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eldrith · 21 days ago

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ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇᴅᴇɴ ; ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ.

ᴄʜɪᴠᴀʟʀʏ ғᴇʟʟ ᴏɴ ʜɪs sᴡᴏʀᴅ ;

words: 8.4k synopsis: jacaerys falls for a woman in aegon's garden. notes: happy halfway! we're only a few weeks from halloween & im getting excited that this story is at its midway point. i hope those who read this enjoy it. it's as always for my muses @useralba and @dipperscavern ... my co authors frong!! chapter warnings: active and willing denial on jace's part tbh. themes of corruption, spooky visions, smut; masturbation, dry humping, heavy petting, finger sucking, hint (?) of choking [v brief], sort-of under the influence activities so - dubious morals in this one [youll see]. eating as sexual imagery, sin/shameful thoughts, religious themes & symbolism, temperature play-ish?, blood & injury depictions, brief mentions of…consuming blood…lightttt manipulation[:D], angst, grief, discussion of death. & some fluff. this is so unedited series masterlist. main masterlist.

THE CHAMBERS OF MAESTER GERARDYS ARE TINGED WITH DRIED HERBS AND DAMP PARCHMENT.

It is a smell which rather permeates the air through the corridors of the castle on the more inclementing days – even when he was younger, Jacaerys found himself passing by the smell of feverfew and steamed stinging nettle on his way to lessons in the bowels of the stone drum.

Thick tears of rain slide down a weathered pane. Jacaerys reclines in a small chair; In front of him, a poultice is mixed by steady hands.

His head pulses with a familiar ache; the one which has plagued him for days, rendered him rather restless and jumpy on the best of days, irascible and brusque on the others. There is a slow roll of thunder outside; it rattles the weakened pane beside him – faintly, he can nearly hear the call of some childish laughter warbled in the storm outside.

There are no children left on the island now that his brothers are gone with Rhaena; with them, it seems, has gone the sun. The days have been plunged into dreary rolls of high clouds and low sheets barreling down with coughs of spitting sleet; The nights remain the only time the air is relatively clear of that wetting dark, and yet still clouds slink under silvery slivers of waxing moon.

Agitated, Jace watches Maester Gerardys pour some oiled ointment, warming it between his palms; straightening his spine to a more respectable position, Jacaerys tilts his jaw for the man to begin to massage the ointment into his temples.

A sigh of relief. “It’s only getting worse,” He murmurs, eyes fluttering shut at the sharp scent of peppermint. “-The head aches, the knots in my stomach.”

Maester gerardys hums as he pulls away, returning to the poultice as he glances attentively at the prince – though he says nothing, and Jacaerys is prompted to fill the silence once more.

“I suppose getting air has helped… Aegon’s Garden is not nearly as taxing to the senses as flying on dragonback these days.” He observes absently, watching another onslaught of rain slam against the window, “… and your oils, of course - though, they’re quite strong in the bath. I find the blooms to be rather pleasant now. I don’t know if you recall, Maester, but I was quite sensitive to plants when I was a babe.”

Below on the grounds, a flicker of blue through hedges of green; Jacaerys jumps only slightly, blinking – and the figure is gone. He must be going mad.

Though in a moment of odd silence, the grind of the mortar has stopped.

Gerardys’ eyes flick up to his own, leaking with a flicker of wariness. “Yes, the…garden.” He repeats slowly, straightening his back. “My Prince, I’ve… noticed you’ve been spending quite some time there recently.”

Jacaerys, not used to such suspicion from the man, bristles immediately. Some desire, perhaps, to protect the sanctity of the garden - to protect you.

“And?” He wonders stiffly.

Maester Gerardys sets the mortar to the table, voice cautious. “It is not my place to pry, but… we must be wary not to… become distracted in such times. The dragonseeds arrive late on the morrow, and the efforts of war demand the entire island’s attention.”

Offense bristles through Jacaerys’ chest as he levels a sharp gaze at the man before him. Without hesitation, he rises from his previous seat, patience more than frayed. “Do you think me not focused?”

At the following silence, his voice tightens. “I am not a boy, Gerardys. I know what is at stake - better even than you. And it will do you well to remember who it will be to lead the charge when the time comes.”

Gerardys does not flinch at the sharpness of Jacaerys’ tone, but nods briefly. “Of course, my Prince. My apologies.” Jacaerys moves to make his exit, though Maester Gerardys’ voice stops him once more., “Though… It is my duty to keep you in good health. You’ve mentioned before a girl, in the garden - pardon me, but there has not-”

“Enough!” Jacaers snaps, pushing off the table. His temper has flared - though tipped over the cliff by his words, it is not Maester Gerardys who aggravates him so; rather, a heavy impending doom has settled upon his stomach at the damning reminder of the dragonseeds which crawl their way from whatever villages or flea’s bottom they come from now to chance a life of riding a dragon. Of some inkling that, in some way, Gerardys’ words are right; and Jacaerys lashes, a cornered hound.

“You forget yourself, Maester.” He exhales sharply through his nose, “You are here to help aid my ailments. That is all you need to do."

Gerardys bows his head, “Of course.”

He is nearly to the threshold when Maester Gerardys’ voice carries - soft and unsettling as an owl’s stare in the pitch of night. “Just remember, my Prince. Sometimes, the things which ease the mind… might mislead the heart.”

Jacaerys stops before the chamber door, hand clenching into a fist at his side; a nerve has been plucked, struck, ripped - some small growing doubt in the back of his own mind, one that festers and yearns to bloom with kindling of another’s words. Worry eases through him, though there is no time for that; more pressing matters loom.

The dragonseeds arrive on the eve, it seems.

He is gone from the chambers without another word, ignoring the fading needle sting of Maester Gerardys’ odd words as they dissolve into the large bow of day.

IT IS OF LITTLE IMPORTANCE WHEN JACAERYS HAS HIS BATH DRUM MOVED.

Though it is a simple request, an innocent one - brought up while breaking fast one morning, watching with concealed fluster as three servants drag his bath drum towards the windowsill. Though it is indeed blameless and simple, he feels rather horrid for it.

It is a twist of disgust that blossoms into some equally thrilling bloom in his chest. A transfixion, to keep gaze upon the expanse of a sea beyond his scope, of all that will one day be all his own to rule. To prove, perhaps in some twisted way, that it is he who will sit on the throne when his mother has finished her long reign; that those mules with silver hair and names of sand or snow do not come to delude themselves into making a claim of their own.

To watch over the baileys below, to see the fishing villages, mere specks in the distant shoreline; to see ships smaller than fleas sail to and from, to see the rustle of wildgrass upon the pathway to the garden below.

To watch Aegon’s Garden.

It is not, he tells himself, in any off-chance that he might catch sight of those silky tresses, of that smooth and wintry skin, of your curling smile. Jacaerys simply enjoys the views of sky, sea, mountain - and if he were to catch a glimpse of your beautiful visage, whispering to the flowers and laughing as if the blooms could whisper back? Perhaps that would simply be a welcomed favor.

The water in his bath steams; oils of rosemary and peppermint mix in a rather sharp smell upon his skin, though the tendrils of steam curl into his head and ease the sharpness of his mind’s ache.

Reclining back, eyes half-lidded, Jacaerys sighs into the heat of the water.

Lithe, tense muscles ache with the tension of the day - though it is morning, he knows he must rouse soon; but in the hour ahead that he has to bathe and break fast, he will allow himself to slip away from life, into the recesses of his mind - to where only you exist.

You.

Jacaerys allows for his fingertips to brush absently along the water’s surface - so similarly to how they’d traced the curve of your neck, tangled into your hair. It’s been far too long since he visited you last - two nights past since he was tugged through the hedges once more, hiding a grin, ducking under low-hanging vines, gasping into kisses stolen by your wanting lips.

There is no such flame that perhaps has ever burned hotter than the memory of your touch; an icy one, a chilling touch that sends the cold aches of the North to shame; though it burns so hot in his mind’s eye.

You, a world apart from the suffocating smoke of war - an endearing, true girl; the way your smile tugs at the corner of your lips, some glint in your gaze that beckons him closer - deeper.

Eyelashes kiss his cheeks when he shuts his lids, and mercifully he sees it - you, head tilted in the sunlight, shadows of the garden dancing along the stretch of your soft skin, the icy breath of shade a cool respite from the despotic sun.

And that heady, rich scent that clings to your skin - the figs, the juicy skin, the pinking bud of flesh inside, your lips so divine, wrapped around them, tasting, licking, biting-

His breath hitches; without thinking - or perhaps, telling himself instead not to think - his palm slips beneath the water.

Jacaerys’ groan is quiet into the empty chamber; but his calloused palm is softened by the warmth of the water, and his mind is hazy in the visions of you, staring at him, lips wrapped around that fruit.

Its scent, the lingering taste of it upon your lips, so sweet - you, so sweet.

And he did not try a taste then, but gods how he had wanted to; how he still wants to. A taste - of that flesh, dripping with sweet juice and marbled skin of ripe fruit - and of every inch of you, each breathless hitch of a moan, every whisper of his name from your lips. Pleasure curls down the base of his spine as he allows his fist to move; broad strokes, as languid as the slithering shift of your skirts around corners, as sharp as your gasped giggle when he makes you laugh.

And it’s you; he nearly believes it is you, wrapped around his cock so snug - pleasure lapping at core, water kissing his chest as he stirs in the bath, stuttering breaths that leak a few spare whimpers into the quiet morning air.

There is a breeze through the open window that sends Jacaerys’ bare chest to shiver against the steam of hot bath; A familiar chill, wrapping and curling around him like the winds of winter - settling at the nape of his neck, but dripping lower to pool at the very base of him, where his fist moves, desperate and seeking.

And though he pretends it does not happen, he knows his fist curls and moves to the rhythm of your sighs in his memory, how you’re always so eager to press into him, to kiss him, to taste him; desperate and hungry.

Hunger – that glint, dangerous and unknown in your eyes; a flicker of a grin too wide-pulled, the sliding of a gaze that feels ancient. It’s not proper, he knows; but the pleasure mounts anyways – because of it, perhaps – and that sickly smile sends himself further to the edge, grip shaking as his hips buck against nothing.

Water splashes from the basin. A bite on the plush of his lip as he suppresses a shuddering moan; his abdomen has tensed in such curling pleasure - an ice against the fire in his veins, intoxicating, arresting.

The pressure always builds - not just this pleasurable kind, though his body insists to his mind he should be focusing on such things - and in the last few desperate days that he’s spent far from you, you who truly understands him - it is in these times when he seeks such salacious relief.

It is your name whispered from his lips, breathless - too many times to admit in the past weeks of knowing your company. It is some distraction from the clawing talons of fate; when his palms are warm against his cock though he finds himself wishing to feel your own - that chilling touch which lures him so.

His desperate, soiled lips - groaning your name, falling from his tongue as the whisper of a phantom, some half-formed prayer to gods long-forgotten, squeezed with the very last of air which lived in his lungs. Licking at his skin, curling into his blood like the shade under which you’d kissed him.

The phantom feeling grasps at him, pressing against the thrash of his heartbeat in his chest, bringing the sting of overwhelm to his lashline, coaxing gasps through his lips and tickling a flush to his cheeks.

He can almost feel you when that same shivering peak leaves him panting, gasping as his ecstasy rolls through his entire body, his head lolling back against the tub basin as he whines your name into the empty chamber.

And in those moments, just like now - as his chest heaves and knuckles turn white, as he spends himself - he can think of nothing else.

It is only you.

Though when he steps from the bath and stretches his bare muscles into the bright of day, eyeing the line of constellated freckles which sprinkle over his pectorals and gather in pools upon his shoulders and bridge of nose, he feels the slow recovery of what had slipped so easily from his conscious - pain.

And just as it disappeared, so it appears once more; with a sharp wince, Jacaerys jolts from his haze, gasping at the heavy ache which throbs in the back of his head.

With flushed cheeks, he watches the garden below for any sign of life; It swirls with tantalizing greens, the scent of dahlias and gardenias blowing in even this high into the tower through the open casement. A sigh falls secret and unbidden from his lips as curls are raked back upon his head with a shaky palm.

As always, the pull is there.

The lull, some sweet melody that spins the strings of his heart, warming the blood pulsing in his chest and gathering below his abdomen; which soothes the ache of his mind and whispers his name in the soft breeze.

It is melancholy, in the way life has been without Lucerys. Shadows swirl darker under the attention of morning sun – petals curl beneath the breath of frost, melting back into themselves in the first whispers of day. The blooms smile up at him, and he longs for the embrace of something he can never have.

The garden breathes below.

Across the bailey, the dragonseeds take up arms - measly children playing at a game they know nothing about; Jacaerys’ jaw clicks when he glimpses the regal posture of his own mother across the way, speaking with Maester Gerardys and Addam of Hull. The pierce of his mind’s ache is sharper - the garden’s breeze sends a breath of loneliness through him.

He shuts the window without a second thought.

IT IS ONLY SO MANY HOURS UNTIL HE FINDS HIMSELF IN THE GARDEN ONCE MORE.

Misery flutters in Jacaerys’ mind with every ragged gasp he takes; a creeping nightmare, rousing him from sweaty sheets - clammy and with half a scream lodged in his throat, he’d stirred.

Visions of white, some restless churning that’d grown from dirt of dreams and sprouted a blossoming nightmare - at the top of that ancient, towering wall of ice, the words falling from Cregan Stark’s lips. A fate worse than death.

The loss of his brother; the face which echoed in so many ways his own. The end of a life - of a lifetime - and he still wakes up from restless slumber every night, gasping dry air, yearning for the days of sparring, of fixing wrinkled folds of rich doublets, of teaching lessons, of laughs concealed painfully at supper.

Though tonight, after being roused from sleep by a scream that did not sound like his own, Jacaerys had stood from his mattress, slamming the empty chalice of water upon his table as he calmed his breaths, watching the hedges swirl and blow in the night’s breeze. He’s grown used to the figments of his sleep-hungry mind – young men running past statues, laughter bubbling far away. But tonight, he saw you in a flash of white dress and a rumble of ancient hunger, some need to be in arms which trust and do not quite question.

And so, he ran.

Still clad in his tunic and sleep-trousers, he stumbled past the iron gates, gripped in a chilling bout of tedious familiarity; how many times must he find himself here, searching for comfort - to be haunted by life, by loss?

Why had he not, instead, sought out his mother? Baela? Lord Corlys is often awake at such ghastly hours these days, staring at the sea from upon his balcony…

It is admittedly not the first time he has sought you out in such turmoil; indeed, in the weeks of knowing you, scarcely has past two days where he has not ventured into the gardens; where he has not sought your eerie quiet, your soft words, your gentle palms upon his glistening cheeks.

There is in you perhaps that innocence so lost in people like him - people tainted by the burden of duty; and in your smiles, your whispers, your laughs, your tears - he has come to know you and to love you separately, to be transfixed by you and to crave you.

He supposes it is indeed some rebellion of his own - any breath of you is swept behind by those he has known his whole life; his mother, with no bat of her eye over your name in passing, though if she had scarcely an idea of what he did with you when there was nothing but the swirling trees and falling petals… lips on soft lips, hands on plush curves...

And Jacaerys knows, quite deep in his mind, why he could not speak with them. So often he finds words falling on deafened ears; those who do not understand, or who simply do not wish to. Unlike you – wise beyond your years.

In the pitch dark of night, the statues grow warped - blackened by the hatred of weather and neglect of island; it is darker than he’s ever seen the Garden, with a nearly full moon concealed by thick clouds of dread.

Blindly he stumbles into a statue - grasping once more unto the familiar young maiden’s thigh for balance; though the serpent which encircles her is coiled higher over her hips than he recalls.

Fingertips trace over the scales of the snake, and with a distinct desire in his throat, he presses his forehead to the cool stone of the stone woman’s dress skirts; a momentary comfort upon the stone lap.

It is only moments before his breathing calms; lips, pressing to the stone he rests upon - and that visage that watches down at him - stone and lifeless in the dark, eternally you.

IT TAKES HIM NO TIME TO FIND YOU DEEPER IN THE GARDEN.

It is odd, perhaps, that his feet find their way to you each time he seeks you out, as though they have a memory of their own - though he still feels lost in the ever distending garden itself.

Under the olive tree, as you lurk in the shadows, some ancient beastly predator awaits the hare; but you are no foe.

He stands numbly, the loneliness that grips his chest and fosters growing insecurities and fears within his mind dissolving under your beaming smile.

You’re against him in only a moment, pulling him by the wrists into your embrace; he feels odd, as though he floats when you tug him nearer.

“Jacaerys,” You whisper, eyes wide - startled, perhaps, at his visit in such an unseemly hour; though you, too, are here in the garden. It is beyond him to wonder why you so choose to spend your nights here, when he lies so sleeplessly in his own chambers each night wishing for the embrace of the garden.

The knot in his chest unfurls just under your touch - and you seize him in a shy kiss, leaning on tip-toes to seek his warmth.

He gasps into it, overwhelmed by the cold of your lips against his own; but he melts into the intoxicating simplicity of being wanted - and wanted by you, gods - and kisses you back deeply. Soft tresses tickle his forearm as he slides his arms around your back, tugging you into him - as if he could perhaps drown himself in you; as if he could forget the weight of the night, of the troubles that always come when morning breaks.

His hands find your waist as you pull away, though not too far - he keeps you close, to see the breath that falls from your lips and raises the goosepimples upon his neck, each flutter of every single eyelash.

“You’ve returned,” And you speak the words breathlessly each time he visits, without fail; as if you truly fear that each time he leaves, it will be the last time.

But your smile falls at the state of him, leaning closer to tuck your palm under his jaw.

“What troubles you, my love?” You wonder softly, a cold breeze of your palm brushing away his curled tresses - and he tries not to keen into the touch, swallowing thickly at the concern, at the empathy that drips from your words. He does not recall when you began to levy him with such sweet words – gone is my prince, taken up with far more intimate, kind titles; And, in return, when he whispers such devoted titles into your ear, into the breath of the garden – you bloom, a small smile growing evergreen upon your visage.

Your name is whispered from his lips with a shake of his head, the emotions crawling back to the forefront of his mind, dragging his weary bones down towards the earth.

And, devoted as always, you go with him; sinking into the thick soil, running your fingers through his hair as he breathes heavily, using his best effort to resist the tears which brim in his vision. He feels a fool; though you would not ever hold him in such contempt.

His voice is tight. “I wished to see you,” He admits, “I… saw you, from my chambers.”

Your lips curl into a soft grin; your eyes are dark - knowing - in the concealed moonlight, and it stirs that same odd crazed feeling within his bones. And no matter how tight his grasp on your arm becomes, you do not wince; you instead pull him with a soft caress and practiced words, curled under the statue of the dying lovers.

It is there he lies, head cushioned on the soft chill of your lap, blinking back syrupy eyelids as he spills his mind to you.

His mother, the dragonseeds; heirs, bastards, the colour of the very locks your fingers card through so gently.

His words whisper, curling up through your own hair and floating into the limbs of the tree behind you; your eyes are large as he confesses to you each and every thing that has infected him, has let fester within his mind for so long that now it rots and oozes from his lips with a bitter hatred.

Your words whisper in return, dripping from honeyed lips and soothing the sore and bruised bones that lie so weary beneath skin so thick.

It is in no effort to convince him of one thing nor another; Your words are for him, and that is it - your words are simple, kind, understanding. A balm over festering wounds of family, of fate.

“Jace?” You ask into the quiet of the night - and the tug on his heartstring of your delicate use of his sobriquet fosters a gentle, dreamy smile to his lips. He hums into the quiet garden, his fingers slipping through the tresses of your free hair, billowing around his head like a thick curtain; he leans up and steals a soft kiss from your parted lips, laughing gently at the blush that creeps over your countenance.

Not a breath later, a pressure slides soft against Jacaerys’ face and he jumps slightly. Though you laugh at his misfortune, you straighten; the curtain is pulled, and Jace blinks in the moonlight to find the creature that’d slinked its way into your privacy.

Jacaerys’ gut twists – the cat.

A gasp of excitement from you. “Shadow, darling.” You purr affectionately - Jacaerys, wary and uneased, sits himself upright from his pillow in your lap, spine uncurling into regal posture once more.

It bunts its small head against your palm and Jacaerys is claimed by a faint memory – Baela feeding Sȳndor a foraged fish; You sigh in disappointment, shaking your head down at the cat. “I have none with me this evening, I’m afraid.”

The cat hisses; he feels his spine straighten even more, hair on end.

“Jacaerys,” You hum; your hand is outstretched, and with a disoriented blink, he wonders when you’d risen to stand. He rises, hand in yours as you smile against the pitch-black of night. “I’ve something I would like to show you.”

The deeper into the garden you lead Jacaerys, the longer the silvery shadows of statues cast; wrath, visages weathered and greened by spoiled coils of vines - they leap at him when he passes. Earth and dying leaves hang in the air; but in the rotting turns and bends in the far end of the garden, where he’s never been, they give way to something sweeter, richer.

It’s a slow crawl - in a breeze, in a short laugh from you, in the sway of your loose tresses when you turn a corner too quickly for the prince to keep up. A cat-and-mouse game.

Though it grows - a smell so intoxicating that when you finally arrive, Jacaerys is stopped dead in his tracks.

Bewilderment, some serious dip in his gut in alarm at the monstrous silhouette that just barely looms in the shadows of night. His neck has to crane to see them: Figs – plump, ripe, hanging heavy and dripping from gnarled branches easily the size of himself.

It is a tree twice the size of the olive tree - a feat of its own - and possibly more; the fruits drip with nectar that shimmers as if caught in the light that does not find the rest of the Garden.

Massive.

The tree backs up and towers over the stone wall at the end of the garden, fog swirling in a small blanket that conceals the thick, rising roots emerging from the earth.

And at first, Jacaerys believes the heat rising within him to be hunger; his stomach growls quietly, churning at the alluring scent of fruit - but with a glance at you, hand still in his - a different hunger claws at him.

The heat spreads through his veins.

It tightens his chest, mouth watering at the thought of a bite of that sweet fruit, its gentle juices as they slide over trembling, pure skin; his hunger grows, some famished beast clawing at his chest. And a taste of you - that intoxicating you, ever-present and sweet in his mind.

Gods, this is ill done. He does not ask before tugging you gently with him towards the tree, the overwhelming scent pulling him deeper under its yawning canopy.

His hand only slips from yours when he reaches the base of the tree; staring up at the sprawling web of branches above, he lets out an incredulous laugh that is deafened immediately in the sedated air around you.

“It’s enormous,” Fingers brush against bark, ancient and rough, “Why haven't I seen it before? It feels…” He trails off, searching for the words; but he’s gone rather hot in sudden desire. You’re behind him - he feels your freezing breath trickle down his nape, your hand ghosting over his spine; though the shiver that follows is not just from your lips. “...Hidden.” He finishes absently.

Jacaerys turns into your touch, but you are not behind him - you remain a few paces away, bending to feed the cat a fig you’ve plucked from a lower branch.

The presence he’d felt behind him is gone; With a blink, unease churns in his gut.

His question lingers - but too does the heat. That overwhelming scent, as the cat leaps to rip voraciously into the flesh of the fruit. He watches, torn between horror and captivation as the little beast tears at it, releasing some faint growl that sounds nearly like a purr.

His own fingers reach up shakily to pluck a fruit laced in shadows – and in the moonlight, the flesh is nearly purple.

“Perhaps the garden hides what it wishes to keep.”

He startles only slightly – you’re in his ear now, voice laced in that way that stirs heat within him. His fingers clutch the fruit desperately, breathing heavy to regain whatever strength he has lost in the battle against desire. Your whisper sends curling arousal over the ridges of his spine, “The soil is rich here, you know. Fertile, in ways men think it shouldn’t be. The Dragonmont’s deposits do little to stop such delicious fruit from blossoming – it is foolish to think this land cursed.”

Cursed, his mind whispers – and his brows furrow, your words stirring unease in the back of his mind; It is so difficult to think clearly at such a late hour, with the hunger stirring so deep, with the fruit and your hand so soft in his own.

Cursed – but you eat them; and as he gazes into your glinting eyes in the dark, your bare toes dug into the very soil upon which you stand – hunger gnaws at him, blinding his sight from whatever shadows curl in the dark. He doesn’t mind, he decides.

Cursed, or blessed – it is often quite hard to tell the difference.

And his hunger crescendos; with a small press of your lips to the sensitive patch of his neck, the grazing of teeth sharper than the blade forgotten in his chambers, his hand twitches; his thumb splits the seam of the fruit open.

At the movement, the pad of his finger slides into the flesh, its juices dripping into his palm; you let out a small whimper at this, your hands curling in a grasp around his arms – the noise sends heat through him, coiling at the base of him.

Your eyes are alight with hunger – eyes wide, some shrouded smile growing upon hungry lips as he stares down between you and the fruit.

He yearns for something; all his life, for something. To feel alive, a voice whispers - the Garden is alive, you are alive. You are.

His hand drops the fruit.

For just a moment, your face flickers – but he brings his thumb to hover over your cheek, the air thick with the smell of its juices. He is hungry; insatiable. Your breath stutters as you stare up at him, and he down at you, breaths puffing between parted lips, shaking with unspoked craving.

“Gods,” he murmurs; and then, your tongue darts out – his throat tightens, goosepimples roving through him as you gently lick the pulp of the fig from his thumb, leaning further towards him.

He leans; Gods, he can’t help himself – and then his lips are on yours, rapacious, greedy.

You press with cold hands into him, and he stumbles back into the bark of the tree, thicker than himself three times round the trunk; your tongue prods his own, and he can’t help the groan that tears from the back of his throat – the taste, ambrosial.

Some remnants of the fruit linger upon your lips, and he’s unable to quench himself of the desire that spins his head; that sinks him low once more into the soil, that tugs you daringly atop him.

Jacaerys blinks back a bout of dizziness when his eyes adjust – reposed below the fig tree, temptations swirling around his mind as you slide into his lap coyly.

How he got here, he cannot recall; but you’re real and touching him – an icy palm upon the juncture of his neck, your slender thumb slipping to curl over the base of his throat as he keens towards you, plush lips seeking the thrill of your skin against his mouth.

Dress shifts; his tunic rustles, the leaves fall and the fruit lies in the earth, split open. Perhaps it is the hour - or it is the stare you give him; he is overwhelmed with the sense that you know every part of him; every fear, every weakness – and still you lie in his lap, eager and blushing as the day you first met. His mind flashes – in that numb way, as if he is on the precipice of some crucial understanding.

Your own lips sink into his, pressing away any melancholia, replacing it with a boiling hunger - an icy groan from him as you shift in his lap, his stirring arousal quick and heated with your sweet proximity.

Your hips stir upon his own – it lights arousal through him, tensing each muscle in his body as he coaxes you to do it again, again, again; until he is numb but for the sensation of you, willing and hungry and his.

His fingers clench; one palm, grounding himself with a grasp on the junction of your hip - the other, tracing the outline of a nearby root, feeling the thrumming heartbeat which seems to come tandem from both your flesh and its own.

The kiss he pulls you into is careful, hungry, exploring – overwhelming, as your fingers slide into his curls and tug gently; a hiss of desire from him that arches his spine into your cool skin.

He takes your sighs, your curves, the tremble of your hands as you palm at his own pliant body as if it’s a proof to himself – he is a man, he is alive – he, more than a playpiece in his mother’s endless efforts, more than a name which will be written leatherbound parchments of history to come.

He is more than it all; because he is yours.

“Jace–” Your voice is breathless, and it nearly kills him.

In a short whimper, you shift your hips upon his own, driving yourself over the line of his hardened cock – and he hisses, biting hard into the plush of his lower lip.

Near immediately, your tongue soothes over him; and a small noise of pleasure – nearly missed, though your eyes flash as you lean away from his mouth, a smattering of his own metallic blood upon your lip.

Your eyes are blown wide; a chilling sight, reveling in the taste of his ichor – and your hand, cupping his jaw with that frosty command as you hum, eyes taking him apart, putting him back together. Staring through his soul. Gods, you’re divine.

“Is this okay?” You whisper - your lips brush against his in a chilling shiver of pleasure; in which he nods enthusiastically, eyes wide and begging and willing. “Yes, please–”

And he cannot finish, because he is soon letting a soft whimper fall desperately against your own lips; you stir with wandering fingers, undulating against him with a sweet pressure that nearly sends a choked moan past his lips.

Fingers tangle in the strings of your loose hair, tugging you closer; your chest presses to his – a muddled awe when he feels your heartbeat switch and begin beating to the very same gallop as his own.

His breath falls ragged as your lips press a blizzard of sultry kisses across his jaw; your gown’s hem curls and ruffles below him as trembling fingers trace it shyly, staving his insatiable hunger.

Haziness leaks into his mind like the winds creep upon winter; perhaps from the cool, delicate skin so inviting underneath his palm, or perhaps the thick, heady scent of figs in the air. Completely at your mercy, craving everything you’re willing to give him – and as though you know it, there is an odd feeling, some shift under the thick limbs of tree above; it is a jarring realization that you’re smiling against his neck, teeth small needles upon his skin.

His brow furrows - a groan slips from his lips as his fingers gently tug at your hair, coaxing your head up from his wanting skin.

Your eyes, blown wide and hungry as his own; and in a hazy swallow, his voice thick with desire and disbelief breaks the quiet of the garden. “You’re divine,” He admits, shaking his head. You laugh at this; that very sharp thing that always seems too loud for your lungs – his mind blares for a moment, but it disappears with a kiss to his jaw.

“You are, my Prince.” You insist. And in your words strikes him a jolt; Gods, this is ill done. He should have stopped when you led him to the tree – he should have turned back when your eyes lingered too long on his lips, when his hunger grew insatiable and unable to contain – when you slithered into his lap, when he tugged you closer and whispered such flowery words into your sweet ear; when he kissed your lips with blistering fervor and locked his arms so you could not slither away, even if you wished to.

He is a prince, after all—honor bound, held to standards that now seem so absurdly distant; and indeed, as you move atop him, as your hands snake beneath his tunic and brush icicles over his burning bare skin, something snaps inside him.

Your hips, and your sensual smile – torturous things, as you draw a slow rhythm that sends his mind spiraling deeper into the fog of lust; frantically, his hips cant upwards in chase of your own.

Embarrassment is merely a wash of afterthought – because you whimper just as he does, shivering in his grasp at the ecstasy that builds between your frigid skin and his own, furnaced by the ancient blood coursing through his body.

Ice and fire, his mind whispers – and he is struck with some deep-seeded pride, a knowledge that, more than carnally, he was meant to find you, to be with you; And that, perhaps, yours is the heart he will forever keep, as you keep his in your own eternally frigid grasp.

He whimpers your name softly and you drink it up with devotion; a septa to a pointed-star; and with a scrambled grasp in your pleasure, your hand finds the fig, split and discarded in the earth-heavy soil beside him.

It is with lidded eyes and puffing, parted lips that Jacaerys watches you, ravenous and ethereal.

Your hair cascades, a curtain once more – keeping out any prying eyes from the middle of night, keeping in huffs of innocent desire as his fingers tighten their grasp upon you, dragging you once more over the straining length of him.

Your fingers press into the wound of the fig and he is doused in a blaring hot ecstasy.

He bucks at the angelic vision of you, pressing into his heated arousal – as if he might sheathe himself in you now and bring his warmth into your very soul - and you, swirling in a misty breeze of desire, pressing so hungrily against him, bucking your hips with a stuttering pleasure that shoots rapturous satisfaction up his spine.

And then your fingers rise to those very lips he chases.

Your eyes roll back in the moonlight – of which he scarcely notes there is enough to douse the tree and you in a silvery breath – and you moan his name when you taste the juice of the fruit. It is a groan, a low drawl that stirs a beast low in his gut.

The scent is too enticing; abdomen clenching in restraint, his hips buck into yours and you hiss in pleasure, eyes returning to his own, pupils blown wide enough to swallow him. He wishes you would.

And it is nearly too much for Jacaerys to bear; the sight of you, wrapped around him and breath puffing in shallow gasps, the fig’s juice staining your lips and glistening over your fingers as they swirl in the broken flesh once more.

He lets out a shaky whimper, the pleasure mounting – his hands roam over your curves, frantic and trembling with the tension of wanting to hold you so close and wishing to ruin you completely.

In a hazy gasp, he wonders what in the realms he is doing now, out in the open so salaciously; but the thought blanks when he feels your hand, freezing as it curls over his clenched jaw.

His lips part for you easily, and your smile is hauntingly beautiful in silvered moonlight.

Your fingers brush over his lips; in a shivered groan, Jacaerys’ eyes flutter shut and his tongue darts out, unable to resist.

The thick, heady flavor sends heat through him, and he’s nearing that edge, that something - he groans, body arching underneath your epicurean touch as he lets your fingers slide past his lips, closing around them with hunger.

The sensation hits him; heat, coursing through his veins so hot it turns icy, burns under his skin. And he bucks desperately, tugging you closer, a shudder running through him as he sucks the juice from your skin, overwhelmed with need.

His body trembles underneath you; your touch, divine – otherworldly – and you hum, letting out a moan as your body stutters above him. Faintly, he is aware of your own peak rolling through you, of your moans, of the sickening smile that flashes above him – though the taste, the smell, the feeling of you slithering atop him – it’s too much.

Jacaerys groans and your fingers slide from his lips, instead cupping his jaw, coaxing his mouth open for your own lips to find him.

His groan becomes a gasp as he comes undone beneath you.

His head falls back against the bark of the tree, feeling its breaths stutter with your own as you follow him, curled into his chest, stuttering your movements as he grasps you in pleasure. His trousers, spent – yet he notices not, whispering your name weakly as his body pulses in an unknown pleasure. Your lips trail ridges of ice over the sliver of exposed collarbone under his tunic.

The juice of the fruit lingers in his mouth, pulsing oddly through his veins. And in a moment, the world shifts; his vision blurs, and as he blinks, the garden is different – bathed in golden sunlight, blooms wild and in full blood; and laughter, a girl and a boy’s, warbled and happy. His heart strikes; a calming unease, some familiar edge. Another boy’s laughter joins in, and his stomach douses in ice.

He blinks, and the garden is dark again, the ancient branches of the fig tree curling overhead like gnarled, sinister fingers.

He looks up at you, still dazed, his body spent but his mind whirling with the remnants of the pleasure and the strangeness that had gripped him so – and registers your stare, suddenly rigid and intent upon him.

He watches as you lean forward, body pressing against his. A lazy kiss, one that spurs him to chase as you lean back, tasting of those sweet figs; slick with saliva and desire as you suddenly lift a palm between you, brushing his heaving chest.

The sweetness hovers over his lips; he can nearly taste it, taste you – the scent is overwhelming, the presence of your body so close, so inviting; that hunger remains, even as his spend sticks to his trousers beneath you.

His eyes trace the macerated fig in your palm, its flesh bleeding and willing, sweet and hungering. The fig.

“Eat.”

Your voice, a soft command – and your eyes, dark, intense as they bore into his own. The fig presses lightly against his mouth, and his tongue darts to lap at the juice which gathers upon his bottom lip hungrily.

Pleasure blossoms at the taste, and in his heart swirls a yearning.

Though something stops him; a sudden wave of dizziness, a strange sensation pulling him from some darkened haze. He hesitates, blinking at the fruit in your hand.

“No.” He murmurs.

He sees it in a flash of moonlight – your smile, faltering.

It’s not disappointment, but something dark and fleeting – a deepened stare, a flash of malicious hunger; the sweetness of the garden suddenly gathers too thick, too heavy.

You’ve stilled in his lap and he vaguely registers the rigidity of your expression, some familiarly shadowed stare.

He’s not sure what he’s done wrong, but your lip trembles, and with a racing heart, he reaches for you. The look upon your visage stops him; a calculating flash in your gaze, the thin press of your lips.

And for the first time the whole night, fear creeps into his chest.

Something isn’t right.

His hand slips away from your cold touch, trembling now for a new reason; and that fig which hovers in your palm suddenly smells sickening, filled with dread and longing all at once. The soil is rotten, he thinks hazily, it’s rotten…You’re–

“Come, why won't you try? Just a bite?” Your words curl in a taunt – and he nearly responds, but you’re leaning forward, lips brushing over his ear and sending shivers down his spine. His fist curls savagely against the bark of the tree as his heart begins to pound.

“It’s only a fig, Jace.” You whisper, pressing your lips to the soft spot under his ear.

You move to lean back, the curl of your smirk against his neck melting as you shift, only a sweet smile remaining when you turn to look at him. But the fear and the desire have mixed into some beastly conviction within him.

And, in a moment of sharp courage, he catches your wrist in a firm, iron grip.

You freeze under his grasp, your eyes glinting almost ominously in the silver moonlight.

“Is it?” He snaps back, heart pounding in his chest as his jaw clicks. Somewhere in his heart, there is an unsettling air that chokes, stilling around you when you blink slowly at his question.

Your stare is sharp, but there is a flash of something there he’s not yet seen before; something, he thinks, must be mirrored in his own gaze.

Fear.

A part of him expects for your jaw to unhinge – for a beast to emerge, to swallow him whole, to rip him open and feast upon his innards; but instead your gaze shifts, and your face is small, youthfully beautiful and dripping in purity – a girl no more than his age.

And then, bone-chillingly, as though a petulant child would when denying a crime, you shake your head just lightly.

No.

A confirmation, one which sends a chill rather sharply down his spine.

And from his lips a stuttered breath – he should run, should scream; but what does such a thing do in dreams?

Yet as quickly as it came, the shadow over you vanishes.

As if he blinks and wakes from the hazy dream – your face, returned to that familiar sweetness he so adores, the chilling smile you save only for him. You cup his cheek gently, and it is enough to pull him back from the edge of terror.

Lilting and light once more, a touch of concern crossing your features as you tilt your head – “You look so troubled, my love. Where did you go?”

He blinks, confused, alarmed.

You press a kiss upon his lips, and he chases your touch. “Come back to me,” you whisper.

He blinks once more, heart still hammering - but the fear dissolves with each ancient breath of the soil beneath him; and he gazes into your eyes through the dark of night – those same eyes that have always seen him.

You understand him; and whatever that moment of dread had been— wherever he’d gone just now, into some visions conjured up by an exhausted mind – it is gone now, lost in the softness of the fig tree’s leaves, in the tenderness of your touch.

“I’m sorry, I...” You shift as you murmur and it presses against his spent arousal, his breath hitching as his eyes fall upon your sweet lips, mind fogging. “I sometimes forget myself. You’re just…”

His eyes hook upon your own, waiting; with bated breath, he waits for you.

Your lips press together bashfully, fingers toying with curls of his hair, “Special. I’m quite fond of you.” You admit, nearly shy – and an affection blossoms within Jacaerys, a grin trickling upon his lips. “I’m quite fond of you too,” He breathes, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek.

Your eyes lose their sharp glint as the moon falls in the sky and his shoulders lose such tension that’d built in the moments past, replaced by the soothing touch of your palm; quiet whispers and gentle laughs that lull his mind into ease.

And it is there, in the very edge of Aegon’s Garden, that you and he repose for the better hours of the ghost and wolf, whispering of lifetimes and fears and sneaking kisses between mumbled sentences. He forgets the fear he’d felt, that he’d seen in your eyes; soon, fog of morning creeps into the garden and tickles tendrils round his boots.

He is lulled into your lap again - his head rested upon the plush of a cool thigh, your dress gentle against his heated cheeks.

And though he is unsure if the words that are murmured when his eyes become heavy are real or a part of his tricking mind, they fill him with that warm affection, that love that festers in his heart.

“I wish I could stay here,” He whispers when he is half asleep from exhaustion. “With you.”

There is a pause in your fingers for a moment.

“And you can,” Your voice is laced with something he cannot see - for a moment, his mind conjures a flash of something rather wicked, the memory of your face when he’d denied the fig; though he throws away such absurdity.

You’re so very soothing, trailing your nails along his temple.

He drifts away.

HE WAKES SOME TIME LATER.

He no longer lies upon your lap; instead he is pressed against your very body, his chest shivering in the cold line of you, in the breath of icy air that threatens from the sky above.

You stir beside him; the garden is impossibly darker now - and as you sit up, he unwinds the hand he’d placed upon your waist. Uncomely, he reminds himself - though, what does it matter? What does any of it matter?

“You dreamt,” You murmur.

Disoriented, Jacaerys blinks, trying to find your face in the dark; he’s merely met with the glinting of your wide eyes against the moonlight blinking owllishly.

“I…” He frowns, uneased by your observation. “I did. It was…” He shakes his head as he tries to recall, watching your frame materialize under the dark blanket of night. “Odd. A battle - over the sea, I think. Statues – dying, crumbling into the water.” He shakes away the creeping frustration of slipping memories, however distant or unreal. “It didn’t make sense.”

You hum, and there is some specific glint in your darkened face he nearly misses; the shining of pearls outstretched against plush lips - the flash of a dark grin, sinister in the moonlight, snuffed quick by the effort of a gentle nod.

He grows even more uncomfortable in the quiet - it must be nearing the early wake of sun; his muscles yield surprisingly little soreness for sleeping upon the earth.

“Did you dream?” He wonders, relaxing as his eyes adjust to find your visage calm and sweet, watching him with a soft interest. What odd tricks his mind plays in the dark.

Your voice, ever distant: “I don’t dream.”

He’s imbued with the slow tendrils of sleep, though he frowns. “Everyone dreams,” He murmurs.

You huff smally, tilting your head in that doelike way, “I suppose I can never recall them.”

He laughs, then – a hollow thing, though recovering some of the warmth gone after the loneliness settled in those moons ago. A strained sound, though it makes you mimic his laughter in that odd way you sometimes do – and with a smile, you watch him intently.

“I enjoy hearing your laugh, Jacaerys. It’s comfortable… familiar.”

And for some odd reason, perhaps in seek of his own comforting memory, Jacaerys pictures Luke – laughter bubbling over at the drawing table of his mother’s quarters, breaking fast as a family; and a deep melancholy settles over him, pulling him deep into the pit of grief that finds him in the night.

His smile falls. “My brother used to laugh until he turned red.” He recalls, settled into that haze that begins to reclaim him, as if he’s drifting to sleep once more. “He’d lose breath sometimes – like he had to suck air out of every lung in the keep, just to keep himself from passing out. It would make him laugh harder.”

You smile in his peripheral.

His brows furrow. “He was just always so full of…light.”

He’s not sure why he offers such information – it is near impossible these days for Jacaerys to utter Luke’s name aloud, let alone think such fond memories.

Though something about the blanket of night and the gentle brush of your thigh against his own, brings a lull to his mind; as though he’s sipped too many cups of wine, or still rests in some odd state of slumber. The remainder of the fig’s juices slip past his tongue when he wettens his lip, and he’s coaxed into that state of hungry bliss – not fully satisfied, yet pleasant to repose.

Your fingers pull at the many frays of your odd dressskirts; in the faint moonlight, the fabric looks as though it has stains. Deep, dark streaks that blossom just near your breast and stomach; they seem to spread with the breaths you take, your hands beginning to shake. He blinks rapidly to rid himself of such an uneasy sight.

A statue of a man and woman across the way has caught a streak of moonlight; He’d not noticed any statue in the fig tree’s courtyard hours ago, but now it sits, gruesomely pale in the scarce silver - and their faces are rather distraught.

A familiar statue, one so alike the marbled lovers near the olive tree. A man, wind-and-water-torn, with that same arrow protruding through his flesh; and the woman in his arms watching with a transfixed expression, grasping at his arms with lonely eyes.

He tears his eyes away uneasily.

“I know a boy like that, too.” You whisper quietly, though Jacaerys is hooked upon the odd bend of the arrow which sticks through the statue’s shoulder across the way. He’s not quite sure what you mean, and his brows furrow.

“-Though,” You shrug with only one shoulder, as though mimicking the woman from the statue, “His laugh is more full of water.”

Jacaerys freezes.

His heart stops at your words, breath catching in his throat - the mention of such a thing sends a chill through him. “What—” He whispers, mind flashing back to the glimpse of curls, of that bouncing gait, of the blue that had flickered through these very hedges days ago.

“What do you mean?” He chokes.

You smile that soft smile – the one that haunts his mind, that leaves him uneasy in the flickering of moonlight. “I see him in the garden sometimes,” Your eyes flicker, gleam, “He comes here – to the fig tree – during rainstorms. He told me he used to enjoy the sound, but now he detests them.”

Jacaerys is rooted to the ground, staring wide-eyed into the yawning chasm of night; its jaw spread wide, your face the shining beacon of fire at the base of its throat.

The pain of a lost limb; of a lost soul entwined with his own, cut from the same womb, carved from the same stone. But your voice echoes drearily through the quiet silence.

“And the boy…His laugh,” Your brows knit faintly, “It’s like yours, but…drowned.”

Every hair on the nape of his neck is on end as he lets out a shaky breath. No. Lucerys is dead, he reminds himself.

Your fingers brush his hand against the soil; cold as ice.

The sensation jolts him, and he leaps to his feet, sleepclothes uncomfortable, his skin sticky from the sins of earlier. His cheeks flood with heat.

It is wrong. Dread fills him, the leak of a moat into a basin of fear; there’s something wrong about this - because Lucerys is dead, his father is dead, Rhaenys is dead - all of them, dead.

Life moves on, but the dead do not; and it is a burden he carries, and he carries alone - because the crown is too heavy to be marred by the blood of the ones you’ve loved, so Jacaerys must bear the weight for him and his mother.

How could you have seen him?

“-You know how.”

Your voice comes sharp from the tree below, and it strikes him through the stomach - and before he can consider the unnerving murmur from your lips, how you’re always seeing into the words in his mind, the thread has snapped.

It’s only a fig, Jace.

He staggers back a few steps, feet caught on the twisting gnarl of treeroot. “I’ve… I apologize, I must go.” He murmurs, swallowing thickly; and with a shaky breath, he resists the urge for his mind to spiral into that dark place, where grief and madness lie in wait.

He turns away from the lulling ease of the tree above, nearly as large a shadow as the castle itself – and takes one, two, many steps towards the hedges, chest thundering.

Perhaps you call after him.

He thinks he hears your dress snagging on thorns and branches behind him as he tears through the bowels of the rotting garden; rounding a corner, he hears a feline’s hiss, a dark rumble of thunder. The garden is wrong – a putrid thing, in the dead light of nightingale’s earliest breaths.

It is rotten soil, a voice mimics – though his heart still pounds your name into his ribs; he still misses the chilling press of your lips to his own, the sweet saccharin taste of the fruit upon your tongue.

The soil is sick, it is too rich in his nostrils; and when he staggers past the maiden statue, he is terrified to see there is no snake upon her thigh – instead her visage stares down at him with a wicked, serpentlike grin.

A shiver of fear as he blinks back terror.

Morning glories are trampled underfoot, poppies beaten until their bloody leaves smash into the soles of his boots.

Jacaerys’ eyes clench shut and he pretends not to hear the faint mix of joint laughter – warbled in the distance, a girl’s and a boy’s, bubbling over before dissolving, echoing into the crash of the icy ocean below.

An agonizing gasp of unease from him as he finally bursts to the entryyard, the wilting flowers decaying in a sickly sweet scent. He nearly retches.

When Jacaerys pushes past the gate and into the bailey’s courtyard, the breaking dawn is cloudless.

Early morningbirds chirp in the sky; waves crash down upon the shore, lit bloody with the waking sun. He is very alone.

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giggly-squiggily · 4 months ago

Text

Time Wasn't In Our Favor (Demon Slayer)

We're just going for the angst this week huh- kjajkearjkeajkr

Heyo everyone! I wrote this a while back and did a small poll with everyone on which Obamitsu fic they wanted to see: the super fluffy one or this. The fluff won. All this time later I finally decided to share this with everyone! :D I hope you like it!

CW: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR DEMON SLAYER MANGA. Angst, Heavy angst barely any comfort, mentions of past abuse, mentions of past torture, mentions of past bullying, insecurity, blood and injury, death, food mention, almost confessions, just lots of pain and heartache y'all I cried writing this kjarjkekjarjek

Summary: Four times Obamitsu almost confessed, and the one time they finally did.

“Kanroji looks…uneasy.” Obanai mused out loud one day, watching the pink haired Hashira speak with the others. While she smiled and greeted everyone as per her welcome, there was clear discomfort on her face whenever she was alone. She was always clutching the ends of her uniform, tugging on it as if it would somehow get longer.

“I don’t blame her. That perv was the one who made the uniform.” Sanemi grumbled, referencing none other than Maeda- one of the many tailors in the Demon Corps. He was good at the craft, but notorious for his…revealing design choices. “I heard he tried to pull the same thing on Shinobu and her Tsugoku. She burned it before him.” The Wind Hashira snickered, clearly pleased with the thought. “Shame she didn’t get to him a third time.”

“He designed yours too, yes?” Obanai eyed the bare chested Hashira, his scars gleaming brightly against his skin. “I assumed he only did that for the woman.”

“Ay, eyes up here, buddy.” Sanemi snapped his fingers, focusing the other. “And yeah- I told him to make mine like this. Makes the whole bleeding thing easier.”

The ‘Bleeding thing’ was what Sanemi called his Marechi blood- a rare type that demons craved like an addiction. He often used said blood to kill his targets, luring them in with the smell and cutting their heads off clean. It left him with scars all over, but the white haired man didn’t seem bothered by it.

Obanai was about to remark on Sanemi’s other intentions regarding the choice of clothes when his eyes went back to Mitsuri. She was now talking to Shinobu, her stance relaxed once more. It must have been comforting, having another woman on the team to talk to. While he hasn’t seen any of the Hashria leer at Kanroji, he wouldn’t be surprised if those outside their group have, taking in her entire being like a piece of meat.

The thought alone made his stomach turn. He wanted to hunt them all down and gut them.

“Ayo, your bloodlust is showing.” Sanemi reached up and nudged his foot, bringing him back to reality.

“Says the man with the most bloodlust here.” Obanai retorted, earning a snort.

“I save it for demons.” A half truth. Sanemi followed his gaze, humming softly. “She’s a tough woman. You don’t have to worry about anyone being gross to her. She’d probably knock them out with those killer biceps.” He nodded approvingly, flinching when Obanai punched his shoulder. “Ouch, damn- what the hell?”

“Don’t be cruel.” He growled, feeling protective. He didn’t know much, but they seemed to be an insecurity for her- her arms. The way she tucked them in when in groups or kept her hand gestures close to her chest. It was like she was trying to shrink in on herself.

“I wasn’t....” Sanemi rolled his eyes before turning back to the girl in question. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I like her arms. I think they're great.” He nodded. “Don’t hit me again- I’m not trying to steal your girl.”

“She’s not my-”

“But she does look uncomfortable.” He carried on, furrowing his brows. “Especially with the skirt. Think she’d feel better if we force Maeda to make her a longer one?”

Obanai doubted it. Not only would it not be ready for a while, but the implication felt…wrong. Like he was telling her what to wear, or that he was only looking at her legs.

Legs…wait a moment…

“Don’t. It’ll make things worse. But I do have an idea.” Obanai mused, starting to perk up.

~~~

“Oh wow…Iguro-san, these are beautiful!” Mitsuri gushed as she held up the socks. They were knee high, light green with stripe detail down the legs. Thick enough for coverage but light enough so she won’t sweat. They matched the tips of her hair, she realized- a detail she hadn’t even thought of herself. “I love them!”

“I’m glad.” Obanai smiled behind his mask, fighting down the blush threatening to spread over his cheeks. He looked away politely as she pulled them on, Kaburamaru hissing in approval as she squealed with delight. “They’re on! How do I look?” She asked, striking a pose. Already she looked much more comfortable in her own skin.

Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Obanai almost said it as he took in her smiling face, the look of utter joy in her green eyes as she fluttered about- beyond pleased. It was like the sun was eclipsed until this moment- finally peeking out behind a mass of dark matter to shine down on them, enhancing the world around them. Obanai nearly forgot to breathe when she smiled at him like that.

“You look wonderful.” He got out, making her blush and shine more.

One day, he’d tell her.

One day.

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

“Mm! Mm, mm mm! The smell is amazing!” Mitsuri was in heaven- her cheeks flushed with absolute joy as she breathed deeply. She had gotten back from a particularly long mission, and she was starving. The plan had been to go home and make something, but she ran into Obanai along the way. The first thing to greet him, much to her horror, was the growl in her stomach.

“Hungry?” He asked, voice teasing. Her face burned.

Now they were here- a small restaurant that Mitsuri knew well. The shop owner loved her- she tipped well and always made his day better. When she walked in, the old man greeted her with open arms and a bright laugh. “Welcome back, Miss Kanroji! Ah, I see you brought a date!”

“Oh, this is Iguro-san! He’s a fellow Hashira.” She reassured him, her cheeks bright red as the man and his wife came around to properly say hello. She dared a peek- Obanai looked rather flushed himself. Don’t let this get awkward, Mitsuri. “I’ll have my usual, though er…keep it to one serving.” She shifted, forcing a smile.

“Just one? But we made a whole pan-” The kind man began, cutting off when his wife pinched his arm. “Alright then- a serving of Curry rice for the lovely lady, and for you sir?”

“I’ll have the same thing.” He nodded, his voice quiet. The couple faded away as Mitsuri and Obanai took a seat, side by side along the table. She knew she should sit across from him but…”Sorry- is this weird? I’ll move.” She offered, starting to stand.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.” He patted her hand, keeping her there. He didn’t look uncomfortable- even if he seemed to stop breathing for a moment. Oh dear, did she take too much space? She wasn’t exactly slender. Was she crushing him?

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind-” She began again, only to stop when the restaurant owner came by, placing their bowls before them.

“Here we are! I added half an extra serving for you, Kanroji. I know how much you love our curry rice!” He winked playfully at her before heading back, ignorant to the way her soul dropped to her stomach.

“Kanroji? Are you okay?” Obanai asked, brows furrowing as he took in her pale face. “Is there something wrong?”

“No! No, not at all!” She squeaked, shaking her head as she gathered her chopsticks. “I’m fine! Totally fine! Let’s eat, shall we?”

If she were completely honest- she wasn’t fine. When she usually came here, she was either by herself or with Rengoku. The Flame Hashira ate as much as she did, so she never felt weird polishing off so many bowls of the delicious curry rice.

Awful as it sounds, being here with Obanai- it reminded her of her ex fiance.

“You’ll never find a man who will welcome your presence for the rest of your life.”

“You eat like a boar. What man would want you?”

“Your hair is hideous. And your arms? God- it’s like you're more monster than woman.”

All this time later, and those words still stung. She felt them clawing up her throat, choking her. Her eyes burned as the shame she felt coated her skin like oil, sticky and suffocating. She couldn’t let Obanai see her eat that way. It was bad enough he saw her hair. He saw her fight demons in a way that was without a doubt not fit for a lady.

If he saw her eat like a monster- like a demon…

“Kanroji, are you okay? You look like you're gonna be sick.” Obanai sounded so concerned. He looked at her bowl, taking a sniff. “Is there something wrong with the food? You haven’t touched it. Do you want me to get you something else?”

I want to disappear. She thought helplessly. I want to fade away. I want to be more what the world wants. I want to fit in, to blend in. To go unnoticed. I want to be forgotten.

“I…” She began, freezing when she saw the chopsticks before her, holding some of the rice.

“Erm…sorry if this is…eh…” Obanai seemed flustered as he offered the food, his cheeks red behind his mask. Still, he held her gaze. “I think…I think eating something might make you feel better. Sometimes we get stomach aches from not eating…at least, that happens to me.” He nodded at the rice. “Erm…this is kinda awkward, if you want me to put it down I’ll-”

Her lips closed around the chopsticks, the rich flavor melting on her tongue. It was a little embarrassing, being fed, but… “Thank you.” She smiled, taking the chopsticks from his hand. Taking a breath, she looked at her bowl. She wanted so badly to dive in and eat, but…

“Kanroji, please.” Obanai nodded. “You should eat. If you want, I’ll keep feeding you-”

“Oh no! I got this!” She tried to eat slowly, but before long she was devouring her bowl, lost in its flavor. When she finished, there wasn’t a grain left. “Mm…mh!”

Oh no. Oh god. She forgot. She forgot he was-

The untouched curry slid into her view, Obanai’s eyes kind. “If you’re hungry, eat. A Hashira needs their fuel, and you especially.” At her questioning gaze, he nodded. “Love breathing is a branch of Flame breathing. Those types of moves burn through calories like nothing. You need to restore your energy, so eat what you want.” He nodded. “Besides; I think the restaurant owner here would be pretty sad to let that pan go to waste.”

Her eyes grew misty, but not from hurt. She smiled wobbly, taking the bowl. “Thank you, Iguro-san.” She paused then, suddenly feeling bad. “But your food…”

“I already ate.” He dropped casually, making her stare. “Really. I had those snacks you left me. They were amazing.”

“You really liked them?” She asked, her heart starting to swell. As she turned to her bowl, she heard Obanai ask the old man to bring Mitsuri her usual order. “And some Sakura Mochi. They’re her favorite.” He nodded, making her heart race within her chest. He remembered.

~~~

“That was amazing!” She sighed, patting her belly as she and Obanai left. The restaurant owner and his wife saw them off, smiling at eachother knowingly. She had a feeling she was never gonna hear the end of it from them next time she came. “Thank you so much, Iguro-san. You really didn’t have to pay though! I know my order can get…expensive.” She almost cringed at the amount of bowls she tucked away.

“It’s no trouble at all. You were happy, and that’s what matters.” He nodded, not quite looking her way as he tugged on his mask. His ears were red now, something she found rather cute. “Please never feel the need to hide from us, Kanroji. We’d never judge you for how you live.”

The unspoken “I” was there. It made them both blush.

“Thank you, really. I…” She wanted to say more then. It had been a long time since someone made her heart race like this. Someone who looked at her only fondly as she ate, no judgment in sight as she finished off bowl after bowl. He never pointed it out, only kept the conversation going; talking about missions and life and friends.

He made her feel…normal.

She wanted to tell him that.

She wanted to tell him more.

“Hm? What is it?” Obanai asked, looking at her curiously.

No. Not yet. She swallowed her heart back to her chest.

“Nothing. Just…thank you again.” She smiled, tugging at her hair.

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

Obanai was more careful than this.

As the Serpent Hashira, he was rather fast on his feet. He moved like his breathing style, slithering and evading demon attacks as he brought them down one after the other. At best, he walked away without a scratch.

Today, he wasn’t so lucky.

“Iguro-san! Oh no, you’re hurt!” Mitsuri was beside him before he hit the ground, the demon fading into ashes behind them as her hands steadied him. His entire body hurt, and his face felt wet. When he blinked, nothing fell from his eyes- it wasn’t tears.

Which meant it must have been blood. Lovely.

“It’s alright- are you okay?” He grunted, the smell of Sakura Mochi telling him she was rather close. Her hair was frizzy from the fight, and her eyes were wide with worry. She had a bruise along her chin, and her clothes were frayed at the sleeves.

Bruised and dirty, but she was alive. Good.

“Nevermind me, you’re bleeding!” Her hands reached out, hesitating momentarily before she took his chin, gently turning it to look at the cut. “It doesn’t look that bad- if Kocho-san was here, she’d know exactly how to handle it.”

“It’s alright- I can take care of it.” If anything- he’d prefer to. The cut ran past his mask, cutting it to the middle. In order to clean the wound, he’d need to remove said cover.

The cover that hid his scar and the painful memories it carried.

“You’re so strong, Iguro-san.” She smiled, cheeks pink as she wiped the blood away with a portion of her Haori. “That’s what makes you so great- you can handle just about anything.”

The words made his face heat up, and he was about to tell her not to use her Haori on him. “The blood will never come out!” He was about to say.

Only for the words to get caught in his throat when he felt his mask slip.

“Oh!” Mitsuri caught it before it could hit the dirty ground, the damage it took was more severe then they realized. “I’m so sorry- I must have worsened the damage! I’ll fix it up-” When her eyes came back to Obanai, he looked stricken, pale and shaky as he clamped a bloody hand over his mouth. “I-Iguro-san? What’s wrong? Are you about to be sick?”

He didn’t answer, his throat closed with fear and his mind racing a million miles a minute. No- no no no! This wasn’t supposed to happen! She can’t see it- she can’t!

His fingers pressed tightly against the scar tissue stretching past his lips, reminding him of that horrible day. The knife glinting in the candlelight. The pain stretching along his face. His tears as he begged and begged them to stop, to let him go, to kill him.

All for that horrid Serpent Demon. All to keep the stolen riches the demon provided.

He wished he could forget it. How he was almost given to that horrid beast, and the consequences that came when he escaped.

All of it, there on his scarred mouth. If Mitsuri saw it…she’d know what he was.

A coward. A monster.

“Iguro-san…” Mitsuri bit her lip, eyes wide with worry as she took in the shaking Hashira before her. Then her eyes grew clear. she grabbed her sword.

Before Obanai could stop her, she sliced through a clean chunk of her Haori, the strip long and thick. Folding it, she brought it up and pressed it over the hand covering his mouth, her touch light.

“It’s not much, and it probably smells weird, but it’ll have to do for now.” Her eyes were so gentle, so kind as his hand fell away, his mouth once again secured. Her hands came around and tied his new makeshift mask into a secure knot, careful not to catch any of his hair in the process. “There we are! Feeling better?” She asked.

The mask smelled like sakura mochi and tea and home. Even with everything that happened, she never lost that scent. Tears burned his eyes and cut off his voice, making it impossible to speak. Instead, he reached out and took her hand, squeezing it tightly in his own. He hoped she’d hear his silent thank you.

When she squeezed back, fierce and kind- she squeezed his heart as well.

~~~

Later- with his face newly cleaned and his clothes fixed, Obanai found a small parcel waiting for him. The note on top was written in curly strokes, a heart dotting her name.

Iguro-san, I fixed your mask! It was kinda dirty, so I cleaned it as well.

With love- Mitsuri

He held it close to his chest, his newly stitched and clean mask. It still smelled just like her.

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

Master Ubuyashiki was gone.

He gave his life so he could end this Demon war once and for all.

Mitsuri wiped at her tears, running through courier after courier as she searched for the demon in sight. She would not let Master’s parting gift go to waste. She would make his dream come true!

Now if she could only find the freaking thing!

This particular one- an Upper moon she believed- was rather elusive. Anytime she got close enough to cut her head off clean, she’d strum her Biwa and the room would shift. One minute Mitsuri was above her, the next she was free falling into yet another part of the tower.

“THAT IS IT!” She raged as she stood, racing through more hallways. The changing made her head hurt, and she was sure if she saw another Biwa after this the instrument would only play sour notes. Still- she had to pursue!

Flying high, she raised her sword, the witch once again in sight. “I’ve gotcha now-”

And then there was a door.

Smacking her then and there, pain exploded across her body as Mitsuri flew off the edge. Her nose was bleeding- but she didn’t know if it was from pain or embarrassment.

Or both. Most likely both.

Falling backwards, she knew it was not gonna end well. Her body was already sore from crashing into various walls and floors. This time she suspected she wouldn’t make it.

Suddenly, arms were around her, and she was flying. Blinking, she barely registered her savior before they rolled onto a nearby column. “I-Iguro-san!” She gasped, staring up at him. Her heart did a hundred funny things then as she looked into those concerned mismatched eyes.

And then her face burned, shame bringing her back to reality. “I’m so sorry- I got ahead of myself.” She moaned as she covered her face. “Forgive me!”

“It’s quite alright, Kanroji.” He reassured her, helping her to her feet. “You’ve done well. Please be careful- we don’t know how this Upper Moon works or what her abilities are. She very well could have more than we expected. It’s better to analyze her now and look for any openings.”

“Right!” She nodded, the logic in his voice soothing away her nerves. “You be careful too, Iguro-san. This whole room shifting thing isn’t fun to deal with.” Her bruises screamed in agreement, making her wince.

Obanai nodded, a picture of preparation. “Very well. Let’s-” Suddenly the floor split, sending them in different directions. “IGURO!” She cried, barely breathing as he dodged the column. Obanai called out something to her, but before she could react, she was suddenly flying once more, this time towards the ceiling.

With a wall jump and a slash of her blade, she was safe- barely. She shook it off as she turned to glare at the Upper Moon. “You won’t be able to attack me with the same move twice!” She cried, going for an opening.

The room changes, a door opens. She’s falling again.

Well damn.

“GAHHHHH!” She raged as she fell. She was so mad she nearly forgot what Obanai called out to her.

“MITSURI LOOK OUT!” Was what he called.

Mitsuri.

He said her name.

The realization motivated her, pushing her to her feet. “He said my name…I have to live, so I can say his.” She nodded, running once more.

And then…

“Later.” She decided. “I’ll tell him it all later.”

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

Rain would have been appropriate in a situation like this.

Footsteps she knew like the back of her hand came towards her. Gentle hands pulled her up, resting her against a bloody chest. “Kanroji..I’m back.” Obanai’s voice was raspy. He didn’t have long left.

“Please…call me Mitsuri.” She breathed, the phantom pain of her missing arms nearly choking her. There was blood everywhere. She didn’t know who it belonged to. At this point, did it really matter? “Did we…did we do it? Is he dead?” She had to know. She needed to know.

“Yes. He’s gone.” Obanai breathed, blood dripping from the cuts where his eyes once were. She wanted to see them. To run her once there hands along his cheek, brushing away the blood that coated his face and just feel him.

Muzan took that away from her. She hoped he burned wherever he went.

“Good…hey, I can’t feel anything.” She laughed up blood, shaking her head. “I guess I’m dying.”

“I’m dying too.” The words cut, even if she knew it was true. “So you won’t be alone.”

“No…don’t die yet.” She breathed as her eyes filled with tears. “You can’t die yet.” Her voice grew sad then. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t much use in the fight.”

“No, don’t say that. It’s not true.” His voice was so gentle as his hand came up, running through her shredded locks. “Do you remember that day? The day we met?”

“Of course. I got lost in the mansion.” She giggled at the memory, it felt so far now. “You helped me then. Thank you.”

“It’s the other way around.” His voice grew soft as he reflected on all their moments together. The day they met- how she laughed like bells and smiled so warmly at him. How their time together made him feel like they were just normal people living their lives.

“You’ve saved so many people with your bottomless kindness. You should be proud, Mitsuri. Thank you. Thank you so much for letting me stand by your side.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she let out a sob, shaking her head. “I’m so- so happy Obanai. Thank you, for always making me feel loved. Meals tasted better with you. I just- I want to do it all again.” She looked up at him through the blurriness, and it was like she could see him for all that he was- human and the love of her life. “If we are to be reborn, please- make me your bride!”

“Of course. If you will have me.” He pulled her closer, his lips brushing hers as the last of her breath faded away. “This time…I’ll be sure to make you the happiest person alive. I won’t let you die next time…Mitsuri, my beloved.”

Thanks for reading!

#Demon Slayer #spoilers #demon slayer manga spoilers #mitsuri kanroji #obanai iguro #obamitsu #angst #heavy angst with a sad ending #there's pockets of comfort but also lots and lots of pain #tw: death #tw: blood and major injury #insecurities #past abuse #past torture #trauma #lots of trauma bless them #They deserve only love but sometime we need angst #I'll try to write something fluffy after #food

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turning-monday-blue · 9 months ago

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"Do you... enjoy this?"

Shit.

I need to deflect, but when I open my mouth, all that comes out is a low moan. I feel so... massive. I can barely think.

"The first time, I was just worried about you. The second time... I just thought it was a weird coincidence. But now," she gestures at all of me with both hands. It's a big gesture. "Three times feels like more than coincidence."

She's not wrong. I've got to say something.

"I've known other people who've gotten blown up, you know? And after they get... you know, fixed, they've- they've all developed phobias, or left town, or gone through really intense therapy. But you," she says, placing a palm on my exposed belly, "have been completely unfazed. You just keep coming back for more."

My skin feels electric where she touches me. Everything is so full and tight, every little brush of breeze against my exposed skin is searing pleasure. I moan again, and she whips her hand away like she'd laid it on a hot stove.

"Sorry! I know I shouldn't be so casual about this. I should really call someone to come help you." She starts patting her pockets looking for her phone. "Sorry," she says again, then she stops. She looks back up at me.

"Should I even call for help? I should, right?"

Is that even a question?

"But what if you just do this again?"

Ouch. I've been lax, I guess, but I haven't been doing this on purpose! I mean... I have thought about it, but... it hasn't been intentional.

I think.

"It just takes up my time. The medical crew's time. Company resources." She looks conflicted. "Maybe I should just leave you like this."

Oh.

I try to plead my case, deny it, but all that comes out is a halfhearted "Nnnnnnnnnn-" before she cuts me off again. I'm just too full to speak.

"I could have you transferred to taste-testing," she muses. "Putting up with weird shit is, like, their whole job description." She starts dialing on her phone. Someone answers promptly.

"Hey, you'll never guess what happened again. Yeah, again again. Third time. Yup, big enough to roll, for sure."

She absentmindedly pats my belly with her free hand, like I'm some sort of bad boy you could fit so many things in. It's thrilling, that small touch. I nearly lose it, right then and there. Thankfully though, she remembers I'm a person just in time to give me an apologetic look before clearing her throat and returning to her call.

"Can you see if R&D has any openings for a QA Consultant? I know, right? All my ideas are good ideas. She's clearly more interested in being a giant balloon full of wasted product than an accountant."

I guess she's not wrong.

"No, no need for a trip to the squeezer. Put a note in her file that she's only to be reduced if she asks for it explicitly. Maybe have them bring a safe-suit, too. Hm?"

She looks me up and down. It's a long, curious look.

"No idea what size. Big. Really, really big. Yeah. One of the ones with the belt. Mhm. Yeah, she's not exactly naked, but... yeah, let's not give HR anything to complain about. Right. Yes, I'll follow up with her landlord and emergency contacts as needed. Yup. Thanks. See ya."

She turns back to me. She takes another long look, and then sighs.

"Congratulations on your promotion," she says, with a weird mixture of sincerity and irony. "We'll obviously miss you in Finance, but we're happy that you'll be rolling onward to bigger opportunities."

Oh good, she's got jokes.

"Sorry, sorry, I shouldn't make fun. Company policy is to treat this as a medical emergency, so I'll be staying with you until help arrives."

She checks her phone again.

"If you want, I can come visit you once you get settled in? I know I've always been happy to see friendly faces amidst all the strangeness of a new job."

She looks up at me again, sadly this time.

"I was looking forward to getting to know you better, you know? I noticed how you started dressing differently after your first... incident. HR would probably have something to say about how much I was... noticing. I thought maybe you were trying to get away from the trauma by being more poised and put-together."

She kicks her heels off and slides down the wall until she's sitting, obscured by the curve of my body.

"Oh well. Probably better for everyone that I didn't start hitting on a coworker."

Wait.

"Especially not one who keeps finding excuses to swell up until she's spherical," she adds, wearily.

Fair.

"I really should have seen this coming, shouldn't I? I mean, you've been touring the factory floor on your lunch break weekly. That's on me, I guess."

She hops back to her feet. "I think I hear the Medical folks." She brushes her skirt out, and looks me in the eyes one last time. "Hey, listen... I'll see you a-round."

She smiles and rolls her eyes at her own terrible pun, and walks away.

#inflation kink #body inflation #full body inflation #local inflated woman fails to lesbian #more news at eleven #my words

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lostdrarryfics · 5 months ago

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lostdrarryfics monthly roundup! May 2024

Below you will find the requests we could not locate in the month of May. Please let us know if you recognize any!

You can also browse our lengthy lost fic masterlist, where we have compiled every request we have been unable to find over the past few years. We're always hoping someone will recognize a fic so we can let the asker know what it was!

1. D ends up with H before the battle at hogwarts. I remember Narcissa being with them when they basically handed draco over. I think they stay at grimmauld place in the beginning but they get separated (I might be confusing it for another fic). The most important detail is that D and H end up in a cottage owned by narcissa and followed by Voldy’s henchmen but the deatheaters can’t see the cottage so D and H are safe. I might have gotten the timing wrong and it might have been set right after the battle of hogwarts (I’m still not sure on this sorry) There’s also no graphic sex from what i remember. Fic is not Warding Bonds by AdareThompson

2. Harry is a celebrity chef, and Draco tweets at him for dinner, and Harry said he'd save him a table. Draco shows up and they cook together as a sort of date. The one key thing I remember is that Harry had a past relationship with Justin Finch-Fletchley but Justin dumped him.

3. it was about Draco being an unspeakable and what comes to my mind is this specific scene about Draco with one of his teammates joking about his nickname (all of them has a star's name as code name), talking about the pole star, I think Draco was "Polaris" and she said he was "Vega", like the ancient polar star, I can't remember much more. Draco was happy that he isn't recognized as a death eater between his co-workers and they really appreciated him. Harry was an auror? And they had to work together? I'm not really sure

4. Harry is Draco’s secretary and Draco makes him wear a skirt to work and it’s one chapter and smutty. Top Draco.

5. post-war drrary fic where Harry and Draco lived in the Malfoy Manor and they were in an established relationship. Then Draco's behaviour started to change, he became mean, and Harry gave him an ultimatum, promising he won't put a foot in the Manor again if he leaves. Then Harry leaves and I think Draco was about to get married. But then Narcissa comes to Harry and explains that Lucius has put a curse on Draco to break their relationship. I specifically remember that she told Harry that Draco was musing how to apologise to him. Harry then came back to the Manor. I think it was on ao3 but I'm not sure

6. I am looking for a Hogwarts era fic. It's after the war. Harry is fed up with being treated like a hero so he enters into a friends with benefits arrangement with Draco. They are sneaking away to hook up and have a lot of hate sex and bond over their taste in music. I specifically remember them having sex to Kashmir by Led Zeppelin and Deftones. Towards the end they start to realize they have feelings for each other.

7. Hogwarts Eighth year, lupin(alive) is the dada teacher again, drarry are sort of in a relationship or at least there's something going on. The one scene I remember distinctly is they're chosen for a demonstration duel during dada and they take the bow and stance but then draco concedes in front of the whole class, which is kind of a big deal in magical duels-as hermione tells harry, and then lupin wants to talk to draco after class(?)

8. drarry multi-chapter fic i read on ao3 a bit ago. it was set around christmas/holidays, established relationship, harry has mental health problems and is distant so draco thinks he's cheating on him but he reveals that hes been going to a mind healer like secretly. also i think teddy is in it and they go ice skating with him? the fic is about like draco helping harry get his life back together and fixing their relationship.

9. it takes place in hogwarts and there’s a secret lgbtq club in the school. I think there were some side pairings too besides drarry.

10. I read this ages ago, dont remember what site but it was complete and mature content. title was like Griffendor <something>, Slythering <something> (i think) after school, harry is a pro quidditch player and draco is a magazine editor or something? One of them decides to write a book (draco?) and goes to the other for help with source material(?). We find out that they are divorced and have been court ordered to stay away from each other because of destructive fights. There was also some flashbacks where they like fed each other strawberries and one of them (harry?) told the other that the cost of the strawberry was marriage? And there was something about a pair of lockets they had from when they were married that they still wear but are hiding from each other?

11. i think it was a war au, draco was at grimmauld because reasons and he was helping the order with the potions, at one point he helps snape or remus because they were hurt? And he and harry had this thing or something, but he caught harry kissing one of the twins and he thought that harry wasn't interested, but he was just like practicing the kisses or something?

12. Looking for a fic I read some years ago in german, but I am pretty sure it was translated from english. It is about Draco helping Harry and his friends escape from Malfoy Manor in the seventh book and being captured by the Death Eaters. He gets thrown into a cell without any sensory stimulation, but gets rescued after the war. The fic deals with the consequences of that, I am not quite sure if he is at St. Mungos for some time, but he definitely gets close to Harry in his healing process. Sorry if this is too vague or if it turns out that the fic was originally in german.

#monthly roundup #lost fic #drarry #drarry fic #drarry fic search #drarry squad

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finleyforevermore · 7 months ago

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I actually don't know what you'd title this but this post probably would serve as an explanation! Uhhh, enjoy!

First off, we've got quite a few names here, so let's go through name key!:

Endermes (@ender-outlaw as Hermes)

Silmes (@soursileu as Hermes)

Vellmes (@allergic-to-four-leaf-clovers as Hermes)

Amores (@amorvincitomnia-14 as Hermes) (hey knock knock guess what you're Hermes now :D)

Atpheus (@literatureisdying as Orpheus)

Finchpheus (@flowers-floating-in-space as Orpheus)

Euryauden (@tellme-o-muse as Eurydice)

Eurysyd (@sydneyofalltrades as Eurydice)

Perzeephone (@ziipzeepzop-eez as Persephone)

Finades (me as Hades!)

Ok, it's "The Actual Point Of The Post" time!:

Endermes is having a BALL during Road to Hell.

Vellmes' RTH in one word: Spins. So many spins.

Segue brought to you by Daisy's (@meowydoe) Fate being The Fate That Waves At Eurydice During Any Way The Wind Blows & Hey, Little Songbird™

Amores, during the section about Orpheus in Any Way The Wind Blows: "I love this child so fucking much you don't understand-"

During Come Home With Me: Hermes: "You wanna talk to her-" Atpheus, no hesitation: "YES."

Eurysyd is fucking FLABBERGASTED during Come Home With Me.

Sequoia, I wholeheartedly believe that you would straight up start glowing at some points. The "The Song™" section of Wedding Song is one of those times. /pos

Endermes draws out the "old song" in Epic I. ("It's an ooooooold song")

Perzeephone is booping ALL THE NOSES in Living It Up On Top.

Silmes loudly exclaims "Oh SHIT-" after tasting the wine after Orpheus' toast in Living It Up.

Euryauden + Atpheus: Gayest All I've Ever Known Of All Time

Comedically grumpy all throughout Way Down Hadestown.

Atpheus fucking LEAPS in front of Euryauden when Finades notices Euryauden in WDH.

Segue brought to you by The Fates (Josie (@/meowydoe), Satanic (@satanic-witchcraft), and Annabeth (@two-minute-notice)) having a great time during When the Chips Are Down.

Eurysyd has the saddest "Gone, I'm Gone" ever /pos

Silmes is PISSED at Orpheus during Wait For Me Intro.

Atpheus does the vibrato on "WAAAIT" that Reeve Carney did on his last performance in Wait For Me. I just get that feeling. /pos

Wait For Me, aka Finch Starts Fucking Glowing Moment #2. /pos

Slooowwly turns head to look at Finades when she sees Eurydice in Hadestown during Why We Build The Wall, like, "oh no you did NOT"

"....anybodywantadrink?"

During "Our Lady of the Underground": *Lowest, most gravelly voice imaginable* I don't know about you, BOOOYSSS!

Lots and lots and LOTS of twirls during OLOTU.

During Way Down Hadestown (Reprise): "I did what I had to do." "Yeah sure whatever."

Vellmes, with a "it's not all bad"-like voice: "What she was instead was dead....dead to the world anyway!" You're only dead to the world, it's not alllll bad!

Yet another segue to appreciate how fucking amazing Eurysyd's "Flowers" cover is. Please give it a listen.

During Come Home With Me Reprise: Euryauden: "I called your name before-" Atpheus: "I know!" "You heard-" "NO-"

During Papers: Orpheus: "I'm not going back alone. I came to take her home-" Finades: W H E E Z E

Segue brought to you by the most melancholic "Nothing Changes" ever. /pos

During If It's True, Atpheus is fucking PISSED. Screams out "is this how the world is??" like Dónal Finn (west end Orpheus actor)

Finchpheus is less pissed and more heartbroken. We can throw in a voice crack on "is this how the world is?" for good measure.

Scream out "I believe that THEY ARE FEW!" during If It's True like all the tour Orpheus actors.

During How Long: Perzeephone: "What are you afraid of?" Finades, genuinely confused: "...what?"

Perzeephone: "He loves that girl, Hades!" Finades, who genuinely couldn't care less: ..well that's too bad!

"What's that noise...?" during Chant Reprise is played for laughs like in the Broadway previews boot.

We can reinsert Persephone's verse in Chant Reprise. You know, for funsies!

We're doing NYTW Epic III too. Screw the Broadway version.

Epic III, aka Finch Starts Fucking Glowing Moment #3. /pos

Finades + Perzeephone: Dorkiest Lovers Desire/They Danced Of All Time.

Amores keeps giving Finades the "don't you fucking do it" glare during His Kiss, The Riot.

Silmes, during Wait For Me Reprise: "Don't you dare fuck this up, Orpheus--"

Everyone is crying when The Thing™ happens and after The Thing™ happens. Iykyk.

Vellmes knew it was coming but is still in disbelief.

Endermes is more confused than anything, even if she knew it was coming.

Silmes is trying not to appear effected, but still definitely cares and is effected, even if it knew it was coming.

Amormes is going THROUGH IT. Like, "visibly close to tears" going through it.

Perzeephone has the most poignant "We Raise Our Cups" because ofc she does. /pos

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phoebepheebsphibs · 1 month ago

Text

.Dead asleeP.

Title: Chapter 3: N3 Prompt: You were peacefully sleeping when you suddenly wake up to the sound of a heart monitor steadily beeping somewhere nearby, and realize you are in the med-bay with no memory of what happened prior to this. // After watching movies with your siblings all night and passing out in the tv room, you wake up to find that you're alone. What happened? Fandom: ROTTMNT Word Count: 5806 Author: PhoebePheebsPhibs Rating: Gen Characters: Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, & Raphael (disembodied voices) Warning: Derealization, nightmare-ish stuff (Leo is stuck in a dream) Summary: Leo deals with the inconvenience of being stuck in a dream and getting reacquainted with the 'ghosts' that follow him. Notes: More chapters to follow (3 more, to be exact)

@shr00mi3writefight @tmnt-write-fight @that-0n3-shr00mi3

Posted to AO3 <-

Leo strode through the maze of death fairly easily. Yes, there were traps and snares and mystical kitchen supplies, but for the most part he went through unnoticed.

"I don't remember it being this easy," Leo muttered.

"It wasn't," a voice reminded flatly. "Remember, everyone stay together. Draxum said something about drifting off --"

"So... what happens when I reach the center of the maze? Do I win, or...?"

"I'm not sure," one of the voices mused. "Just let us know if you feel any different, okay?"

"Okay," Leo nodded. "So... how do we know each other? Outside of the dream world?"

"We're very close. We're family."

"What do you mean?" Leo half-chuckles. "I think Splinter would tell me and my bros if we had any extended fam."

"What?"

"Or are you, like, my turtle parents? You mentioned... I think you said 'Barry', as in Baron Draxum, so maybe you're other mutants or something? Or... are you related to Drax?"

Leo turned left, then right, then left again. He could almost see the center of the maze coming up. But the voices were quiet. Leo could sense their discomfort.

"What? What? Hey, what did I say?" he asked nervously.

"...It's nothing. You just kind of... glossed over the obvious."

"Obvious?" Leo questions. "How? I basically went through every option!"

"I think all we can tell you at this point is that we're family," one of the voices stated. "I don't think you'd be able to hear anything more detailed than that."

"Why not?!" Leo grumbled, kicking at a stone angrily. "Why can't you tell me?!"

"We're not the ones doing it!" another voice chimed in. "We've been TRYING to tell you everything this whole time, Nardo!"

"You haven't told me anything! And nobody calls me Nardo but Donnie!" Leo snapped back.

And then the realization snapped him right back in the face.

"...No one but Donnie has ever... Family, you said you're... obvious... Oh my gosh, I am so stupid. Donnie... is... is that you?"

Silence.

"H-hey, Don-Tron, don't go silent on me now! I figured it out! I know who you are, I know -- I-I'm sorry for getting mad! Please, d-don't leave me again! Come back! Donnie? M-Mikey? Raph? Are you guys..."

Leo came upon the end of the maze, a giant statue of gold at its epicenter.

"...there...?"

The center of this maze was not the same as the real one at all. For one thing, it wasn't in the center of the maze at all. Either that, or the maze had been carved in half. Just beyond the statue, the Hidden City and its magical town square awaited him.

His eyes glossed over. He felt so tired and sluggish. Leo's mind was cleansed, his memories of the pizzeria and the events prior were wiped clear.

"...Oh, hey! The Hidden City! I've always wanted to sight-see here!"

Leo ran out of the maze giddily and approached a brochure stand.

"Excuse me, do you have any sites you'd recommend for a bona fide hero like myself? Maybe something exciting, or daring, or maybe even a relaxing spa?"

"First time here?" the Yokai asked from behind the counter.

"No, no no no no no no no no no. No." Leo huffed and puffed out his chest proudly. "It's my eighth time!"

"It's your 13th time, dum-dum."

Leo looked around nervously.

"Did you hear that?"

"Oh-ho, no, we're NOT going through this again..."

"Hear what, kid?" the Yokai asked, shuffling through supplies as Leo whirled around in circles, anxiously searching for the source of the apparition.

"That voice, I --"

"Leo, long story short, you're stuck in a dream-world that's all fake. We're trying to help you escape."

"But, what --"

"Every time you get to a new area, your memory restarts."

"And we can't tell you who we are for some reason because... uh... mystic curses are weird?"

"But what, kid?" the Yokai gruffed.

Leo looked back at her, confused. He blinked, trying to process it all. There was a flood of emotions running through him, each one tethered to a soul that was not his own, but strangely connected to his. Frustration, hope, irritation, redundancy, resignation --

"Um... never mind. I think I just went temporarily insane."

"Oh, COME ON!"

There was the frustration again.

"Look, do you want the brochure or not?" the Yokai stall-keeper growled, waving the paper in Leonardo's face.

"I'll take it," Leo said quickly, snatching the map and walking away briskly.

Once he was out of earshot of the Yokai, Leo hissed at the ghosts.

"Okay, weird brain ghosts -- what is going on?!"

"We've already told you. THREE TIMES OVER BY NOW," one huffed with exasperation. "Okay. Just... calm down, we all need to calm down... Alright. From the top. Leo: you are trapped in a dreamworld. Nothing is real, but it's trying to keep you here. It's TRAPPED YOU. We used a magic spell to infiltrate your dreams so that we could help wake you up!"

"How?"

"Well, first off we had to draw these really cool symbols around your bed and --"

"N-no, I mean how am I supposed to wake up?" Leo corrected.

"Oh. Well, according to Mikey -- er, according to the most mystically-inclined of us, we help you get through a certain amount of dreams like levels in a video game."

"How many?" Leo asked.

"Um... I... don't remember. Barry said it had something to do with the whole... sleep cycle?"

"Oh, he was referring to REM and NREM, which means there will be five. Or, well, three now that we've gotten through two of them already," a ghost with a nerdy voice interjects. "Sleep comes in cycles, you see. It starts off with awake-slash-alert, and progressively gets deeper and deeper. After awake and alert, then comes N1, then N2, N3, and finally the REM, which stands for 'Rapid Eye Movement'. Rem is when you have dreams."

"And NREM?" Leo asked, curious. "What's that?"

"NREM is 'Non-Rapid Eye Movement'. It's just dreamless sleep, a time when the body rests and rejuvenates itself, repairing and regrowing tissue and rebuffing the immune system. Studies show that 75% of sleep is NREM. An interesting science fact, but REM periods are short, though the longer you spend asleep, the longer the REM periods will be!"

"Does that mean that the longer it takes us to get him through, the harder each level will get?" a nervous voice asks.

"...I hadn't thought of that."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Leo asked, stuffing the brochure into his fanny pack. "Let's get going! Uh, do you guys know which way I should head?"

"Ooh, ooh, I do!" a cheery voice chimed in.

Leo watched with bewilderment as a fluttering golden light sparked before him, flying away and leaving a trail of shimmers in its gentle wake.

"Um... that was you, right?"

"That was Mikey. Uh, the mystically-inclined-light-guy one. He just ran off. He's not s'posed to, though."

"Not supposed to?"

"Well, Draxum said that getting off track would cause us to lose sight of what we're here for and pull us into the trap, but... if he's just looking for the way to the next dream, then I think it should be okay..."

"Cool, cool. Just so long as I'm not actually losing my mind... What do you mean by 'ran off'?"

"I mean that little beam of light WAS him."

"I thought I couldn't see you?" Leo wondered aloud. "What changed?"

"Mikey's been doing stuff like that the whole time. Anytime you see a golden light, that's him. You can't see what we actually look like, for some bizarre reason. You walk right through us."

"Have I been... walking right through you this whole time?"

"...Kinda."

"What does that even feel like?"

"Honestly, it doesn't feel like anything. And... I can't speak for the Mikey or Donnie, but it makes ME feel... lonely."

Leo swallowed sadly.

"...Sorry."

"Hey, it ain't your fault!" the voice kindly said. But their voice cracked, the vocal pitch shifted.

Leo felt a stifling, a sick knot in a stomach. The holding of breath, the looking away, a telltale sign that something was not as it seemed. Leo felt as though they were hiding something. Leo felt like there was a lie hidden somewhere. He tried to ignore it, and instead chased after the light, following the trail into the city streets. There were so many stalls and colourful people here, each one a personality extreme and boisterous. And each stranger Leo would have loved to get to know. He was a people person at heart, hence why he always took the role of 'face-man'.

"I didn't know that about you," one of the voices murmured.

"Didn't know what?"

"Oh did I forget to mention we can kinda read each other's' minds?"

"Wait, for real?!" Leo shouted as he stopped right in the middle of the street. "Are you kidding me?!"

"I never kid about ESP."

Leo fidgeted with his sash, adjusting and readjusting it as he swallowed the information given so nonchalantly to him.

"So what did you just hear?" he inquired.

"The people-person tidbit."

"Oh. Okay," he mumbled. Out of all the things he could think of, that was not the most embarrassing. "Now it's my turn! Think of something!"

"Well, uh, it... it doesn't really work like that..." the other voice responded.

"Oh, what? Boo! Totally unfair!" Leo complained. "How come you can hear my thoughts, but I can't hear yours?"

"Well, first off, we can't hear ALL your thoughts. Just the ones where you think to yourself, like a conversation. Secondly, you might not be able to read our minds, but you can feel our emotions."

"Huh?" Leo's stride slowed a bit, as he tried to understand.

"You can sense our presence, though you can't actually feel or see us," voice A explained. "Before, you could feel we were with you without being able to see or hear us at all! And Mikey -- the light guy -- said that you 'felt him' earlier. He'd made a beam of light around himself for you to follow. When you touched the light, you were actually holding his hand. You seemed to know who it was, and you even said his name! Mike was so excited..."

Leo slowly continued walking down the pathway, following the glittery sparkles that illuminated the path.

"...Can you do that?"

"Do what? Make light?"

"Yeah, can you make a light thing?"

"Why?"

"...No reason," Leo lied.

"He wants to be able to touch you, too," voice B snitched.

"Wha-hah-hat? No!" Leo opposed, laughing like a nervous wreck.

"I never kid about ESP."

"Narc," Leo grumbled.

Leo felt a swell of warmth. The sting of tears behind your eyes. Pride, longing, love. And then regret.

"Sorry, Leo. That's not my specialty."

"Specialty?" he probed. "What does that mean?"

"Mike-- The 'light guy' is good at magic and light-related stuff. The, uh... 'Narc' is good at bein' smart beyond all reason and buildin' all kinds of things! Me, I'm good at bein' strong. The tank, the shield... I can't make a light thing because that's not what I am."

"Oh."

"Are you... disappointed?"

Leo stopped again, and turned around. He tried to imagine a face to look at, to direct his thoughts.

"No! I mean, I'm a little bummed that I can't... y'know, feel you or whatever. But you sound really cool!"

"You think I'm... cool?"

"Yeah, dude! You sound like my brother, Raph. He's cool like that, too -- always strong, brave, working to make sure we're the heroes Splinter always knew we could become. And now I'm friends with a fricken' tank?! He would be so jealous; do you know how awesome that sounds?!"

Leo felt a short-lived pride. A small semblance of reassurance, a twinge of nostalgia. And then sadness.

"Thanks, dude."

"What's wrong?" Leo asked, reaching forward instinctively. He couldn't feel anything, but he sensed the loneliness the 'Tank' had mentioned earlier.

"Nuthin'. C'mon, let's hurry up and find Mikey before he gets too far ahead."

Leo walked along the streets. He noticed that the light was starting to dim. He also noticed that the dimming of the light made the other two ghosts -- Narc and Tank -- uneasy. He could hear soft whispers that they kept to themselves, thinking that maybe he couldn't hear him.

"Do you think that maybe he's lost? Does Mikey actually know what he's doing?"

"Of course he does. Draxum told him how the spell works --"

"But are we sure? I mean, I don't want to doubt Mikey's abilities -- but this is Leo's life at stake here."

"Keep your voice down! He might hear you..."

"Raph, this is a big deal. Leo has been comatose for seven whole days with no sign of recovery. I... I don't want to lose him."

"We won't. I'm sure we won't."

The two were eerily quiet. At first, Leo was afraid that they'd gone again, left him alone in the silence. But then one of them -- the Tank -- spoke up.

"We're still here, Leo."

"Oh, thank Pizza Supreme," the slider muttered under his breath. "You had me worried for a moment."

"You think we'd leave you?"

"I-I don't know," Leo admitted. "I... I'm not sure why. But I felt like... maybe? Like it happened before..." Leo stalled, slowing to a stop as foggy recollections came back to him. "I thought... I remember.... you left me? Or you went silent..."

"We didn't mean to," Tank responded. "The first time, you sorta... disappeared. You vanished, and Mikey had to search for you for a few minutes before we found you again. The second time, we were still with you, but once we came into the new dream, it was like everything reset, and we couldn't reach you anymore. We keep having to fight to reach you."

"Why?" Leo asked. "The light guy mentioned a curse, I think. Is that part of it? Part of whatever's keeping me trapped here?"

Tank considered it deeply before answering.

"I don't know. Mikey would know better."

"The light guy?"

"Yeah, the light guy."

"Where is he, by the way?" Leo wondered, looking around.

The streets were getting busier. The sparkles getting dim, almost completely faded.

"Well, that's not good."

"What do we do?" Leo asked. "How do we get out of here?"

"Follow me," Narc said quietly. "I think I can find 'Light Guy' using my ninpo."

"How am I supposed to follow you if I can't see you?" Leo reminded, not even considering to skimp on the sass.

"But you can hear me. Follow my voice, okay?"

"Got it," Leo said with a nod.

Narc started to talk. And talk. And talk.

Wow. Okay. He liked to talk a lot. Leo started to groan from all the things he went on about. He spoke of science, the stars, astronomy. He talked about black holes, and the theories behind what would happen if you stepped inside one. He spoke of the different classifications of stars, such as red giants and dwarf stars and why they twinkle or change colour in the night. He talked about the moon, and how he was convinced that there was a secret second moon. Narc mentioned his favourite conspiracies. He spoke of the rewriting of history, the possible faked moon landing, the mysteries behind the Lost Colony of Roanoke. He talked about Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, the Jersey Devil, but he refused to touch the subject of aliens for some reason. Instead, he brought up biology. Microbes, bacteria, germs, single-celled organisms. The mitochondria were the powerhouse of the cell. Red blood cells, white blood cells, bone structure, muscles, how hair and nails were made of the same thing, melanin, mutations, and so forth. To say he touched a bit on the subject of botany would be an understatement...

"Man, you would really like my brother Donnie," Leo noted. "He's totally into this stuff, too."

There was silence. Leo felt an awkward tension.

"Ahem. So, uh... do you guys like Jupiter Jim?"

There was a stifled cackle from Tank.

"Yeah. Yeah, we do. But not as much as Lou Jitsu!"

"Seriously?" Leo gaped, excited beyond measure. "I LOVE Lou Jitsu's films! And you may have figured it out by the genetic resemblance, but in case you didn't, did you know that --"

"Um, guys?" Narc piped in. "Have we been here before?"

Leo looked around at the stalls. There was a florist pop-up stand, a shoe shop set up against a stone cavern wall, a water fountain, a park bench, and a few other stalls that all sold shady-looking mystic trinkets.

"...I don't think so?" Leo offered. "It doesn't look familiar..."

"I could have sworn we came this way before..."

"Do you think we've gone in circles?"

"I thought so... But it's Leo's dreamscape. If he says no, then.... Let's just keep going for now, Mikey's trail is getting cold."

Leo followed the sound of Narc and Tank talking. He joined in, each one speaking of their favourite Lou Jitsu film.

They passed by a fishmonger, a jeweler, and a children's school for wizards.

Narc mentioned how some dreams hold deeper meaning, and some things represent deep-rooted fear or a danger. He mentioned how dreams were often used to predict the future, and how some people can even see future visions in their sleep.

They passed by a series of diners and Yokai eateries.

Tank wondered where Light Guy was. He started to worry about what might have happened to him. Tank seemed like the worrying kind. They discussed how someone could get lost inside Leo's mind. It unnerved him to think that there was a person snooping around his subconscious.

They passed by a florist, a shoe shop, and a water fountain.

Wait... didn't they just...?

"Do you guys see that?" Leo asked, pointing. "We passed that flower stand already, right?"

"I TOLD YOU we were going around in circles!" Narc whined.

"Wait, so we must've taken a wrong turn somewhere!" Tank deduced. "Maybe we try retracing our steps?"

The group go back the way they came. Past the flower stand. Past the diners. Past the wizard school. Past the jewelers. Past the fishmongers. Past the shady-looking trinket stands. Past the park bench and water fountain. Past the shoe shop. Past the flower stand...

Uh-oh.

"Wait, how does that work?" Leo wondered aloud, pointing in the two directions they'd come from.

"A common nightmare is going round in circles, moving around but never getting anywhere," Narc offered. "This might be something of that nature."

"Uh... what exactly happens in those kinds of dreams?"

"You never get anywhere, as to be expected. They represent psychological distress, usually related to interpersonal problems, work-related issues, or basically anything that revolves around a stressful or anxiety-inducing situation."

"Well, it's a good thing I don't have any of those problems!" Leo exhaled with relief.

The nagging feeling of swallowing your words, hiding the truth, lying. Leo could feel it in the others.

"What? What are you guys not saying?"

"Huh? Nothing! Nothing at all..."

"Uh-huh. Right. Anyway, Narc, how do we break out of the loop?" Leo asked.

"First off, hate that nickname. Second, try doing anything out of the ordinary? Maybe try... going off the path?"

"Alrighty then, let's think outside the box!" Leo whooped, jumping over the flower cart and racing away.

He could feel Tank and Narc close behind him as he ran in odd zig-zaggy patterns. He bobbed and weaved through the crowds, trying to maneuver through them as he searched for a new path to take. The crowds parted. There was a florist pop-up stand and a shoe shop.

"What the what?!" Leo yelled, throwing his fists in the air. "This doesn’t make any sense! How am I supposed to escape this dream prison thing if I can't escape a single avenue?!"

Leo started running again. This time, out of pure anger. He ran and ran and ran, hearing Tank shout after him. He ran and ran and ran, ignoring Narc's scoldings. He ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran.

Leo ran out of breath. He collapsed to his knees, laughing over the thought that he couldn't breath when he couldn't feel the effects of breathlessness. It didn't hurt his chest. It didn't even feel tight or constricted. He wasn't even tired. He couldn't feel anything other than despair.

Leo happened to glance down at the cobblestone path beneath him. There was dust, dirt, pebbles... and a sparkling glitter trail, just faint enough that you would miss it if you weren't a few inches away from it. He pressed a finger against the sparkle. It grew brighter against his fingerprint. Hmmm...

"Tank?" Leo called out. "Are you still there??"

"I'm here!" Tank shouted back, running up towards Leo, his voice gaining volume as he did. "What is it?"

"You said that Narc could make anything, right?"

"Yeah?" Tank confirmed slowly, his tone sounding wary. "Why?"

"Can he make something that can make these brighter? Or track them like a metal detector?" Leo asked, holding his finger up in the air.

"Well, 'Narc'?"

"First of all, you don't have to call me that, you know my name. Don't call me Narc. Secondly..."

There was a pause. Leo could faintly feel something like a soft breeze around his hands. He looked up in expectation to see something holding his hand, lifting them up to inspect. But he couldn't see anything. It made his heart sink.

"...I can work with this."

There was a rush of wind, a burst of electricity, and Leo had to cover his eyes or else he would be blinded. When he opened his eyes again, there was a strange bracelet-gauntlet-wristwatch-thing on the ground before him. It was glowing purple, and looked like it had been made from tangible light, like a hologram.

"What is this thing?" Leo asked, picking the device up and examining it thoroughly.

"It's an enhancer; specifically it enhances ninpo. It is locked on to 'Light Guy's signature, so it will not only follow his magic trail, it'll also enhance it! And if he made it to the exit, then hopefully it lead us out of this loop."

Leo smiled as he placed the device on his wrist. A surge of something strange and powerful coursed through his veins, up his arm, and filled his lungs. It was exciting, brilliant, clear and logical, cutthroat but loving in its own nerdy way.

It was Donnie.

"...Don...?"

"Hmm?"

"This... Donnie, is this you?"

A pause, baited breath, terror and desperate hope fogging up the air with a tension so thick that not even Leo's odachi could carve through it. He could hear the audible gasp of shock from Tank, but the silence from Narc Donatello was deafening. Leonardo heard him take a deep inhale before answering.

"...You're not going to faint or get a memory wipe again, are you?"

"What does that mean?"

"This isn't the first time you figured out who I am, Nardo."

Leo swallowed.

"The last time... I forgot you?"

"I think you figured it out just as we were entering a new dream, so that might have been the cause."

"Oh. But.... it is you, right?"

Leo could feel the breeze around him shift, encompassing his arms and shoulders. He reached out for it, trying to grip it in an embrace if he could.

"It's me. It's Donnie."

Leo tried not to cry. But all he wanted was to hold Donnie close, hold him tight, say he was sorry for forgetting him, not recognising his voice or mannerisms at all. He wanted to apologise for so many things, he wasn't even sure what. There was a bubbling force in his stomach, urging him to say sorry for leaving them and the invasion and everything he was responsible for.

But instead, he just hung his head sadly.

"...I'm sorry, Don."

"It's okay, Nardo. We just want to help you get better. To get out of this."

"...So does that mean that 'Tank' is... Raph?"

"That's me," Tank Raph said, and Leo could hear the smile in his voice.

"So... so who's Light Guy?"

"You... you can't figure it out?"

"Well, I was gonna say Mikey, but Mikey can't do all that magic stuff you guys mentioned!"

There was another silence. Leo sensed their confusion, the withholding of information.

"What? What aren't you telling me?"

"Leo... how do you think I was able to make the wristlet?" Donnie asked.

"I dunno, brainpower? Imagination? We're in the dream world, after all."

"Yeah, but we can't actually do anything in here," Raph told him. "We can't affect the world around you, we can't even interact with you."

"So... so then how did you make this?" Leo asked, turning his wrist over to inspect the bracelet.

"With my ninpo.... But you don't know what that is, do you?"

"...Um... Yessss, I do?" Leo tries.

"You're lying. You don't know what that is. You can't even hear me say the word, can you?"

Leo squirmed uncomfortably.

"You said you'd only been to the Hidden City eight times when you've actually been here thirteen. In the last dream, Hueso said you saved the world, but you were confused by what he meant."

"Leo... what's the last thing you remember?" Raph asked nervously.

"The... the last thing I remember?" Leo reechoed. "Like... from the dreams?"

"No, from real life."

"I-I'm not sure," Leo whispered. "The dream world feels real, I can't really tell when the memories end and the dream starts... was... we had a sleepover... was that real or a dream?"

"We've had a lot of sleepovers," Donnie chimed in. "Are you thinking about the one you dreamt of? With all the snacks and pizza and--"

"And Raph exploded the Vitamin Water?" Leo finished. "That... that was a part of a dream?"

"Yeah. Leo... what was the last big mission you went on?"

"Uh... the Shredder?"

"Which Shredder mission?" Raph asked.

"What do you mean, which one? We... we got rid of him..."

"...Did we work with Big Mama to banish him?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Who's the leader of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?"

"Who? Is that like, some off-brand version of the Mad Dogs?"

"...Who is the leader of the Mad Dogs?"

"Raph is."

"..."

"...This is not ideal."

"Why? What's not ideal?? What aren't you telling me... is Raph not the leader anymore? What happened to Raph, why can't he lead??"

"Nothing happened to Raph, he just... Never mind. We need to find Mikey."

Leo wanted to keep prying, find out what was so devastating that no one would tell him... But the glowing device on his wrist began to glow, and the sparkles that had all but disappeared from the ground began to brighten, and by contrast, the rest of the Hidden City began to dim.

"There! Follow that glitter!"

Leo ran after the path, going in circles at least twice before the glittering specks led away from the path, down a different and unseen lane. Leo could feel a strange emotion rising up slowly. One that was lost, scared, feeling hopeless... but strangely tired. The exhaustion that weighed down this soul was crushing, Leo almost felt like he too would fall asleep if he wasn't wary. There was also a strange cloud of confusion surrounding the feelings. Leo could feel this person was lost, not just physically, but also mentally. They felt... Leo wasn't sure how to describe it. They felt like everything they knew was slowly fading away.

Leo pushed past a group of Yokai and saw the sparkling light that had attempted to guide him before, only now it was alone, laid limp on the ground, and growing duller by the second.

"There he is!" Donnie yelled. "Mikey!"

Leo felt the ghost of something move through him, purple light surrounding the small star on the floor. The light fluttered before suddenly vanishing completely. Leo gasped in terror before feeling something like a warmth over his shoulder.

"Mikey?!"

"He's okay," Raph soothed. "He just came out of the light form. Donnie has him now."

"Is -- is he -- what's going on, why was he on the floor like that?! Could you see him, why did he feel like -- like he was -- like he --"

"He's alright, just semi-incapacitated," Donnie informed them. "Angelo, wake up. Angelo?"

"This must've been what Draxum was talking about when he said not to get sidetracked," Raphael realises.

"Meaning?" Leo interrogated. "Sidetracked from what?"

"From you," Raph whispered. "If we stay away from you for too long, we'll 'lose sight of what we're here for', and become trapped just like you."

Leonardo heard a soft mumble, followed by a growing sensation of comfort. Mikey was waking up.

"Mmmm....? Wha... wha' happ'ned...? Who... who are you?"

"What? Angelo, it's me! It's Donnie!"

"Why... why couldn't I hear your name?"

Leo felt sickness rising in his stomach. Donnie and Raph felt like they were going to puke. Mikey's head was fogged up and cloudy, heavy with confusion and riddled with sleepiness.

"What's going on?" Leo asked. "What's wrong with Mikey?"

"I-I don't know -- Mikey, look at me. Do you recognize me?"

It became quiet for a moment. All eyes (invisible and not) were frozen to the spot where Mikey was found. Leo could feel the fear rising, the worry in Raph and the burning anger over the situation growing in Donnie. But then he felt clarity in Mikey, and the drowsy spell that had been cast over him dissipated.

"...D-Donnie...? Raph?" there was a sudden joyful gasp. "Leo!"

Leo blinked, expecting to feel or see something, a hug or a smile. There was nothing.

"L-Leo? Are you okay? Wait, why can't I touch you -- what happened, why are we... we..."

Mikey's voice softened as the memory came back.

"...Oh. Oh, I'm sorry, I --"

"You don't have to apologise, Mikey," Leo whispered, looking down at his hands.

"You know my name?"

"Yeah, I know who everyone is. But what happened to you?"

Mikey hummed quietly, groaning as he apparently sits up or stands with Donnie's assistance.

"I... I remember trying to lead the way out, but I went too far ahead. I almost made it to the next dream, but then -- then I forgot where I was, why I was there, I even forgot you guys, and the more I forgot, the s-sleepier I got..."

"That's why Draxum told us to stick together and stick with Leo," Raph reminded him. "We might've lost you. But we know what not to do now."

"You said you almost found the way to the next dream?" Donnie reiterated.

"Which way?" Leo's voice was filled with hope. He wanted to get out as soon as possible for his brothers' sakes. He couldn't bear the idea of them getting hurt because of him. Again.

Again? What --

"The way out is over there!"

Mikey's voice interrupted Leo's thoughts. He took in a deep breath before standing up and looking around. Up ahead, there was a small avenue that led to a cave tunnel.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive!" Mikey assured him. "A-although, somebody's gonna hafta carry me... m-my legs aren’t exactly working right now. I think I used up all my mystic powers."

"Raph's gotchya, big man," the eldest brother stated, noisily hoisting Michelangelo up and walking towards the cavern. "Come on, guys, we're halfway through this trial!"

Leo and Donnie followed after the duo into the cave. It grew dark, cold, clammy. Quiet and calm. Leo appreciated the calming atmosphere, as he felt anything but calm.

"You okay?"

"Are you asking because you can read my thoughts?"

"Guilty. Is it about what happened to Mikey?"

"Sorta. I mean, I'm upset over what happened to him, but mostly I'm scared. Is that what it's like when I enter a new dream?"

"So far, yes."

"And that means that soon, I'll forget again. I'll go full Groundhog Day."

"But we'll remind you of everything again."

"...But it hurts you," Leo whimpers. "I know it does. It hurt me to see Mikey so confused like that, even if it was only for a short minute. And I don't want to be stuck feeling alone anymore."

"We won't let you get lost, Leo," Donnie promises.

He can almost feel him take his hand, before realising it's just the hologram wrist tech he has yet to remove.

"But there's more... you guys aren't telling me something. You keep skirting the subject, avoiding things, pretending like there isn't an issue when I can clearly tell that there is!"

"We're just trying to not overwhelm you."

"Overwhelm me how? I mean, some witch or a crazy new mutant must've put a weird sleeping beauty spell on me, right? What could be more overwhelming than that??"

"...That's not what happened."

"Say wha?" Leo questions. "What does that mean --"

"Guys! Up ahead!" Raph shouts. "Do you see that light?"

Leo runs up ahead to see what Raph's commotion is about. As he does, a familiar drowsiness sets in. The light up ahead grows brighter, more vivid. Leo can hear noises and sounds like joy and excitement and cheering... The light soon becomes too bright and his eyes close to keep from going blind.

Leonardo emerges from the tunnel into a large arena, the walls painted black with red pillars and humongous skulls decorating them. The grandstands are filled with Yokai, each of whom looks like they'd have a warrant or a bounty on their heads. The dust blows around the ground as three spotlights are shone directly onto Leo's face, his body encased with armour fit for a gladiator. A screeching whine of feedback echoes over a series of loudspeakers before Big Mama's voice shouts over the commotion and applause of the bloodthirsty crowds.

"LADIES AND GENTLE-GERMS, I GIVE YOU... THE NEXT CHAMP-I-ON OF THE BATTLE NEXUS, NIGHTMARE EDITION!"

#I HAD TO DO SO MUCH CODING FOR THIS CHAPTER #THIS PART TOOK ME ALL DAY BUT IT WAS TOTALLY WORTH IT I THINK #might hafta take a short break from this series so i can try to finish some of my other write-fight works #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt leo #tmnt write fight #write fight #fanfictions #fanfic #fanfiction #trapped in a dream

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hajimakitten · 7 months ago

Text

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘽𝙀𝙎𝙏 𝙊𝙁 𝙈𝙀. | OT7 BTS reverse harem

author's notes: so what did you think?! i kinda don't really fault ryley for her way of thinking because it's bts. but, at the same time, you really have to remember that they're just humans like us. humans that are insanely talented and beautiful. but, humans nonetheless. ;D

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

A Serendipitous Encounter | Chapter Three

The following night, as BTS took in their last night in America, anticipation mingled with disappointment in the air. Despite their best efforts, they hadn't been able to find any trace of Ryley the night of their concert. Yet, as fate would have it, their journey was about to take an unexpected turn.

Back in their hotel room, the atmosphere was tense with anticipation as BTS regrouped after their encounter with Ryley. Jin's heart raced with excitement and a touch of apprehension as he recounted his brief eye contact with their soulmate while he had been on stage.

"She was right there," he breathed, his voice filled with wonder. "We have to find her."

Namjoon nodded in agreement; his expression determined. "We can't let her slip through our fingers again."

Meanwhile, Taehyung sat on the edge of the bed, his brow furrowed in thought as he scrolled through his phone, searching for any trace of Ryley online. Doubt still lingered in the back of his mind, but with each passing moment, his curiosity grew stronger.

"I just don't understand," Hoseok mused, pacing back and forth across the room. "How could she be our soulmate? It doesn't make sense."

Jungkook placed a comforting hand on Hoseok's shoulder. "Sometimes, things happen for reasons we can't explain. We just have to trust in the universe."

Jimin snuggled up beside Yoongi on the bed, his eyes glued to his phone as he scrolled through social media feeds in search of any clues about Ryley's whereabouts with little to no information on her. But despite his efforts, there was no sign of her.

"It's like she's vanished into thin air," he sighed, frustration lacing his words.

As the hours passed, the tension in the room reached a fever pitch, each member of BTS consumed by their own thoughts and emotions. Taehyung's long fingers hovered over his phone, his mind racing with doubts and uncertainties. Was Ryley really their soulmate, or was it all just a figment of their imagination?

But as he glanced around the room at his bandmates, their faces alight with hope and determination, Taehyung felt a flicker of something stir within him. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that Ryley was meant to be a part of their lives after all.

With a newfound sense of resolve, Taehyung set aside his doubts and joined the others in their search for Ryley, his heart pounding with excitement at the prospect of finally finding their elusive soulmate.

Namjoon sighed deeply with a hand sliding down his face while the other went through his phone. "I'm getting hungry and found a Korean restaurant nearby."

"I'll go and tell security that we're going out then," The second eldest mumbled, unwillingly peeling himself away from Jimin to leave the room. Maybe leaving the hotel and getting some fresh air could give them a new perspective on how to get their girl back.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Yoongi stepped out of the elevator; his mind preoccupied with thoughts of Ryley filling his head as he made his way to the entrance of the hotel for food. He was lost in contemplation when, out of nowhere, he bumped into a small figure and suddenly felt a shock course through his body that was unexpected. They both apologized before turning to one another and...

Ryley stood frozen in her spot, her eyes widening in surprise as she met Yoongi's gaze. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as they stared at each other, that palpable energy crackling between them. She had only gone down to the lobby to check out the gift shop before she left back home, leaving Samantha up in the hotel room waiting for her.

Without a word, Yoongi turned his body toward her fully, his heart pounding in his chest. Ryley's breath caught in her throat as he drew nearer, a mixture of fear and longing swirling within her.

"I-It's you," Yoongi breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could form the words, panic seized her heart, and she turned to flee. But Yoongi's instincts were fast enough to kick into overdrive as he chased after her. Shit, his bodyguards were going to hate him for this later, but he couldn't risk losing her again.

Meanwhile, the rest of the guys emerged from the elevator, their curiosity piqued by Yoongi's sudden departure. Jin's eyes widened in surprise as he spotted Yoongi and Ryley disappearing into the crowd.

"Is that who I think it is?" Namjoon asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Jungkook stared with big eyes, his gaze fixed on Yoongi's retreating figure before speaking to the group. "We need to follow them."

With that, they set off in pursuit with their bodyguards now close behind, weaving through the bustling lobby in search of their wayward bandmate and their soulmate. How was she here? Was this fate?

Yoongi chased after Ryley, his heart pounding in his chest as he fought to keep up with her. But she was fast, her fear lending her speed as she darted through the crowded lobby.

"Wait!" Yoongi called out, desperation creeping into his voice. His English may have been terrible, but he could at least remember some sentences of importance that Namjoon and his English teacher had taught him.

But Ryley didn't stop, her mind consumed by a whirlwind of doubts and insecurities. How could she possibly belong with BTS? It was all a cruel joke, it had to be.

As she reached the exit, Ryley glanced over her shoulder, her eyes widening in surprise as she saw Yoongi hot on her heels. But before she could react, she collided with someone, sending both of them tumbling to the ground in a heap.

Ryley looked up to see the rest of BTS standing before her, their expressions a mixture of concern and confusion. She scrambled to her feet, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she tried to compose herself.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, her voice trembling with emotion. "I didn't mean to—"

But Namjoon held up a hand, cutting her off with a gentle smile. "It's okay. We just want to talk."

Ryley hesitated, her heart racing as she met their gaze. For a moment, she was lost in the depths of their eyes, each one shining with warmth and sincerity.

"We just want to get to know you," Yoongi added, his voice soft and reassuring as he began to stand up now while dusting off the front of his clothes to stand next to her.

Tears welled up in Ryley's eyes as she looked at them, overwhelmed by the outpouring of kindness and acceptance. Most of them didn't say a word, but they really didn't need to because everything was conveyed to her by a single glance. What was she getting herself into?

Security stood back a bit, ready to jump on Ryley or anyone else that could possibly cause harm to the guys, but they made sure to block the gathering crowd from viewing what was going on between the eight of them. They needed to get out of the spotlight and quickly.

"Will you... Come to our hotel room? To talk?" Jin spoke to her gently, trying his hardest to remember all the English words that he could muster without sounding like a complete imbecile in front of his soulmate. Their soulmate.

As she thought about it for a moment, she swallowed hard and then played with the front of her shirt before nodding slowly. "O-Okay."

It was going to be a nerve-wrecking night.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As they made it back to the room, thoughts of dinner completely gone from their mind, the members found themselves sitting across from the one who invaded their every thought, their hearts still racing from their encounter with her. To their delight, Ryley had agreed to join them, a sense of anticipation hanging in the air.

Ryley perched nervously on the edge of the bed, her eyes flickering between all seven of them as they gathered around her, their faces filled with curiosity and excitement. And after she had introduced herself to them, it was time to figure out a little more about her to get a conversation going (with the help of Namjoon's translating, of course).

"Ryley," Yoongi began, his voice gentle yet filled with determination and pleased to finally taste her name on the tip of his tongue. "We're so glad you're here. We have a lot of questions."

Ryley nodded, her heart pounding in her chest as she braced herself for the barrage of inquiries she knew were coming. But to her surprise, they were more interested in getting to know her than interrogating her about her life.

"So, tell us about yourself," Namjoon prompted, his gaze warm and inviting.

Ryley took a deep breath, her mind racing as she tried to think of where to begin. "Well, I live in Los Angeles with my friend Samantha. We met in college and have been inseparable ever since."

Jimin's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned in closer, a playful grin tugging at his lips. "I hope Samantha is okay with letting us steal you from her..."

She blushed at his flirtatious nature despite knowing that it was just who he was, feeling a flutter of butterflies in her stomach as she met Jimin's gaze. "Um, I'm sure she'd have something to say to that."

Jimin's grin widened, his gaze lingering on Ryley as he leaned back, clearly enjoying the playful banter. "Good to know."

As the night wore on, Jimin's flirtatious antics continued, much to the amusement of the rest of BTS. Ryley found herself laughing along with them, feeling more at ease with each passing moment as they shared stories and jokes.

But as the conversation turned to more serious matters, the members of BTS began to discuss how they would make their long-distance relationship work.

"Ryley," Jungkook began, his voice filled with sincerity and his adorably large eyes staring at her with stars in them. "We've been thinking about how we can make this work. Since you live in America and we live in South Korea, it's going to be challenging, but we're willing to do whatever it takes."

Ryley nodded, a sense of warmth spreading through her as she looked around at the members of BTS. "I appreciate that. I want to make this work too, but I'm not sure how feasible it is for me to move to South Korea."

Taehyung's heart sank at Ryley's words, his mind swirling with uncertainty. "Do you think you'd be willing to at least visit us in South Korea?"

Ryley hesitated, her mind racing as she considered the idea. "I don't know. It's a big decision to make, and I have a lot of responsibilities back home."

Jimin leaned in closer, his eyes pleading as he spoke. "Please, Ryley. We really want to make this work, but we need you to meet us halfway."

Ryley felt a pang of guilt at the earnestness in Jimin's voice, his words tugging at her heartstrings. "I'll think about it, okay? I just need some time to process everything."

Yoongi placed a reassuring hand on Ryley's shoulder, his gaze filled with understanding. "Take all the time you need. We're not going anywhere."

But, they were going somewhere. Home. They would be gone by this time tomorrow and there'd be many hurdles to try and get into contact with them again if she came to a decision. Unless...

"Let me give you my phone number," She spoke gently and reached her hand out toward Namjoon so that they could have a means of communication. Maybe they could make things work?

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the-fluff-piece · 1 year ago

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OMGGGG just finished ‘extra training’ and I absolutely loved it, it was so sexy and flirty, would you indulge us in a second part??? Pretty pleaseeeeeee maybe zoro getting hooked or something and just being the I don’t deserve you but no way in hell anyone else is having you so I’ll be better for you omg I’d dieeeeee

Hello dear anon! I am glad that you liked it :D

This one will not be explicitly smutty since its an anon request, but I hope you like it anyways, i also hope i understood your prompt correctly. Send me a private message if you want to confirm your Age and I'll ad a sexier part

Here's

Extra training 2

-> part 1

You and Zoro have been doing it for a few weeks now, that's when the wheel in his brain starts to turn and ask the inevitable question: what's between you and Mihawk???

You got Zoro to play tag with you in the castle, you thought it would be fun and sexy when he would catch you and that it would lead to lots of sex in different places around the castle. You didn't take his special needs into account though.

It turned into a game of Marco Polo because he lost you at every bend and you had to call out to give him a clue where you are.

"Zoro!" You cooed.

"FUCK WHY IS THERE A WALL" Zoro answered.

"Honey, maybe you just need to follow the hallway?" You helped him.

"Ah yeah I guess" you heard is rough voice come closer and had to giggle.

He peeked around the corner like the green haired monster he was and began chasing you again, arms raised and ready to grab you.

You lead him to a part of the castle where there was a massive room full of couches and mirrors that promised to be lots of fun. If he ever got there.

A loud bang could be heard - "fuck another wall!"

"Honey we're inside, there are walls, just look where you are going!" Zoro looked at you a bit crossing eyed - and since his gaze was fixed on your ass, he bumped against any corner and obstacle in the castle.

Visibly confused, but grinning like the idiot he was, he spotted your ass and chased you into the room.

"oh no, what am I going to do?" you mused, maybe overacting a little as you let yourself fall backwards into the cushions.

He didn't mind.

"I know what I am going to do now" he grinned and jumped on top of you.

Zoro

Apart from being separated from his crew and captain, things were going great for Zoro. He got trained by the best swordsman in the world, he got a girl that was a goddess of sex and was fun to be with. She took care of him and sometimes had more stupid ideas than him.

He could get used to this. He could tease her and chase her, fuck her in all holes and fall asleep in her arms every day. She was like a sexy surprise in this stupid castle.

After spending the day training and the evening pounding her through the mirror room, he was exhausted and fell asleep with a smile. Although he sometimes wondered - why was she here? He didn't ask anymore since she evaded the whole topic pretty expertly and didn't intend to be pushy. But he wondered.

Breakfast with the others has turned somewhat awkward since he and y/n had become a couple. Everyone pretended not to be flustered after another night of explicit sounds echoing through the castle. The pink haired brat was so ashamed as if she had been part of it and moped, Mihawk just looked slightly annoyed, but arrogant as always.

Didn't she mention that Mihawk saved her or something? Zoro wrecked his brain about the first conversations with her, but all he could think of was what had happened when she didn't speak.

He felt like living without her was no option anymore. She had sucked his brain out through his dick and he would always come back for more. He feared, thinking about the future, what he might do without her. Probably no good things, that was sure. She was like sustenance he never knew he needed, both when she satisfied his carnal tastes and when she gave him safety and support.

Maybe he would just ask the old swordmaster to tell him more about her. Zoro didn't know what he expected it to lead to - maybe he would learn where she came from? Maybe he could find whoever hurt her before and bring her their head on a platter.

"Yo Mihawk, where did Y/n come from?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Can't you ask her?" he inquired, stoicly eating his breakfast.

"I...I kind of hoped you could tell me" he grunted, already annoyed.

"Well, I found her on a pirate ship. I think they wanted to sell her at the human market." Mihawk told Zoro with a level voice, while Zoro clenched his jaws.

"She would have been sold as a servant, both for houshold and personal services. I surely put her to good use. As I know you are making use of her now." Mihawk still talked like he bought a horse at the market. His voice trailed off as he looked out at the window, already distracted.

Zoro could see y/n and the ghost girl playing some game outside, laughing and enjoying themselves, just as his whole body tensed with rage. Jealousy.

"Are you telling me that you....and her?" he whispered, so as not to scream.

"Isn't it obvious?" Mihawk shrugged.

"Relax, I am sure she is content with serving a hardly mediocre swordsman." Mihawk looked at him with an unspoken challenge in his eyes and turned around. They both knew that even like this, Zoro wouldn't be able to scratch that man.

Zoro swallowed hard as his teacher left the kitchen. His head spun with an explosive concoction of emotions. Instead of examining them one by one, they mixed together and only left darkness.

You

Zoro didn't show up for dinner - or for dessert. That idiot probably got lost. Again. You packed him a hearty lunch and went to look for him. Soon, you heard him grunt and found him repeating slashes with huge training weights, again and again, without pause.

"Hey baby, I brought you dinner." You greeted him. He didn't even turn his head or stopped.

"Not hungry." He grunted, strained from the training.

"I'll just leave it here, just in case you change your mind" you inform him, setting the small package down. No reaction.

"See you later, I'll be in bed" you seductively mentioned. Finally, his brows creased.

"Not coming tonight" He said.

"What?" You snap at him, when he finally set his weights down.

"I said I'm not coming. You're distracting me too much. Leave me alone." The finality of his words stabbed you right through the heart. Just yesterday he was praising you while you made love - now he was wielding his words like his swords, cutting deep. He became more and more like mihawk.

"Fine. Do what you want." You stomped back to the castle, he would not get the satisfaction of seeing you cry. He resumed his training, you heard him grunt and swirling the huge weights through the air.

His new, cold and detached self lasted through all the week. Acting like Mihawk on speed, he either brooded, trained or drank. And didn't look at you like he couldn't bear the sight.

As his body became emaciated, your pity for him dwindled as well. He wanted this.

Life became quiet and uniform again, grey days bleeding into each other, burying all the laughter you had shared.

The gloom was cut by the most unexpected of actors - the ghost girl's strange, high pitched laughter echoed through the castle until her head popped through the wall, her round eyes focusing on you.

"Y/N, you gotta see it! Zoro challenged Mihawk to a duel!" She shouted, already vanishing again.

"Out in the gaardeeeeen" her ghostly voice vibrated through the hallway.

You hurried outside, it was not hard to find. The clashing of swords was enough to guide you. Mihawk, lazily holding his signature sword, stood before Zoro with his three weapons. No expertise in fighting was needed to see that Zoro was losing, hard.

He was exhausted, starving without realising it and probably drunk. Sweat ran down his face and body.

"You Bastard" He growled past the sword in his mouth.

"Why is this do Important to you?" Mihawk asked, exasperated.

He played with Zoro, let him come, evaded his attack but didn't counter. Clearly tiring his opponent more. Usually, zoro was more intelligent than this. He seemed distressed, angry.

"If anyone is to be punished here, it would be you. Neglecting your training, ruining your most important weapon- your will and body. A disgrace. I will teach you." Mihawk lectured and finally struck.

Zoro was hit, tumbling back, holding his head as blood streamed from his eye.

"If you let your emotions get the better of you, unbalance you, you're finished. Come back when you've learned that." He said and left.

You ran to him, determined to help.

"Get away" he weakly said, while trying to prop himself up on one arm, just to immediately collapse again into a weeping heap of pain.

"You stupid bonehead" you muttered already wrapping his head in parts of your shirt, he barely protested. As you looked down on him, he looked utterly and completely defeated, he wouldn't even keep you from helping him anymore.

The defeat was so complete that he even let Perona and you haul him to a bed, where he lost consciousnes from all the overexercion, it gave you the opportunity to check his face.

With horror you had to accept that his beautiful eye was damaged beyond repair and you did your best to stop the bleeding and prevent further infection.

He slept through to the next day, leaving you alone with your questions and your anger over his recent shitty behavior.

On the next day, he finally woke up, one bloodshot eye watching you from the bed with a stoic expression.

He didn't say anything as his eye fixated on you and he began to pad his injuries with his hand, feeling the bandages you had applied. When his hand came to his damaged eye, his expression darkened. You slowly nodded, almost tearing up at the thought of his loss.

He just closed his other eye and sighed. You couldn't hold back and gently let your fingers trail over his cheek, feeling a silent tear run down when he finally spoke.

"I lost bad, huh?" he asked with a hoarse whisper.

"yes" you answered. A pause followed, the silence intensified by the ticking clock and wind blowing through all the cracks in the castle.

"I'm sorry" he muttered.

"Damn right you're sorry" you answered, assuming he meant his strange behavior.

"I am stupid, I run against walls, I am not even a great fighter. I am not good enough for you. Sorry." He continued.

"What are you talking about? Don't you believe me when I tell you how much I love you?" You ask him, a bit irritated.

"It's...I.." he stammered, trying to prop himself up on his arms but failing. Lying on his back, whimpering, he cries: "You used to be with Mihawk! I can't best him. Fuck!" Desperate, he pulled his hair and eventually covered his face with his hands.

"What? How do you know? All of this - hust because youre jealous?!" You ask.

"Yes...no..." He mumbled through his hands.

"Than what do you want?" You guided him through his feelings.

"You" his answer came swiftly and with confidence, his one weary eye wandering over you.

"Really? You're not acting like it. You act like you want to punish yourself" you told him.

"Goddammit!" He cried out. "We're not in therapy here! I want you so bad, but I can't even...I have nothing for you. But Mihawk is even worse. Fuck!" He seemed unable to loosen the knot he made in his thoughts.

"Oh, so you want me to fuck Mihawk?" You provoked him.

"No! That man's a total psycho!" He said, shocked. He seemed to think hard for a moment.

"Even if I'm not worthy, I'll have you anyway." He concluded.

"Am I selfish?" He asked, weakly.

"You're stupid." You swung yourself onto his bed and straddled him like so many times before, he deserved a little comfort. His arms gripped your thighs weakly.

He smiled at you, and you were finally feeling the bond between you again. Sweat beaded his forehead as he began to move.

Once again he tried to lift his upper body off the mattress, but failed miserably, panting.

"Fuck, it hurts" He cried out.

"What would you do to keep what you have?" You softly asked.

"Anything" He said, his gaze fixed on you.

"Right answer. Such a good little boy." You began to enjoy his helplessness. His body was unable to move, he was at your mercy.

You began to run your hands up and down his body, careful not to hurt him, sparing the deep cuts and bruises. Letting your fingers glide slowly over his chest, you felt all the new and old scars, his muscles. He closed his eye and sighed. Bending down to bring your face close to his, you peppered his face with kisses, on his cheeks, his nose, his forehead and his smiling mouth.

"I may not be the best swordfighter yet, but I'm not gonna give you up. No one else can have you" He whispered.

You caressed the damaged side. He leaned in a little, seeming to forget the pain of his injury.

"And I'll lose the other eye too if it means I get to keep you" He said.

"Don't be so dramatic. And don't you run into a senseless fight like that again" you told him.

"Yes ma'am." He said.

"Or do you want to miss this sight?" You asked, peeling out of your shirt.

His eye widened, just as his dirty grin returned.

"No ma'am" He growled and once again failed to lift his arms.

You lay down on top of him and caressed his skin.

"Don't you ever, ever do something like that to me again." You whispered, seriously.

"Never" He whispered against your hair.

So, I'm Sorry that this one got a bit darker and less sexy than the one before, it kind of...happened. I feel like the thought fits zoro well, he never feels good enough and decides to punish himself for it. I also just wanted to write how he lost his eye.

I also like the thought that every time after the big fights, he's absolutely immobile and can be used like a toy 🥵

Taglist @yeeeeezly @waitingmydemons @stariski @violetmatcha

#one piece fanfiction #one piece x you #op zoro #one piece zoro #zoro roronoa #one piece roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x you #zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro #the fluff piece #one piece fluff #zoro angst #one piece angst

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daftdrac · 4 months ago

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pspspspsps

the start of the from the fog holiday series but Robert gets sick (frostbite or anything else really), and Sean and Shadow have to nurse him back to health

Shadow grunted with effort as he pushed a branch out of his face, carefully stepping over another berry bush- and getting his pants leg snagged anyways. When he felt the thorns tug in the fabric, he groaned, dropping his sword as he leaned down and carefully untangled himself. Picking his sword back up, he glances around the clearing Sean, Robert and him had built in. He stepped up to their shabby cabin, ducking his head down to enter through the doorway. Sean was inside, tending to a furnace- from what Shadow could see, it was some of the little mutton they'd managed to collect thus far.

"Hey," he greeted passingly, walking over to the bed they all shared- technically three separate beds, but pushed together. The group wasn't new to these scenarios, they knew it would be safer to sleep in a pile than each separately. For heat conservation, they all reminded themselves consistently. Sean gave an acknowledging nod, but didn't look up, and Shadow set his sword down on the hard ground, the dirt floors housing a top layer of permafrost from the freezing climate.

"Where's Robert at?" Shadow mused, turning to face Sean as he stretched his arms up, grunting under his breath as his muscles relaxed.

"Uhh, I think he said he was gonna go looking for something- animals, or resources- maybe you, I wasn't paying much attention." Shadow raised an eyebrow at Sean, who still had his back turned to the taller man.

"Uh, alright then, I'll go wait outside," he mumbled. He took large strides towards the door frame, once again ducking to fit through. He glanced around the clearing once again, eyes landing on the small chicken pen and berry farm they'd managed to get up and running.

We're lucky these berries are so resistant to the cold, he thought, they've been our primary food source so far. He glanced at the snow on the ground, and a smile creeped up his face. He crouched down, adjusting his hood as it came down in front of his eye, and stuck his hands into the snow, starting to ball it up and pack it together. He made a few snowballs, smirking as he leaned back against the fence, holding the cold, half-frozen objects in his lap as he waited.

It didn't take long for Robert to return, coming out of the forest from generally the same area Shadow had. His head snapped up as something hit the tree beside him, seeing Shadow and ducking a second too late, taking a snowball to the face. Shadow dropped his last snowball in surprise, sucking air through his teeth sympathetically

"Ooh- shit, sorry man," he apologized, stepping forward. Robert wiped the snow off his face with his sleeves, his eyes squinted. His nose was pink, and as Shadow looked more closely at him, so were his ears- and his knuckles and fingers.

"It's- it's fine, dude, I'm good-," Robert grumbled, stepping through the brush towards the berry farm. "Do you have any food-? I- ran out halfway back, almost got ambushed by something," Shadows brow furrowed, his level of concern for Robert immediately rising. He glanced down at Robert's hands, seeing they were shaking.

"Uh- yeah, yeah, give me a second," He sputtered, digging in one of his bags, pulling out some berries and handing them to Rob. "Sean's cooking the mutton we got inside, c'mon," Shadow urged, placing a sturdy hand on Roberts back to lead him.

The two went inside, and Sean, hearing two sets of footsteps, glanced up. He immediately locked on to Roberts rosy features, and handed him some of the freshly cooked meat. "Rob, come sit down," he ordered, and he didn't even hesitate before grabbing Robert's arm and pulling him towards their beds.

Shadow frowned, following and sitting by his side. "You cold? What's wrong?" He asked, both him and Sean having already clocked something was up.

"I- I don't know, It doesn't matter probably, just- really.. *cold*," he shuddered, leaning into Shadows' side, subconsciously seeking warmth. Sean hesitated, but pulled his mask off.

Shadow glanced up at Sean's face with slight surprise, but ultimately returned his focus to Robert as Sean leaned forward, pressing the back of his hand to Rob's forehead.

"..are you- sure you're cold, Rob?" Sean asked, eyes narrowed. Shadows surprised, did the same as Sean, wincing when he felt the fever Robert was nursing.

"*Oh*, you-.. Finish eating, then lay down." He said, his tone stern, leaving little room for argument, though it wasn't like Rob had the energy to argue anyways.

~...

I'm bored. I love this sm but I've been writing for the past hour and I still have like 2 hrs almost left so I'll come back to this if I get bored and finish this drabble but like. 😭

Hope you enjoy Astro 🙏 I actually love this prompt/ship

#daft literature #scenario smp #forgelabs #forge labs #shadowmech #okrobert #whump #(?)#idk.#sickfic #ig.#quickmechlabs

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godlizzza · 1 year ago

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can we get Dan bottoming? I think he deserves it after all he's been thru

Dan had never struggled to ask for what he wanted in the past.

However, in the past he had never felt the want to get fucked up the ass, so it hadn't really been a problem. Now, though, it was a problem. He and Herbert had only just settled into a kind of routine that incorporated sex into their daily lives, so for Dan to ask for a role reversal felt too spontaneous, too unscripted.

For some reason he was convinced that Herbert would make a big deal about it. That Herbert would grin and tease him about his desires until Dan was so hot with embarrassment he would burn to a crisp. So, he resolved to keep it to himself. After all, he certainly enjoyed what they were already doing, so was it really a great loss that he wouldn't know what if felt like to have Herbert inside him?

Christ, just thinking about it got him all hot and bothered.

Herbert had clearly picked up on Dan's antsy behaviour. He cast him a look across the kitchen counter one night while he was scrubbing dishes. Dan had taken the opportunity to sit at the counter and watch. It was a rare sight to see Herbert so scrubbed down and domestic, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and soapy suds clinging to his arms, so he tried to indulge in it when he could.

His sweet musings were broken when Herbert said, "You've been acting weird lately."

This had Dan's hand falling from its place propping up his chin to slap against the marble countertop. "Huh? Me? Acting weird?"

"Yes," Herbert said, narrowing his eyes at him. "So, what is it? Was it something I said?" His voice turned mocking on the last sentence, pulling Dan's mouth into a frown.

"No. It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

Herbert turned his attention completely on Dan then, ignoring the dishes still piled in the sink to place his fists on his hips. "Don't be difficult, Dan."

"I'm not-"

"You are, so just tell me. Is it something to do with that experiment from yesterday?"

"No, Herbert," Dan sighed, running a hand through his hair. He was growing steadily warmer the longer this line of questioning went on. "It's nothing to do with the lab."

"Then what?" Herbert sounded exasperated, as thought Dan were being ridiculous.

And maybe he was. Weren't you supposed to openly communicate with the people you were fooling around with? Even if that person was Herbert? With another sigh, Dan tried to push past his embarrassment and get his thoughts in order.

"It's about us. And...sex," Dan admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

Herbert merely pursed his lips. "Alright. What about it? Let me guess, we're not having enough of it to satisfy you?"

"No," Dan shot back, heat shooting up his neck (though he certainly wouldn't refuse if more sex was on the table). "I was just wondering if you'd ever thought about, you know...switching it up?"

"How do you mean?"

Dan licked at his lips, which had suddenly gone dry. "I mean, like...have you ever wanted to-? Like, instead of me fucking you-?"

"Oh." Herbert blinked at him as though he'd been expected a far more complicated answer than the one Dan had just stammered out to him. "You want me to fuck you?"

Dan bit down on the stab of lust that hit his stomach at Herbert's words. He settled for nodding, trying to decipher the look on Herbert's face. The look that held no trace of mocking contempt. Herbert, instead of pointing and laughing at Dan for asking to get his ass pounded, simply shrugged instead.

"Alright," Herbert said, drying his hands off on a dishrag. "Did you want to do that right now?"

Dan nearly fell right out of his seat.

They didn't end up doing it right away. Dan had a shower first, during which he cleaned himself thoroughly and attempted to finger himself open. The idea of having Herbert do it--of prolonging any instance that would involve Herbert kneeling behind him and staring directly at his naked, spread open ass cheeks--was too much to consider. It would be simpler if they could just get right to it, Dan decided. He'd tried this on himself a handfull of times, but it hadn't been for too long, and never with the intention of sticking something larger inside afterwards.

However, he thought he managed to do an okay job of it. So, by the time he emerged from the bathroom in only a towel, the water still clinging to his chest and dripping from his hair, there was a slight ache between his legs. Herbert was sat on the edge of the bed, folding up his pants and laying them on the ottoman. This gave Dan a prime view of Herbert's bare legs, milky-white and dusted with dark hair. His shirt-stays were still clinging to his thighs, the ring of them ending just past the cuff of his underwear. The sight nearly drove Dan to forget about his own plans to get railed and throw Herbert down on the bed to ravish him.

But then Herbert looked up at him and swept his gaze along the length of his body. The way his eyes darkened and settled to stare at Dan's bare chest had Dan swallowing against the sudden thickness in his throat.

"How did you go?" Herbert asked, his voice coming out oddly scratchy.

"Um, okay, I think," Dan replied, slowly approaching the edge of the bed. He didn't know how to start this. Should he just lay there and let Herbert have his way with him? He had no idea. "Uh, I'm not sure- How do you normally like it?"

Herbert took a moment to consider this, eying Dan up as he did. Eventually he rose to his feet and took Dan's hand, guiding him to take his spot on the edge of the mattress. "I'm not too picky but I quite like it like this."

He gently pushed at Dan's chest until Dan laid back, his feet still touching the carpeted floor. Herbert crowded in close until he was stood between Dan's legs, leaning forward to stroke his hands along Dan's thighs. His fingers brushing under the towel and hiking it higher up towards his hips had Dan sucking in a sharp breath.

Herbert's eyes were twin flames of burning desire as he loomed over him. "What do you think?"

Once again, Dan's voice failed him, so he just nodded jerkily. "Uh- Yes. Yes, okay."

"Good," Herbert said, sounding equally shaky.

He leaned down until his elbows pressed into the mattress on either side of Dan's torso. Dan pushed himself up to meet Herbert in the middle. They kissed languidly for a moment, Dan closing his eyes to luxuriate in the feel of Herbert's lips on his. Then Herbert gasped against his mouth and the temperature in the room spiked. Dan could feel himself getting hard as Herbert trailed a hand down his stomach, brushing the hairs along his navel, before settling on the edge of the towel.

It was when Herbert teasingly stroked his fingers along the length of Dan's erection over the towel that Dan wrenched his mouth away with a stuttering breath.

"Okay, come on. Touch me."

"So impatient," Herbert chuckled.

He tugged the towel open and Dan was suddenly naked, splayed out below Herbert who was still half dressed. Something about that just turned Dan on more and he was suddenly desperate for Herbert's cock. His face burned at the thought and he covered his eyes with his hands, sure that what he was thinking must've been written all over him. He heard the sound of a bottle being popped opened and the squelch of lube being squirted out. He only peeked between his fingers when he felt the cool brush of Herbert's slick fingers at his ass.

Herbert's face was tense with concentration as he pushed a finger inside. Dan gasped at the intrusion but it didn't hurt. Herbert's pointer finger easily slid all the way in to the knuckle. He added another and then quickly another, pumping Dan with three fingers, testing him out. Dan clutched at the sheets, eyes screwed shut as he tried to get comfortable, adapting to this new sensation. It was okay--something Dan could get used to--but it was when Herbert grasped his dick to jerk him off in tandem with his fingers that he moaned.

"Good?" Herbert asked softly and Dan nodded vigorously.

"Yes. You're so- Ah!"

Herbert curled his fingers, brushing against that sweet spot inside Dan and Dan saw stars. White hot pleasure lanced down his spine, sending his toes curling against the carpet. Were it not for Herbert's handing squeezing his cock he might've come right then and there.

"Fuck," Dan wheezed, blinking against the sweat trickling down his brow. "Fuck."

"Okay," Herbert said tightly, pulling his fingers out and releasing his cock. "I think you're, um, good to go."

Dan whined at the loss, suddenly feeling empty. He propped himself up on his elbows to watch Herbert unclasp his shirt-stays. They flopped down to dangle over his thighs, but the rings of black spandex remained taught around his legs like matching torniquets. Then he was pushing his underwear down to pool around his ankles and stepping out of them. Watching Herbert stroke himself, slicking himself up, getting ready to fuck him- It did things to Dan's psyche.

Herbert stepped close, one hand wrapped around his cock, the other running up and down Dan's leg. He pushed at Dan's thigh until Dan got the message and curled his legs up, lifting his feet off the ground. Laying there like that, his knees splayed apart, Herbert standing between his legs, he'd never been more exposed, but he didn't feel embarrassed about it, like he'd thought he would be. Instead, he just thrummed with anticipation as Herbert lined the head of his cock up with his entrance. The brush of Herbert's cock against his ass made him shiver, his body aching to be filled.

Herbert flicked his eyes up to Dan. "Ready?"

"Yes," Dan said in a rush, the words spilling over his lips. "Yes, I'm ready. Let's just- Okay?"

Herbert bit down on his lip, seemingly to fight off a smile. "Okay. Let's just."

And then he was pushing inside, cutting off anything else Dan might've even thought about saying. It took a minute of pushing in and pausing to give Dan time to adjust before Herbert was finally sheathed inside him. When his hips were flush with the back of Dan's thighs, Dan let out a choked groan. Herbert wasn't a big guy but it was still the most of another person that Dan had ever had inside his body. It was so much. He had no idea how Herbert did this on the regular, like it was no big deal.

Herbert's face was pinched with desire, his eyes squeezed shut and his glasses slipping down his nose. His breathing was coming out in shallow puffs, colour flushing up his neck and dotting his cheeks. He looked blissed out before he'd even started moving. It made a surge of fondness for him swell inside Dan. He had never met a more trying, irritating person than Herbert, but in that moment, he was as endeared to him as he'd ever been.

"You can move now," Dan told him, his voice sounding too loud in the quiet of the room.

Herbert cracked his eyes open and nodded. He rocked his hips slightly before pulling out and thrusting back in. Dan gasped at the feeling, his hand flying out to grab Herbert's collar. Herbert kept his grip on Dan's legs folded in on his chest as he began to set up a stuttering rhythm. With every thrust, a little breathy cry was dragged from Dan's throat. He felt like he ought to be doing something--contributing in some way--but he supposed his ass was the contribution. He was so used to being active during sex that he had to keep reminding himself that just laying there and taking it was what he was supposed to be doing.

Herbert clearly didn't have any complaints if the string of deep grunts he was letting out as he pounded into him were any indication. Dan gritted his teeth and hissed at a particularly hard thrust that pushed him up the sheets a few inches.

"Sorry," Herbert huffed, his voice coming out rough and throaty. "Too much?"

"Maybe a little," Dan rasped.

Herbert kept going at a gentler pace, fucking him with short, slow movements that had Dan letting out a wobbly breath.

"I don't know how you do this," Herbert whispered.

Dan barked a laugh at that, blinking up at the ceiling as Herbert hunched over him further. "That bad, huh?"

"Shut it. It's not bad. It's--mm--good. Very good. So good I don't know how you--ah!--make it last."

"With much difficulty," Dan told him sliding his hand around to clutch at the back of Herbert's neck. He yanked him down until their foreheads were touching and gasped, "Now, come on. Don't stop."

Herbert's eyes widened. "Did you think I was going to?"

Instead of responding, Dan pushed his face up to kiss him. He moaned into the kiss as Herbert continued to fuck him, drawing a sound out of Herbert that vibrated between their lips. Dan hooked one of his legs around Herbert's back to tug him even closer, even deeper, and that was enough to send Herbert over the edge. His mouth fell open against Dan's as he came inside of him with a guttural groan.

The feeling of a wetness spreading out inside of him was odd to Dan. Odd but not unpleasant. The knowledge that it was Herbert's come, that he'd enjoyed fucking Dan so much that he'd shot his load inside of him just made his eyes flutter shut and relish in the feeling.

Herbert's shoulders slumped but he didn't collapse on top of Dan. Instead, he pushed himself up on an elbow and reached between them to take Dan's cock in his hand. Dan was so worked up, so turned on by the sound of Herbert crying out as he'd reached his orgasm playing in his head over and over, that it didn't take long for Herbert's clever hand to work him up to the edge. He buried his face in Herbert's neck as he came, some gurgled noise tearing from his throat as he shot ropes of come over his own stomach.

Herbert pulled out and rolled off of him to slump beside Dan on the bed. This left Dan with the decidedly grosser sensation of feeling Herbert's come leaking out of his ass. He'd definitely be needing another shower.

"Well?" Herbert said after what seemed like eons.

"Yeah?" was all Dan's sex-addled brain could formulate.

Herbert huffed out a scoff of a laugh and turned his head to the side to look at him. "Well, what did you think?"

"You're asking me to think? Right now?" Dan complained, rolling his head to stare back at Herbert. He was still flushed, his pale skin blotchy in places and his hair a mess, but he still managed to look imperious as he raised an eyebrow at Dan. Dan rolled his eyes. "It was good, okay? Really good. You totally rocked my world, baby."

Herbert gagged and tried to roll away but Dan caught him round the waist and pulled him back down against the bed.

"I was having a good time until you said that," Herbert said, pouting just enough to tempt Dan to lean over and kiss him.

Dan hummed into the kiss, breaking away only far enough to mumble against Herbert's mouth, "I can show you a good time."

Then he was throwing his leg over Herbert's hips and crowding in on top of him. If he was going to need a shower later, anyway, he might as well get a little dirtier.

#ask and ye shall receive #let dan have his back blown out #its what he deserves #danbert #dan cain #herbert west #spice #n sfw #re-animator #my fics #writing prompt #asks #reanimator

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