinced you’re making it up at this point.”

“Oh please, at this point it’s your fault for not being a part of the Taylor Nation,” Kayla chimed in.

“I’ve been here for two days!”

Kayla crossed her arms. “That’s two whole days of Taylor Swift that you could have been listening to.”

Nico rolled his eyes and looked to Austin, the one person left who hadn’t taken a side against him.

“What?” He responded. “They’re right. All the effort you’ve made to avoid Taylor Swift is really some Kanye behavior.”

Nico hated his past self. Why did he decide to start hanging out with the Apollo Cabin? They were one mess of snarky comebacks joined together by their obsession over various musicians.

“I’ve been helping out! Would you really rather have me be wasting oxygen while listening to Swift?” Nico asked the cohesive mass.

“Yes!” They all shouted in (a partially harmonized) unison.

Nico groaned and sat on the chair he had placed next to Will’s desk the last time he was in this office. He’s only been here for three days and yet he has a spot for him. Next to Will.

The siblings talked about some infirmary stuff. Work schedules, post-war stuff, some new Roman ailments they learned about. Nico tuned it out, picking at his hangnails.

Some time later, the door Nico had just come through slammed open with an uninterested Drew Tanaka on the other end.

“Hey shitheads! I need drugs!” She said.

Nico raised an eyebrow at her and turned to look at Will, hoping he would translate.

Without looking up from his desk, Will rolled his eyes and said, “Sweet baby Zeus, can’t you just say ibuprofen like a normal person?”

He pushed back on his chair to get up, but Kayla pushed him right back.

“Nuh-uh. I’ve got this. You stay here and take a break with your,” she looked at Nico, “dude-best-friend.” She winked at him.

She headed out the door, with Drew on her heels.

The three left in the room looked at each other. A silent conversation played out between Will and Austin that lasted for much longer than a silent conversation has any right to last. Nico was glad to not be involved in it, whatever it was.

Austin sighed. “I guess I’ll go with them to make sure they don’t blow anything up.”

“Again,” Will added.

With a quick finger-gun-snap to his brother, Austin left.

The door creaked it as it closed.

“Wait,” Nico put his elbows on the desk. “How many explosions have they caused?” He thought for a second. “How do they even cause explosions to happen?”

He waits for a second more. Will is writing something down. Nico probably shouldn’t have interrupted by talking. He needed to be more conscious about his actions. Especially now that he is friends with Will. What was it Kayla said? “Dude-best-friend”? Yeah. He needed to be a better dude-best-friend. Not that they were “best friends”. It was probably just some slang or something. If they were even considered to be best-

Thunk.

Will face-planted onto his desk.

“Shit.” How long had he been working? “Are you ok?”

Will held up a hand to give a thumbs-up before dropping it back down to his desk. Will started snoring.

Nico knew there was a right way to react to this. Will probably had the answer for him. But Nico couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but stare. Stare and think. Like he was moving in slow motion but the rest of the world wasn’t kind enough to take note.

Was this normal for Will? Did he just collapse at his desk from time to time? No. He was always preaching his gospel of “taking care of yourself” and whatnot. This had to be a one-off thing.

He’s probably fine, right? Sure, he’s probably a little bit burnt out, but it’s not life and death or anything.

Yeah good idea. Bury your problems. Maybe one day you’ll share a grave with them.

How could he even think like that? “Not life and death,” so many things are not life and death but they are still worth worrying about.

Nico is a terrible friend. He needs to be worrying more about Will. Will needs help.

And how the hell do you expect to help him? Name one time you weren’t a burden to somebody. Every time you try to do something it fails. Just stop.

Gods. He was pathetic. His friend was passed out in front of him, and he was standing there, frozen. He should do something. He needed to do something. He just. He- he had to-

You always let people down. You’re too pitiful to help anyone.

No! He could help!

Will laid there fully unaware of the warfare happening in Nico’s mind. Someone looking in would likely find his state of rest to look peaceful. He was just a tired kid doctor in a tiny room filled with papers and files.

Outside that room was a couple of teenagers bickering about ibuprofen and explosives. It was a conversation severely lacking in context for the onlookers not in said conversation.

Even further beyond there were children doing dangerous and mundane activities. Somewhere a kid first encountered a monster. A man proposed to his girlfriend to the joy of an entire restaurant. A man proposed to his boyfriend to the shock, disgust, and joy of a small park. A child wrote a letter that never got read to her father fighting in a war. A species that was never discovered went extinct. A group of teenagers got high on the roof of a parking lot. A tired mother decided to quit smoking for the third time that year. A grandparent met their first grandson.

And back in that small room with too much paper and a sleeping boy, a damaged kid sees nothing but the worst of it.

Nico’s mind is a tunnel with no light at the end; flashing horrors crowding it out and letting no logic or hope in.

This was life-or-death. If Nico didn’t do something, he would be responsible for whatever happened to Will.

Will would know what to do. If Nico just knew Will better. If he just payed a bit more attention while Will worked. He must have been a terrible friend, having not cared enough to know how to handle this.

Finally, something you’re right about.

Gods! How could he even be drowning in this self pity now? Will needed help. He needed… caffeine? An intervention? He needed something and Nico needed to help. He could help. He needed to help. He needed-

His hand met a warmth. He looked down to see his and Will’s hands touching. Nico didn’t know when he started reaching for his hand. He let it sit there for a few beats of tense, heavy, warm silence.

His fingers moved without his consent to gently coil their string.

People say that, for soulmates, strings are able to pass emotions. The way one touches their string and the feeling they have while holding it are felt by the person on the other side.

Nico could… send some comfort? The thoughts would have made him laugh in any other circumstance. Him. Being the bringer of comfort. But in this instance, he could. There wasn’t anything else he coulddo.

No you cannot. You will lead yourself to heartbreak.

Will groaned. Nico flinched.

His hand twitched to reach out. To let Will know that “I’m here”. That “you can talk to me”.

You can’t do that.

He couldn’t do that though.

You don’t know how to comfort people.

He didn’t even know how to comfort people.

Just look in front of you, you let this happen under your watch.

He’d let this happen.

And here you are thinking to yourself instead of doing anything.

Gods! He just needed to focus. Think of some solution.

Just think! Just think! Just think! Just-

A door opened and Nico’s throat dropped, feeling like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have done. Which was stupid. He knew that.

He uselessly held his hands up and backed up, turning to the door. His body was frozen as thoughts of the thousands of ways the next few seconds could go all competed for his attention. He was a deer in the headlights, weakly looking past the person who was on the other end of the door. They looked at the scene in the room and raised an eyebrow.

“Nico? What happened?” Austin asked.

Austin! Thank the gods! He can-

“Help.” Nico creaked. “I don’t know what happened. Will, he…” Nico cut himself off. His throat was so choked up it was barely letting him say anything. It hurt. He didn’t realize he was this close to tears.

Fucking baby.

Austin rushed to his brother’s side and after a few moments sighed a breath of relief. “He’s fine. Just exhausted.” He took a few moments to give Nico a worried look. “Are you fine?”

Nico couldn’t respond. His body was still in fight-or-flight mode. He could only hear the pounding of his heartbeat, so strong it was like it was coming directly from his ears. There was to much happening. He just needed to calm down. He also had to respond. He had to look normal. He had to help with-

“Everything is fine.” The mantra he repeated in his mind. “He’s just exhausted. He’s ok. I’m ok.”

No you’re not. No he’s not.

Austin just confirmed that there was nothing to worry about.

You just don’t care enough about Will to keep worrying for him.

“I’m ok,” he finally responded, voice even more shaky.

Austin made a doubtful look and walked over to a shelf, pulling out some ball. He handed it to Nico, placing it in a hand he had not realized was shaking until then. He squeezed it and it was cushiony, but firm.

“Breathe with me,” Austin said simply.

And they breathed together. Slowly in. Holding it. Slowly out. Holding it.

After a minute or so he asked “would you mind if I brought Kayla here too?”

Shrugging, Nico lied. “I don’t mind. I’m fine really.” Although he didn’t know why he was still trying.

“No, you’re not.”

Austin steps out of the room and sticks his head out the door, peering down the corridor. “Kayla!”

Nico heard a muffled, “What?! I’m busy!”

Again shouting back, “Just come over here please!”

Some shuffling. Some footsteps. “What’s up?”

Austin stepped aside and let her view the scene. Her eyes softened and she walked over towards where Nico stayed standing.

“Oh Gods Nico, what’s wrong?” She asked him.

He tried for a dry laugh. “Nononono I’m fine. I was just a little-“ he choked. He hopelessly tried to steady his voice. “Just a little worried for Will is all.”

Kayla’s eyes immediately went wide with panic at the mention of his brother’s name. “What happened? Is he ok?” She looked over to his desk.

Austin stepped up to his sister, putting a hand on her arm. “He’s alright Kay. Just a little exhausted,” he said. They looked like they were having a silent conversation for a moment after that ended when they both looked back at Nico.

“Do you want to sit and talk for a bit?” Austin eventually asked.

“It doesn’t have to be about anything important,” Kayla added. “Or anything at all. Like, if you need silence with company we got you. Or silence without company. Or company without silence. Or any other combination. Or some other secret option. Or-“

“Company without silence is just the first choice you said,” Austin interrupted

Kayla thought for a second. “It is, isn’t it? It feels like there should be more combinations of those words though.”

“No company with no silence.”

“Ok but does that actually make any sense? Unless you talk to yourself professionally you wouldn’t be alone and without silence.”

“I would say that I can be alone without silence. I’m an interesting guy, I have fun talking to myself.”

“Yeah well, you’re just lonely so-“

A laugh escaped from Nico. They both looked at him.

“Sorry,” he said, for once with a steady voice. “The way you guys talk to each other is really funny to watch.” It reminded him of how he was with Bianca when they were younger. They used to argue all the time, sometimes escalating into screaming matches. Their mother would always step in and say something wise and meaningful that completely went over Nico and his sister’s heads. If Bianca were both alive now, would it be like this? Would their arguments not be out of malice but sibling love? What would that have looked like with them?

Kayla rested an arm on her brother’s shoulder as he looked at her with fake disgust. “We are, aren’t we?” She asked him.

“I really don’t think you’re ‘funny’. If anything funny looking.”

Kayla walked over to a circular table and sat down. “Oh please. I’m the hottest sibling. No contest.”

Austin followed her, taking a seat for himself. “If that’s what you want to believe, I will let you continue living with that lie.”

Kayla scoffed and looked back at Nico. “Wanna join the order of the round table?”

Yes.

“I uh… Are you sure it won’t get in the way of,” he waved his hand around at the general vicinity, “infirmary duties?”

“Not really,” Austin answers. “We did rounds this morning and everybody just needs more time to heal with the meds and magic,” which he embellished with spirit fingers, “and we already gave them their afternoon doses. Unless there’s some random emergency-“

“Or Drew comes back demanding drugs again,” Kayla added.

“Or that, then we’re just chilling.”

Nico wanted to say yes.

Don’t fool yourself kid. They don’t want you there. You’re just being a burden. They seem to be having a great time without-

Nico squeezed the ball. He moved to the table. He smiled and they smiled back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Author’s Note:

thank you so much for reading!! To that one person who commented on my last fic saying they needed more: thank you specificially. And I’m sorry specifically for you because the wait for the next one is going to be worse than a cartoon hiatus. Tho I’m actually going to be spending that time writing instead of feeling guilty for not writing to that’s a win. also I have an Ao3 now so that’s cool

#solangelo #pjo #nico di angelo #percy jackson #will solace #solangelo fics

17 notes · View notes