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tomssexdoll · 2 days

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PLZ ANGST, nd how the story goes is ur choice!

Guess who's back, back again

"Tom what the fuck?! You can't just come back into my life after I've finally found someone who can make me as happy as you could!"

PAIRINGS: Tom 2010 x Female reader

CONTENT: ANGST + SMUT + FLUFF

SYPNOSIS: Y/N has escaped from her gang life and has been living with her boyfriend of 3 years, she was only 17 when she escaped from Tom and the gang, leaving her dangerous past behind her. Then, one day she gets a call from a random number, she thinks nothing of it until she picks up and hears his familiar, haunting voice.

A/N: i hope you guys like this!!! <3

WARNINGS: dom!tom, reader!sub, p in v (riding and doggy), rough kissing, hickeys, pulling hair, light arguing, mentions of violence, drugs, etc

I used to be in a gang, I was only 15 when I joined, my boyfriend Tom being the leader. We did stupid, irresponsible shit. Stealing cars, threatening people, robbing stores, etc. I loved that life at the time, it was like a rush for me, it was exciting, nothing like the life I had before it.

My parents were worried sick most of the time, I'd be gone for days and return drunk, high or covered in cuts and bruises. Me and Tom really did love each other, that's what made it so hard to leave.

We met when we were 14, he was quite a badly behaved student, known for smoking and drinking and starting fights, stealing and shooting things.

I don't know what it was but I just fell in love with him, the second we locked eyes it's like the world stopped, I could tell he felt the same way, the way his eyes softened as he looked at me.

He had a really bad childhood, his father was an addict and blew all their money on drugs and booze, leaving them to starve for days. His mother abused him and his twin brother Bill. Tom always looked after Bill, even at school, Bill was bullied heavily but Tom always had his back and I did too.

Bill was never interested in the whole gang life, he stayed far away from it while still having a close relationship with his brother. I loved how close they were, how they had that love for each other despite never been shown it growing up.

He was a runaway, he left home around 50 times in the span of a year, always being dragged back by the cops. We formed a friendship after months of passing notes to each other in class, everyone could sense the tension from a mile away, the way I'd stutter when talking to him or the way he'd just stare as I walked by.

I still remember the day we first kissed each other, we were at some ratty corner shop trying to buy cigarettes from the cashier, his friends were inside while we were flirting outside. He grabbed me face and kissed me softly, nothing like I expected from him, the tough gangbanger he made himself out to be.

I knew that wasn't the real him, I wanted him to just let go of it but he could never do it, he always would run back to the gang life, dragging me with him. I eventually joined his gang when I was 15, robbing and starting fights with them, everyone at school being scared of us.

The teachers would just look at me with sadness in their eyes, I never understood why, weren't they scared? Now of course I know it was because they saw a model student turn into something they feared the most.

My first everything was with Tom, we had so much fun together, so much love for each other. Even when we'd fight we'd usually end up fucking or cuddling for the whole night. Our relationship wasn't healthy at all, we fought a lot, mostly because of my jealousy issues and his possessiveness. We'd go at each other for the silliest things.

He wasn't scared of anyone, he would quite literally square up to a guy who was a foot taller than him, this is only because he was very good at fighting, he trained since he was little because of his abusive parents, wanting to prove to them he wasn't worthless.

I really did love him, I loved the risks, the gang life, the violence and the drugs but I couldn't do it anymore. I knew I'd end up dead or in jail and I didn't want my future to be on the line just for a boy.

At the age of 17 I finally left, it was the middle of the night and we were in one of our usual spots, sleeping in a random house. I snuck out and just ran for it, running as fast as my legs could hold me, running until my lungs gave out.

I made it to my house, quickly packing some things and stealing some money from my parents. I wrote a quick note to them and added my contact details if they wanted to stay in touch.

And with that, I left, I got on the nearest train and just left, going anywhere it would take me. I just had to stay hidden, not let him find me.

Then, when I had settled into my new life I met someone, after 6 months I moved into his place and we got engaged. I was so happy, forgetting about everything that had happened, my life amazing and better.

Then, one day, 4 years after I ran away, I got a call. It was from an unknown number so I just stepped outside the house, wondering who was calling. I figured it was a scam call and wanted to mess with them, but when I picked up, his voice was the only thing I heard.

I froze, all the memories coming back. How the fuck did he find my number? After nearly half a decade he found me? What was I supposed to do, I can't go back to that life.

"Baby?" he said, his voice deep. "To-...Sorry..uh, I think you have the wrong number," I said, my voice shaky with every word that came out of my mouth. "Don't bullshit Y/N, I just...I've missed you," he sighed.

"I left for a reason Tom, you know I couldn't stay," I felt tears welling up in my eyes, all the love I had for him returning just at the sound of his voice. "I know liebe, but I can't stand seeing you with that guy you're with, I want you back, I need you," his tone was desperate, almost urgent.

"Tom no, it's too risky!" I grunted, "too bad, I'm in your city and I need to see you, just at least once, please," he begged, the sound of his sports car echoing from the phone.

"Tom what the fuck?! You can't just come back into my life after I've finally found someone who can make me as happy as you could!" I yelled, tears falling down my cheeks.

"Don't cry baby, you know I hate to hear you upset.." he sighed, "I'm pulling up to your house now," he said before hanging up, not letting me get a word in.

I heard his car roaring through the neighbouring streets until he approached my house, the tires screeching as he came to a halt. As he got out my eyes widened, he looked so different now.

He used to have his dreadlocks, his baggy clothes but now, his head was covered in black cornrows, his body covered with dark blue jeans and a black jacket. A black and white bandana wrapped around his forehead.

With every step he took toward me my heart rate went crazy, basically ready to jump out of my chest and run away. "T...tom..." I breathed out, my jaw hanging low on the floor.

"Oh my god, you're beautiful.." he approached me, towering over me and taking in my features. "My boyfriend is home Tom..you can't be here!" I gritted through my teeth, checking around to see if he was looking.

"Shut up, just come with me, I don't give a fuck about your stupid boyfriend," he grabbed my arm, dragging me to his car. "Tom!" I called out, trying to get him off me but his grip only tightened, his fingers digging into me.

He shoved me into the passanger seat, wrapping around the car and getting into the drivers side, speeding off. "Where the fuck are we going Tom, I didn't even agree to this, you better not be taking me back, you know I can't go back!" I whined loudly, "just be quiet! I'm just trying to find a quiet spot," he grunted, his patience wearing thin.

After a while he found a random empty parking lot, parking in the middle and turning to me, "I don't get it, how could you leave, just like that?" I could tell he was getting angry, "did you even care, did you even love me?"

"Of course I fucking did Tom! You don't know how hard it was to leave, for weeks after I left I cried non stop, missing you, hoping one day things could work out and we would be back together, don't act like I never cared you know I did!" I raised my voice, offended at his accusations.

"Calm down..fuck..I was just worried ok?" he reached out and took my hand in his, our eyes locking. "Tom we can't...I'm with him, this isn't right.." I knew I had to pull away but I just couldn't.

He slowly leaned in, wrapping his hand around the back of my head and pulling me closer, smashing his lips into mine. "Mmm! Tom!" I gasped, pulling away.

"Just come here for fuck sakes, I know you want me as much as I fucking want you," he growled, grabbing me by my waist and pulling me into his lap.

"Do you know how hard I've tried to move on? I've been with so many girls but they aren't you!" he held my face, forcing me to look at him. "Tom.." "No! I'm not going to let you go, I can't lose you again, do you know how hard I've worked to find you? I'm not throwing it away!" he yelled, "fine! For fuck sakes if you want me so badly here!" I grabbed his face and kissed him again, our lips locking in a rough and passionate embrace.

"Mmm!" I moaned, Tom sliding his tongue into my mouth and exploring every inch. He tugged at my clothes, practically ripping them off me, leaving me nude on his lap.

I pulled away from the kiss, taking his jacket and shirt off, his toned body revealed, lined with sweat. I hovered over him as he took his jeans off, letting them pool at his feet on the car floor.

He was left in his boxers, his cock straining against them, begging to be freed. I sat back down on his lap, my bare pussy grinding against his clothed cock, stained with pre cum.

"Mmm...baby.." he groaned, holding my ass while he kissed me passionately. He grinded up into me, the big buldge rubbing against my clit, driving me wild.

"Ohh fuck!" I whined, burying my face into his neck, rubbing my cunt over his buldge repeatedly, feeling myself getting wetter and wetter.

He reached down and finally took his cock out, freeing it from it's confines. I gasped as I saw his size, it was way bigger than before, growing 2 inches and gurthier. "Tom, how the fuck am I going to handle that, jesus!" I whined, he chuckled, "just relax baby, let me do all the work," he pushed my head back into his neck, rubbing the head of his cock through my folds, collecting the wetness.

He gripped my hips, thrusting upwards and entering me in a swift, hard movement, leaving me gasping at the sudden flood of pleasure. His grip tightened as he began to move, "fuck..you like that schatz?" he groaned lowly, picking up his pace and fucking me harder.

His hips slammed into mine with almost violent force, enough to make the car shake around me. His thrusts became more desperate as he heard my loud moans, I leaned back and let my tits bounce wildly close to his face.

He watched in awe, his cock throbbing in me and his hands reaching out to grab them, squeezing them roughly as his cock pounded into me. "Ohhh shit!" I whined, throwing my head back. He kept slamming me back into him in a harsh rhythm, his own pleasure becoming too much to handle.

"You're mine, always will be and always have, that fucker won't fuck you as good as I do," he growled lowly, sending chills down my spine. "Y...yes Tom!" I moaned loudly, he eyes practically gleamed at my reponse, the virile satisfaction flaring up in him.

His thrusts became even more frantic, his eyes closing as he possessively grips my tips tighter, almost bruising as he slams me back against him again and again.

The wet sounds of our bodies meeting filling the car, piercing our ears. "God..I'm not gonna last much longer, you're just too fucking good!" he whined, feeling my pussy tighten around him.

"Me too...fuck! So close!" I cried out, rolling my eyes back as the pleasure hit me like a truck, shockwaves coursing throughout my body. He continued to thrust into me, the car now shaking intensely from his rough movements, his own orgasm building rapidly alongside mine.

"Fuckk!" I practically screamed, my pussy clamping around his cock as my orgasm crashed down, triggering his own release. "Shit!" he moaned loudly, spilling himself inside my sopping cunt, coating my walls with his thick cum.

He grunted in satisfaction as he continued to slowly thrust into me, riding out the waves of my orgasm with his own. "Fuck..that was amazing schatzi.." he panted heavily, his hands gripping my ass tightly.

"I wanna feel you cum on my cock again...get in the back," he commanded, I instantly obeyed, crawling into the backseat and bending over, waiting for him.

He got out of the car and quickly slipped into the back, closing the door behind him. He didn't waste anytime and slid his cock into my wet, needy heat with a low groan.

He gripped my hips again, beginning to thrust into me roughly, savouring the feeling of my tight pussy squeezing around him in reponse to his touch.

He couldn't resist reaching forward and grabbing my hair, pulling it roughly, "that's it, take my cock," he smirked, pounding into me roughly, hitting my g spot with such force I thought I would explode.

He starts to move faster, slamming into me with such force, nothing compared to my boyfriend at home. His grip on my hair tightens as he fucks me harder, making me squirm beneath him.

I arched my back to meet his thrusts, rolling my eyes back at the amount of pleasure I was recieving. "Fucking whore, taking my cock so well.." he grunted, his hand coming down and smacking my ass roughly, leaving a faint red mark.

"Ah!" I yelped in response, he grinned at my reaction, pulling me against his chest, his lips brushing against my ear, "that's right baby, scream and cry all you want," he whispered.

The sound of slapping skin filled the car, his lips moving towards my neck, sucking and biting roughly, leaving huge, dark purple marks all over. He continued to pound into me, his hips moving in a perfect rhythm as he fucks me like there's no tomorrow, a hand coming to my breast and giving it a rough squeeze, almost for encouragement.

His thrusts becoming more rough and dominant as he takes control of me, his balls slapping against my clit, sending waves of pleasure throughout me, my second release dangerously close.

"Gonna cum, keep going!" I cried out, biting down on my lip harshly. He continued to leave rough and sloppy kisses on my neck, migrating towards my shoulders, leaving more marks there.

"Cum on this fucking cock, cmon," he roared, his cock buried deep inside me as he fucks me viciously, throbbing wildly, signalling his impending orgasm.

With one hard thrust I was sent into oblivion, cumming on his cock again, a clear liquid streaming from my cunt and onto the leather seats. "Ohh you messy girl.." he chuckled, continuing to thrust into me, trying to drive more orgasms out of me.

His method worked, my pussy streaming with the clear liquid again, "ohhh fuck.." he growled, once again emptying himself in me, painting my insides white.

"Fuck.." he panted, sitting down and grabbing me, pulling me onto his lap, letting our highs die down. "Jesus christ..." he chuckled, kissing the top of my head softly. "You did so well mein liebe, missed this pussy so much.." he mumbled, pulling out slowly, careful to not overstimulate me.

After calming down he held me in his arms, carrying me back to the front seat and helping me get dressed again, "how about we rent a hotel for the night, see what to do from here, hm?" he lifted my chin, making me look at him.

I nodded, barely conscious after he just fucked me dumb. "Good girl.." he chuckled, letting me sit in his lap as he drove off.

tags: @itsmealaiah @itsangelll @ballhair @kaulitzsbabyy

tags: @kaulitzswhxre @cosmicck @bkaulitzlover

tags: @20doozers @tomsonlyslut @ge-billsgf

tags: @miyukafujii @ella1289

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shankss-magnificent-ass · 1 day

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Imagine meeting Rob Lucci again on Egghead Island

Warning: Contains spoilers! If you aren't caught up in the Egghead arc and don't want spoilers, don't read.

Rob: [tied up and unconscious on the floor of Vegapunk's lab]

You: [glaring at him from the other side of the room]

Stussy: Oh my, that's quite a scary look. It's almost like you know him.

You: I do know him, or at least I thought I did... A little over two years ago I lived on Water 7 where I worked for an engineering firm, and had a life, and a boyfriend.

Stussy: {looks shocked and points at Rob] Was he your boyfriend?

You: Yup, but I got transferred here shortly before he tried to kill Iceberg, who is my adoptive father. We used to exchange letters, and then one day they just stopped, and then three weeks later I got a letter from Iceberg that explained everything.

Stussy: That must have come as quite a shock.

Kaku: [wakes up] what the? [looks around, before cringing away when he notices you] oh dear.

You: [glares] Is that all you have to say to me?

Kaku: Listen, it was just a job, it wasn't personal.

You: Really? Because trying to murder members of my family feels really personal to me, buddy.

Kaku: [Nods to Robin] Technically, she shot Iceberg.

Robin: I shot him the first time, and I didn't feel I had another choice because you were threatening my friends and I didn't know what to do.

You: The second time was Blueno, and then you and Rob beat Paulie, and then left both Iceburg and Paulie tied up inside a burning building!

Kaku: we did do that, didn't we...

You: not to mention Rob played with my feelings by pretending to be a loving boyfriend.

Kaku: I swear that wasn't pretended Lucci really does love~

Rob: That's enough, Kaku.

You: You can talk! Why am I surprised, everything was a lie, wasn't it?

Rob: .... not everything [looks up at you, clearly pouting that he's being admonished]

You: I don't believe you.

Rob: ... can we discuss this in private, please?

You: no, we can't, I do not want to be alone with the World Noble's attack dog.

Rob: I'm a cat.

You: Excuse me?

Rob: I am a Zoan-type devil fruit user, the Neko Neko no Mi, Model: Leopard, specifically.

You: I don't care, because then you're just plain bad at being a cat.

Rob: Bad at being a cat!

You: yes, because if you knew a damn thing about cats, then you'd know you don't ever actually own a cat, you just live with one. They don't listen, they don't obey, and they most certainly don't respect you. So, I suppose, you were good at being a cat when it came to me, but bad when it comes to the world nobles.

Rob: That's not true...

You: save it, I don't want to hear your excuses.

Rob: [Takes a deep breath] They're not excuses, it's true I got close to you in the first place because of Iceberg, but I grew genuine feelings for you once I got to know you. I know I hurt you, it's why I stopped writing you after what happened in Water 7.

Nami: And because his ego was bruised because our captain whooped his ass.

Kaku: He was also in a coma for like a week afterward.

Rob: I figured by then you would have already had word from Water 7 of what happened, so I didn't want to rub salt into the wounds by trying to stay in your life, and that a clean cut was best for you.

You: [remembering that Iceberg had said he wouldn't be upset with you if you elected to stay with Rob] ... Where is Hattori?

Rob: what?

You: Where is Hattori?

Rob: He flew away when Stussy attacked.

You: I'll go get him...

Rob: [smirks[ thank you, I'm sure he'll be happy to see you again. Although he might not recognize you, you've glowed up since your Water 7 days. [winks]

You: [rolls your eyes] I know single life suits me, so save your smooth talk tough guy, it doesn't work on me [lying].

Rob: uh huh

You: [feels your cheeks heat up as your heart flutters, and you avoid eye contact with Lucci] Whatever, I'll go look for your bloody bird.

Rob: [eagerly watches the door slide shut behind you] It's still there

Stussy: What's still there?

Rob: I believe most people call it, "a spark between us'.

Nami: [dramatically gags]

Kaku: Dude, they always liked Hattori more than you, don't go getting a head of yourself.

Rob: [kicks him] zip it.

Stussy: [sighs] men are so stupid.

Robin: [nods in agreement]

Shaka: [judges in silence]

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austronauts · 1 year

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ok because i will cry

#mitch marner #god....he just wants to be happy and play with happiness and GIVE happiness #and that's honestly who he is as a person #the Z and the smiley faces he writes on his gloves #the bracelet he still wears from hayden #his insanely HUGE grins where you know he wishes his face were bigger so he could smile even bigger #the love and joy he has for his teammates and friends #the love and joy he has for the leafs #like why do you want to rob that from him #why do you want to make him small and sad #why ....if you want him to WIN so bad do you want to see him so defeated?#i genuinely do not get it

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macdenism · 3 months

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watching blooper reels and I just. I can’t physically handle the way glenn looks at rob when he’s laughing. everyone breaks and laughs and glenn immediately looks at rob. with his face so. I CAN’TTTT

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imthursdaysyme · 1 year

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Sleepover shenanigans

#drawing #steve harrington #stranger things #robin buckley #stobin #they were in her room arguing like old married couple #listen steve just doesn’t understand how she can’t do it bc he thinks she can do anything #he said what tf do you mean you don’t have abs and rob was like bestie I don’t work out they aren’t strong I’m a limo noodle #and he was like well girl get on that I don’t want you to die bc you didn’t keep your body healthy istg your worse than Henderson #and she was like HEY I do plenty of things such as ride my bike and he said ok then why are your thighs the size of my forearm #and he keeps yelling at her to use her core and she’s screaming at him that she’s trying #and he’s holding her leg #but we’ll rob flails and her heel whacked him in the eye so he feel back #hit the wall thought he was dead #dropped rob to the ground and shes cursing like an d man that had to get up from his chair #and she’s like why’d you drop me and he doesn’t respond so she looks over #and my man is out for the count with another black eye #she thinks she killed him and worries that after years of demogorgons and Russians the thing that kills Steve Harrington is #Robs sharp ass heel #she pushes him under the bed and covers him with blankets and then goes to sleep #except he wakes up at like 2am and she screams worse than when she saw a ud creature for the 1st time and whacks him back down and BAM #he is out again and now Robin is freaking out more bc omg she killed her platonic soulmate and he came back to life only for her to kill him #AGAIN #she wonders if she can be tried for double manslaughter on one man but how would they know? then rob realized she can’t testify bc #she’ll tell everything if she gets up on the stand and she won’t just be sentenced for life she’ll be sentence for TWO lives #but then she’s like omg I deserve two life sentences to honor Steve even though he wouldn’t be in jail she just assumes he goes with her #even her own prison sentence for his murder #the next time Steve wakes up he inches out and flips on her to tame her flailing limbs and she starts crying saying #I killed you twice but my love for you is so strong it brought you back a third time and steve is like you knocked me out shithead you didnt #murder me Jesus Christ and she’s like how do you k ow and he’s like omg how do I know

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yurki-posts · 4 months

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An idea I had for a different Rob desing . .

#Ngl I only did this because I wanted to have an idea on what should Rob look like in my brother's videogame #Because on his game there exists this place very similar to The Void and I asked him if he could add Rob in there and he said he could #But if he was gonna do it I had to change his desing so #yk- Copyright doesn't kill him #I tried to make it different but i'm not sure if it's different enough and that worries me #Buuuuuut aside from that I LOVE this drawing so much srs ^^#It kinda scared me to share it here though #Idk I felt it would be kinda cringe and maybe you all won't like it but whatever I have to keep this account alive somehow #i'm also travelling so that's why I won't be able to draw as much #(though i'll probably procastinate on it because I have no ideas)#the amazing world of gumball #tawog #tawog rob #rob tawog #my art

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peachcitt · 2 years

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thinking about him (the gnc man i met at a tattoo shop in my dream who decided to take a taxi to south dakota to find himself after one night of knowing me)

#peach stuff #dreams #he also had memory issues ? he stayed the night at my house because ?? i actually don’t know but i did know he had memory issues #and i was scared he would forget me by morning because i had stuff to do and couldn’t immediately see him and reassure him after he woke up #because i had stuff to do. but when i finally got the chance to see him he told me he remembered meeting me #and i was so happy that i ran up to hug him and he hugged me back and the. he started telling me that #now that he’s confident he can remember things he wanted to go out and live on his own #and i was thinking . like the city 30 min away from where i live where i found him at the tattoo shop #but then he was like ‘you know im really glad i got the chance to meet you before i take that taxi to south dakota’#and i actually pushed him away (we were still hugging during this conversation) and i was like HUH⁉️⁉️⁉️#first of all WHY would you take a TAXI to SOUTH DAKOTA that is SO MUCH MONEY #(he had been robbed before i met him so he didn’t have a phone or cash but he did apparently have a card with a lot of money on it somehow)#and also SOUTH DAKOTA⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️ WHAT⁉️⁉️#i said these things to him but he was adamant about leaving literally that day #so to be supportive i helped him get ready and then a friend of mine came in and started doing his makeup because he expressed curiosity #and then he looked BEAUTIFUL and SO HAPPY in the makeup and after my friend left he kept on retouching his makeup and smiling at himself #in the mirror while i got ready to see him off #anyway i miss him. gnc king i hope your life is wonderful in south dakota i hope you remember me

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goodmorningbadday · 1 year

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i miss him. wtf else am i supposed to say. why couldn’t he have been mean and boring so i wouldn’t be stuck here thinking about the 4 midtown shows for the rest of my life. also if you glanced it would look like we took all three of these pictures in one night which makes me laugh the thought of us just having a photoshoot and relocating for every pic

#him AND the rest of midtown #why did they all have to be so genuinely nice #why did Gabe have to actively try to remember my name each time and then shout me out from the stage at the last show #me stopping Rob just to genuinely be like thanks for the shows u did great bye and him stopping me and having a million things to say to me #despite us literally never speaking like what! what was the reason why would you be so nice to me #Tyler being so nice to be dating back to even the TAI/midtown after show HES been so nice since the second he saw me #don’t even get me started on heath like I think at the last show he was hovering near me until I was done talking to Tyler so me and Heath #could finally meet #I approached them all with no expectations like I just wanted to thank them for doing the shows and wish them well #I didn’t care about developing a fan/artist relationship for a lack of a better wording like I made jokes but I really didn’t care #and yet they all blew my intentions out of the fucking world #anyways I’ll stop blabbing in the tags I just genuinely can’t believe how nice they all were #I was going to include my picture with heath but my picture with Tyler is awful and Rob shocked me so bad I didn’t even think to ask for a #pic so I didn’t want to only include heath lmfao #Gabe saporta #midtown #cobra starship #show

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lord-squiggletits · 2 years

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Barber is actually a genius

You see, when Barber wrote the reveal into IDW1 that Onyx Prime was actually Shockwave sent back in time orchestrating all of Cybertronian history, it was really a brilliant moment of in-universe plot events and metatextuality intersecting.

You see, in-universe, Shockwave’s goal for becoming Onyx Prime was to make all things ‘meaningless’ and to ‘destroy hope’ and to ‘serve as an agent of chaos’ by making all of Cybertronian history purely arising by his design.

And in the META sense, this is perfectly mirrored by the fact that the “Onyx Prime = Shockwave” reveal made Shockwave’s death in Dark Cybertron and even the entire story of IDW1 meaningless, destroyed my hope that exRID/OP would ever have emotionally satisfying writing, AND was a completely chaotic choice that came out of nowhere and completely blindsided me thinking that Shockwave logically died after being shot by Megatron and Optimus at once and then sucked into a black hole.

Truly John Barber is the absolute pinnacle of Transformers writing. Such a brilliant mixing of in-universe plot with meta themes that the readers feel directly is such AMAZING writing. A plot twist that you could NEVER see coming and that makes the story SO MEANINGFUL. A plot twist that gives characters AGENCY and that DEFINITELY makes a ton of sense. Such quality writing must be exactly why SO MANY PEOPLE talk about exRID/OP and how BRILLIANT the storytelling is ^w^

#squiggposting #no one defend onyx prime = shockwave to me you KNOW that plot point was bullshit #like not only did barber end up making OP's storyline stupid #he also retroactively ruined dark cybertron by completely undoing the emotion of shockwave dying at the end #like dark cybertron was this MASSIVE THING where the world/universe almost ended #and the ending was good because shockwave died kind of as himself because the megops teamed up together to show him the power of good #or whatever #then in OP barber turns around and goes 'lol shockwave didn't actually die after being physically obliterated and sucked into a black hole'#'in fact he's actually the secret person behind everything that's ever happened ever'#'and he just did it for the lols because he wanted to be chaotic evil and make people feel hopeless'#what the fuck lmao #like congratulations on asspulling a plot to bring back a villain that was clearly dead #and not only doing that but robbing the entire storyline of agency because #actually those people in the past didn't come up with bad things on their own #it was SHOCKWAVE FROM THE FUTURE that told them they should be evil colonizers #why did he do this? just cause lmao anyways here's unicron #do not fuck with me and try to argue that shockwave = onyx prime was good lmao

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deadsetobsessions · 5 months

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Danny used to be a vigilante, firmly on the side of good. Like, illegally, but morally good.

Danny’s 100% sure that whatever he is now, it’s not good.

Is Gotham’s influence just Like That?

He was homeless when he got to this thrice damned city (literally, because Lady Gotham was so cursed) and now he’s… here? In a mid-level penthouse with a rotation of homeless kids going in and out of his kitchen and eating out his pantry??

Danny adjusted the cuffs of his dress shirt, making the conscious decision to ditch the tie. He’s a tall 6ft 4 now, taking after his Dad. His head smarted all of the time, hitting doorframes when he was being a bit clumsier than the normal ghost-like grace he had learned to channel as The Phantom.

The Phantom instead of just Phantom. Why? Because Phantom was the name of a teenage vigilante in another dimension. The Phantom, on the other hand, is an intimidatingly tall, deceptively kind, extremely dangerous kingpin.

Honestly? Danny didn’t even want this life. Like, he had no idea it would snowball like this??

He supposed that it all started when the Penguin was trying to snatch kids off of his block on Crime Alley. Not officially his block, of course, because Danny didn’t actually enter this city to be a crime-shadow thing. But he hadn’t lost enough of Phantom the Vigilante to ignore kids getting hurt. He still hasn’t, if he’s being honest. He flew into a frantic search, tracking down the missing kids to Penguin’s bar. The Iceberg Lounge. Apparently, he wanted the kids to do some menial tasks and what not. Danny, rage flickering through his core, intangibly went in and robbed Penguin of every coin and secret the man kept.

Then? Danny blackmailed the Penguin to guarantee his kids a measure of safety from the Rogue. That began the slippery slope into whatever it is he does now. Penguin was being kept in line by Danny’s threats, the grip he had on the Rogue’s weak points, and a wonderful bit of intimidation.

——

“What, you stinking phantom? I’m stickin’ to yer rules!” Penguin snarled, forced to his knees by invisible blob ghosts.

Danny, salty and pissy from the lack of sleep he’d experienced trying to keep Penguin’s men in line as a result of Penguin trying to test where Danny’s lines were, dropped the temperature to the point where Penguin started shivering. Considering the place was already cold- the Iceberg lounge lived up to its name- it meant that Danny was standing nonchalantly in a room that was negative twenty five degree Celsius in a sweatshirt, Danny was already making good on his natural intimidation factor.

“It’s The Phantom to you, Oswald.” Danny said, in the tone of someone saying “it’s the shit, to you.”

Danny narrowed his blue eyes, letting a tiny tint of ectoplasm make his eyes glow a bit in the suddenly icing over room.

“Your people have been getting on my nerves, Oswald. Roughing up kids is so… uncultured. Are you sure you’re a Cobblepot?”

Penguin snarled, the effect of which was rendered ineffective due to his increasingly violent shivers. Plus, Danny loomed over him without even trying.

Danny, annoyed and asking himself “What Would Dan Do To Intimidate This Guy?”, gripped Penguin’s shoulder and hauled him up one handed. He dragged the mob boss over to one of the booths, avoiding the bodies he’d dropped (non-lethally) when Danny first walked in to ruin Penguin’s night. He shoved Penguin in chair he iced over, because Danny’s petty and if he saw one more bruise on his kids at Penguin’s hands, Danny was gonna go full Dan the Murderer.

He at least allowed to room to warm up before laying into Penguin, though. He stayed standing. Hey, he had the height advantage to use. He could have kept Penguin kneeling, but it was probably god the best that the mob boss got some sense of pride back.

(Danny had no idea that sitting as someone loomed over you to lecture and threaten you was even worse than kneeling. At least with kneeling, you knew where you stood. But sitting? It leaves you horribly off kilter.)

“I told you to keep your people in line. Kids are off limits, Oswald.”

“I kept them in line!”

Never let it be said that Oswald Cobblepot had a normal functioning sense of self preservation.

“Really?” Danny jabbed his pointer finger lightly on top of Penguin’s trachea and allowed his fingernails to sharpen into Phantom’s sharper digits. Penguin tried to lean away. “Then why did they start a gun fight when there were kids visible on the street? Why did I see one of my kids get hit by one of your poor excuses of a bouncer?”

“I-”

“Don’t care much for your excuses, if I’m being honest. I let you mess around with the little projects you have, without even breathing a whisper of your secrets. Sionis would love to know how you double crossed him the last deal, yeah?”

“I- I’ll keep them in line!” Penguin stuttered.

“Well, I believe in second chances,” Danny bullshitted. Ancients, how was this even working? “So I suggest you make an example of the guy that smacked Hailey around before I make an example out of you, Oswald.”

“Fine! Fine!”

——

And with that, he got access to Penguin’s resources and men and more importantly, the corrupt police officers. He made Penguin “boot out” the pedophilic ones (in a very violent way) and kept the rest.

Then? Mr. Freeze froze over the god damn pipes and Danny had to intimidate and make a deal with the Rogue so he and his increasing roster of orphans had access to warm water.

In exchange for Danny’s restorative and, more importantly, unmelting ice, Mr. Freeze was now Danny’s… on-call enforcer?? When he’s not researching cures for his frozen in a pod wife, that is.

Danny was satisfied with that. He was! But then Black Mask happened, with the man trying to engage in a battle of wits with Danny over the control of Crime Alley which, at that point, was firmly Danny’s territory.

The thing is, Danny doesn’t play nice anymore. Why bother with pointless mind games when he could just…

——

“So, you’re The Phantom.”

“And you’re Sionis.”

Black Mask twitched at the name, gloved hands pulling out his guns. Danny sat on the counter, head touching mid cabinet, and sipped out of Sionis’ favorite mug.

Because Danny broke into Black Mask’s safe house and stole his quality coffee. The man’s eyes were wary.

“How did you get in here?”

Danny shrugged. “Walked.”

Danny held the coffee out of the way as Sionis unloaded a clip into his chest and lunged forward to slap a mask onto Danny’s face. After waiting a bit, as Black Mask’s smug triumph bled into shock, Danny laughed and, using a bit of his natural strength, tossed the guy off of him. He casually took the mask off of his face.

“Jeez, I’m trying to be nice, here.”

“So, you’re a Meta.”

Danny grinned. “Eh. And you’re a cult leader with a mask fetish.”

Danny tuned out the rant about the “true face of Gotham” or whatever, already bored, and sipped at Sionis’ coffee. The ass might be a psycho, but his coffee tastes were wonderful. Danny stood up, rinsed his mug, and turned back to Black Mask.

“You’re trafficking people. Kids.” He said, cutting through Sionis’ chatter. He was sly about it too, committing violence and torture in a way that would ensure obedience and fear. Danny probably would have never caught on, Black Mask’s schemes being so ingeniously created and executed, had he not kept a hawk’s eyes on the more vulnerable members of Crime Alley’s community. And the rest of Gotham’s vulnerable communities, of course.

“My, a wonderfully obvious conclusion. Now, Phantom, I have a proposition for you.”

Sionis seemed to have gotten his bearings back. Danny tilted his head at him, looking down.

“You can work for me,” Sionis said, before opening a laptop with video feed to one of his masked men or whatever holding a knife to one of Danny’s more fearless kids. Danny snarled.

“Or, refuse, and your kid will lose a finger for every instance of your defiance.”

“I told you not to touch the kids, Sionis. I don’t allow trafficking either.”

Black Mask chuckled. “Cut off a finger, Sadness.”

“Yes, bos- ARGHHHH!”

Danny watched as Mr. Freeze froze the goon’s arms before breaking them.

“I’ve got her, Phantom.”

Danny nodded at Freeze, keeping an eye on Sionis in case the fool bolts.

“So, what are your cards now, Sionis? You’ve sure pissed me off with nothing to show for it.”

And that was the last night anyone heard from the one that was supposed to be the King of Crime.

But Gotham knew the head mounted on a pike at one of Black Mask’s hastily abandoned bases was a warning, that The Phantom was watching.

——

Then he somehow got a gaggle of more orphans that were undead zombie “Talons?”

From there, he just obtained influence over the crime bosses of Gotham. Because his Talons kept bringing him heads and blackmail and his crime alley kids and Gotham orphans kept bringing him information for food and safety?

But like, Danny never wanted anything in exchange for the safety he provided. His core could give less of a shit whether he got anything in return. But he couldn’t convince his kids of that! They’re putting themselves in danger and ugh-!

Danny checked himself once more in the mirror. Ready, he stepped out into the night to wait for the Bats at his new favorite VIP spots.

On the way, he passed Ivy and Harley, who he waved to. Pamela worked under him because he controlled Gotham’s criminal underground (which also mean the official parts of the city considering the sheer amount of corruption) and influenced them into more plant friendly methods. His dominion over Undergrowth also helped immensely.

Harley? They’re friends. He beat up and crippled her abusive ex. She gave him therapy and stopped torturing people for fun.

Danny stepped into the back door of the Iceberg Lounge. No one stopped him. No one dared to.

He settled onto a velvet couch, nodding respectfully at the server that had immediately and nervously set down his mai tai. He glanced around for cameras and wire taps, before giving up and upping his ectoplasmic output to short any recording devices out.

He sipped his drink as he waited.

“Batman.”

“Phantom.”

“Oh, good. You didn’t bring Robin,” Danny said, watching Batman tense. “Kids shouldn’t be in places like these.”

Batman stayed silent.

“Come on, sit.” Danny gestured to the couch across from him.

“This isn’t a social call. I’ll stop whatever you’re scheming-” Batman growled.

“Oh my god, you’re so dramatic. Is this where Nightwing gets it from?”

Batman snarled.

“Sit, sit.” Danny rolled his eyes.

Batman stayed stubbornly looming. Danny sighed, allowing his voice to slip into velvet danger.

“I told you to sit, Bruce Wayne.”

“You-”

“I won’t repeat myself again, Bruce. You’re testing my patience.”

Bruce sat, wary and hyper vigilant. Danny sighed, settling back in his chair.

“You’ve heard of Red Hood, yes? Don’t answer that, it was hypothetical. I know you’ve heard of him.” Danny waved a hand impatiently. “I don’t really care why he’s setting up shop in my Alley, but he’s upsetting the other crime lords. They’re asking me to interfere.”

“I don’t work for you.”

“No,” Danny acknowledged with a nod. “But I could make you, if you push it. Politeness would serve you much better right now, Bruce, seeing as I am doing you a… favor. And since I’m not shouting to the world who you are under the cowl.”

Danny gave Batman a pointed, patented, mom glare.

“… Apologies.”

“Now, you might be wondering what that favor is.” Danny watched Batman’s cowled face carefully. “I thought you should know that the Red Hood is your “Jason Todd.’”

Batman was still. And then Batman leapt at him, snarling, “How dare you-!”

Danny caught the vigilante by the throat and squeezed.

Batman’s flurry of punches- which, mildly ow, those gauntlets kind of hurt- quickly changed to clawing and maneuvers to get out of the choke hold. Danny held steady, cutting off the vigilante’s air supply until he began to go limp. He’s not Superman. Danny will bruise and kill, if he had to.

“Are you going to listen to me now?” Danny asked mildly, emulating both Black Mask’s drawl and Dan’s effortless psychosis.

Batman gave a weak nod. Danny plopped him unceremoniously back onto his couch. He sipped on his drink once more as he waited for Batman to cough some sweet air back into his lungs.

“I’m telling you to get your little birds in line before I have to go hunting, yeah? Keep your kids out of danger, Bruce, and I won’t have to step in.”

“He- how do you know..?” The growl isn’t there anymore, and Danny felt a smug sense of vindication of having smothered it out of the guy. Woah, no, that thought was too Dan and too little Danny. Danny handed him a cup of water, which Batman didn’t drink.

Danny rolled his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Drink. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now. And as for how I know…”

Danny held up a beat up copy of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, filled with Jason’s writing. He tossed it to Batman, who caught it with blank eyes.

“Water,” Danny reminded him firmly, feeling like a mother hen. Batman gulped down his water, eyes flicking between the pages of Jason’s annotated book. Ancients, Danny couldn’t believe he annotated his book. A crime lord, like that? Well, it’s not like Danny could say anything.

Batman looked up at him, a silent demand- no, plea, because he’s not in a position to make demands- for an answer.

“Broke into his safe house. You should contact your fling, Talia. Seems like she dunked him into these “Lazarus pits” and told him you replaced him with the current Robin.”

Danny could see Batman’s emotional gears hard at work and honestly, he doesn’t have time for that.

“Now, we’re done here. You owe me one for the information. I’ll collect later.” Danny grabbed the Dark Knight, who stayed oddly unresisting (shock, maybe?) , and hauled him up.

“Tell Tim Drake to eat more. He looks too skinny.” With that, Danny dragged the Dark Knight to the window and punted him out. His kids were waiting on hot chocolate night and Danny had to go shopping for quality ingredients.

——

“YOU COULDN’T HAVE TOLD ME THE BIGGEST CRIME LORD OF YOUR CITY WAS THE FUCKING HIGH KING OF THE INFINITE REALMS?!”

“Hn.”

“BLOODY HELL, DON’T YOU GRUNT AT ME, YOU BROODY BASTARD!”

Constantine let out a scream. Shite, the king who held his soul contract was a crime lord. Great.

——

The reason intelligence and convoluted schemes and genius doesn’t work against Danny is because he’s got weird standards of what he’ll tolerate and the fact is that his normal dumbassery and mother hen tendencies cancels out and coherent thoughts or plans he might have had.

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steddiecameraroll · 4 months

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Steve’s never noticed a man’s neck before. But he keeps catching glances of Eddie’s and can’t figure out why it’s doing things to him. Specifically his junk.

He assumes it’s because he’s jealous. Or maybe it’s just more prominent because of Eddie’s long hair?

But neither of those reasons explain why he wants to put his teeth in it.

“Rob, do you think I could have a delay in symptoms from those bats?”

“What do you mean? Do you think you finally got rabies? Steve, you were supposed to get that shot!”

“No, no. I did, that’s not it. No, but there are like bats that are vampires right? Could I be a vampire?” He raises his eyebrows in concern.

Robin, however, visibly relaxes and goes back to her book. They’re keeping each other company during another slow shift.

“No, you’re not a vampire.”

“How do you know? I mean, I kinda want to bite Eddie,” he says with such assurance.

“What?” Robin scrunches her face.

“Yeah, it’s bad.” He leans over the counter resting on his elbows. “Yesterday, when he stopped in after dropping the kids off, it took everything inside of me not to tip his head back and sink my teeth into the long muscle on his neck.”

“Ew, that is not… is that why you think you’re a vampire?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“And-and not that you might be…? Oh my god,” she lowers her head into her hands. “I can’t believe I’m going to ask this. Do you also want to lick his neck? And I don’t know, maybe kiss it?”

Steve pauses, letting her question tumble around in his mind before responding.

“Yeah, yeah, I wanna do that too. Does that make me a vampire?” His voice raises in fear.

“No, dingus. No, it doesn’t,” she sighs. “I think it does make you the muppet in this situation though.”

Steve tilts his head trying to understand what she’s talking about, when the little bell above the door tinkles, drawing his attention.

Eddie saunters into the store while casually pulling his hair up into a ponytail.

“Hey!”

Steve zeros in on the taut neck muscle begging for Steve’s lips.

“Ohhhhh,” he whips his head back to Robin. “I want to fuck him.”

Part 2

#so he does #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiecameraroll posts #steve x eddie #steddie ficlet #q #my writing

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yinyuedijun · 1 month

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translation

Aventurine doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you. (Or: You are the only person in the universe who understands Aventurine in his mother tongue. He often regrets teaching it to you.)

5k words. gender neutral reader, established relationship, angst, non-graphic sex (reader bottoms, anatomy neutral), themes of cultural loss, references to slavery, aventurine’s canonically implied desire to die. MDNI.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.

Deception does not come easily to him in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak—and too kind. The universe was a different place in the days when his life was coloured by the warble of Avgin dialect. It felt simpler, partly because he was a child and partly because Sigonia was yet untouched by outsiders. There were no corporations, no casinos, no commodity codes. His entire world was sand, desert, mother, sister, father (or more often—ghost), goddess, tent, wagon, luck, sin, rain, blessing, Avgin.

Katican.

Aventurine is sure that he knew more than just those words. He was fluent as a child. He had conversations with his sister that were complex enough to make his heart hurt, though perhaps his heart was just constantly aching anyway. But the rest of his early words escapes him. He could maybe dredge them up if he thinks long enough, but he also isn't sure if his tongue and lips could form the shape of them anymore. Sometimes he still counts in Avgin, memorises phone numbers in it, but he doesn’t remember the last time he actually strung together a full sentence in the language.

When Aventurine was first stolen into slavery (a word that he had not known as a child, and still doesn't know in Avgin), he wasn’t given a Synesthesia Beacon. He had to rely on his ears and his wits, deciphering the harsh edges of the Katican dialect and then the strange garble of Interastral Standard Language. By the time he had a Beacon installed, it was already translating all speech into Standard—his dominant language.

Sometimes he feels a little aggrieved by it, but at least it wasn't Katican. He'd have blown out his brains if it were.

But it is easy to console himself: Avgin is not a useful language anyway. Dead languages have no value, and the Avgin dialect was killed along with its people. You can’t perform commerce in a dead language, can't negotiate contracts, can't enter a gambling den and use your silver tongue to rob people blind. You can't use a dead language to fell governments and extract resources; you can't use a dead language to bring an entire planet to its knees. You can’t use a dead language to gamble your life; you can't use it to save yourself from the gallows.

You cannot deceive people in a language that is defined by sand, sister, goddess, ghost.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin. His command of it is too weak, and there is no one left to which he can lie, anyway.

When you ask Aventurine to teach you his first language, he gives you an amused look.

“Why Avgin?” he asks. “No one speaks it anymore. I can teach you Common Sigonian if you’d like. Or we could learn Xianzhounese together. Maybe Intellitron code? I know a little.”

“You speak Avgin,” you argue.

“Not often,” he says. “And badly when I do.”

“But it's still your language. And I want to understand you.”

Aventurine has to stop himself from laughing. Understand him? He hates being understood. When people understand him, it makes him predictable. And unlikeable. Hardly a position from which he can manipulate people in.

You understand him well enough to know that.

“You'll have to give me a better reason than that,” he says neatly. “Make it worth my while. Reward me.”

You look at him as you ponder, your eyes lingering on his. Perhaps trying to read him, though he prefers to think you're just enjoying the sight of them.

“I’ll teach you my language as well?”

“You mean—you'll reward my hard labour with more work?” he says, lighthearted.

You frown at him despite the joke. “You don't want to understand me better than what a Synesthesia Beacon would allow?” He blinks, pausing. “It’ll be convenient too. We can talk shit about other people in public and no one will understand us.”

Aventurine considers you. He doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you.

He also likes the idea of talking shit in public.

“I'm listening,” he says, voice lilting. You lean in, smiling. Sweet. It makes his heart feel something he isn't used to. Something addictive. Something disgusting. He scrambles to cover it with one of the usual tools: humour or distraction or maybe just plain old lying—his most reliable weapon.

“I'll throw in a kiss?” you try.

He hums. “Just one?”

“One per day.”

“Three.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“Well, I am a businessman.”

You snort, but he knows you're endeared. You have very noticeable tells when you’re flustered.

“Okay,” you say. “Three kisses on days you teach me.”

“Deal.”

Aventurine remembers more Avgin than he thought he would.

It comes to him slowly, painstakingly. You aren't interested in structured lessons, and he wouldn't be able to provide them anyway. He has a nonexistent grasp of grammar aside from this sounds right and that sounds strange, and Avgin dialect is both so niche and so dead that no textbooks are available. The scholars have abandoned the language as much as the politicians abandoned its people. Aventurine only has you, his fragmented memory, and whatever questions come to mind as you live out your days with him.

Mostly, you ask him about basic vocabulary. Sometimes you ask him to repeat sentences from your conversations in Avgin, like he’s some kind of multilingual parrot. Each prompt forces him to wade through the fog in his mind, the one that’s been shrouding his childhood memories until now. He's startled at how naturally the old words roll off his tongue: One, two, three, four. Good morning. Good evening. Good night. Sweet dreams. Five, six, seven, eight. You're lying to me. Why do you always lie to me? I don't know what you're talking about. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Welcome home. Have you eaten? Have some bread. I made you stew. Twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. That was dangerous. I thought you wouldn't make it back to me. Sometimes I think you want to die. One hundred, one thousand, one million, one billion. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

When you say, How do I ask you to let me hold you, he answers easily. He'd heard the words so often as a child: Let me hold you, Kakavasha. Let Mama hold you. His mouth forms the sounds without conscious thought.

He regrets it almost immediately.

When Aventurine hears it from you—stilted, halting, but no less gentle—he stops breathing. Let me hold you. You say it all the time in Standard, but it feels different in Avgin. More painful. A strange sense of panic closes in on him when he's wrapped up in you, thinking in Avgin, thinking sand, sister, goddess, ghost. He holds you tightly, like the rags cut from his father’s shirt, or his mother’s locket won back from the shell-slashers, or a bag of poker chips beneath a card table, clutched within his trembling grip.

“Aventurine, is something wrong?” you ask in Avgin, and he replies in Standard with his usual smile.

“Hm? No. What could be wrong if I have you here?”

Lying is one of his greatest tools. Sex is another one. So he says, “I think I'd like my reward now,” and he runs his lips along your jaw, your pulse, the spot over your heart (there's a word for that in Avgin but not Standard, he tells you), until you're laughing. I thought you wanted three kisses, you tease, and he replies, Who said I wanted to kiss you on the mouth?

But he coaxes open your thighs, and once he's inside you, he collects his payment properly. He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and you swallow his lies whole.

There are some things that Aventurine doesn't teach you. Mostly, they’re things that he can’t teach you.

There are countless gaps in his Avgin. His speech is painfully childish—probably more childish than it was when he actually stopped speaking it. He doesn't know how to swear (something that disappoints you) and he doesn't know how to flirt (something that devastates you). He doesn’t know any words that would be useful for work either: commercialization, governance, stakes, winnings, profit. When you ask him what his job title is in Avgin (“Was senior management even a thing in Avgin society?”), he laughs and gives you the word for gambler.

Then there are the words that he remembers—has remembered his whole life—but never says. Not to you, and not to himself. He doesn't teach you any prayers. He doesn't teach you any blessings. He doesn't teach you about Mama Fenge, or the Kakava Festival, or how the rain fell when he was born. When you ask him, What holidays did you celebrate when you were little? he shrugs and says, We didn't have any. Sigonia’s too bleak to do any partying.

Then you ask him one day, while your bodies are spent in the afterglow of sex, sticky with sweat and sweetness, how to say I love you. And he goes quiet.

Love is a cheap word in Interastral Standard. In the language of globalisation and trade, love has been commercialised, commodified, capitalised for power. You say it to him in many contexts: I love this, I love that, I love you. He hardly ever reacts, and he's never said it back. It would feel unnecessary and also cruel if he did: Aventurine has only ever said the words himself as either a joke or a manipulation.

But love feels different in Avgin than in Interastral Standard, doesn't sound like a thing that can be traded or bought. Kakavasha only ever said the word love to his mother, to his sister, to his father's grave. Love in his mother tongue feels priceless.

When Aventurine thinks about you saying it—I love you, Kakavasha, in clumsy, earnest Avgin—something so painful swells in his throat that he can hardly breathe.

“There is no word for love in my language,” he tells you.

You blink. “Okay, then what's an idiom for it?”

“There is none. There’s no word or phrase expressing love.”

You raise a brow. “That’s hard to believe.”

“Is it?” He smiles. “There’s no Avgin in the known universe who cares about love. Only scheming, thieving, and treachery—and you can't do those things when love is involved.”

You look at him in alarm. “Why are you saying that?” You're practically squirming in your discomfort. “I don't know why you think I'd believe such a racist stereotype.”

“It’s not a stereotype,” he says. “I'm not talking about the Avgin culture. I'm talking about myself.”

After all, he is the only Avgin left.

It is an unfair thing to say. A cruel thing to say. After all the laughing and kissing and crying and fucking, after all the tender eyes and gentle words from you—it is probably the worst pain imaginable: I don't give a shit about you. He waits for you to cry.

But you only stare at him calmly, studying him. You brush the hair out of his eyes, seeing them clearly.

“If you lie to me all the time,” you say in Avgin, “eventually I'll stop believing anything you say.”

Aventurine is speechless. His heart does that addictive, disgusting thing again. He thinks about leaving, but then you say, Let me hold you, and he can't do anything other than obey.

Avgin dialect was once included in the Synesthesia Beacon list of functions. The Intelligentsia Guild added it before the Second Katica-Avgin Extinction Event, when the IPC was trying to get a political foothold on Sigonia via the Avgin people. The language was alive then, with enough value to be included into the Synesthesia LLM by the linguists.

But since the Extinction Event—since Kakavasha ran away from home—the Synesthesia data on Avgin has been stagnant, a fossil. Aventurine knows because he's subscribed to software updates for certain languages (Avgin Sigonian, Common Sigonian, Interastral Standard, and now your mother tongue). He gets pinged every time there's a new addition for slang, for neologisms—but there hasn't been a ping for the Avgin dialect since he had the Beacon installed. The live translation function hasn't even been available since the previous Amber Era. When he checks its page on his Synesthesia app, it's very clear why—

SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT SPEAKERS: 0 STATUS: Extinct END OF SERVICE: 2156 AE

The complete death of the language has led to an irritating dilemma for you and Aventurine. You keep running into words that he doesn't know—this time not because of his childlike speech, but because they never existed in his language to begin with. Ocean, tropical, rainforest. Starskiff, accelerator, space fleet. Stock market, shortselling, mutual funds. Black hole, event horizon, spaghettification. All things that never came up for Kakavasha, but now come up for Aventurine, and the language has not evolved to include it.

He always wants to switch to Standard to discuss these things, but you're insistent on speaking in Avgin as much as possible. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't mind humouring you—partly because he likes to indulge you, and partly because he’s grown used to hearing the honeyed timbre of Avgin dialect in your household. The place would feel strange without it.

So you start filling the gaps with other languages, filtering them through the lyricism of Avgin. Loanwords, he thinks they’re called. You take ocean, tropical, rainforest from Amazian; starskiff, accelerator, space fleet from Xianzhounese; stock market, shortselling, mutual funds from Interastral Standard. For the astrophysics terms, you try directly translating them—with limited success.

“Can't I literally just say ‘black hole’?” you ask in Avgin, and he nearly spits out his coffee.

“Please don't. That's a dirty word.” He can't bring himself to say what it means, but from the way you’re laughing, you can clearly guess.

“I thought you said you didn't know how to swear.”

“You've just reminded me how.”

“You're welcome.” You look on the verge of cackling. Aventurine finishes his coffee and wonders when you're going to surprise him with your newfound vulgarity.

“Let's just do the space terms based on Standard,” he says. Begs.

“No, that's so boring.”

“Then let's do your language.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Give him a blank look.

“You don't know how to say those words in your mother tongue either, do you,” he intuits.

“Well, ‘spaghettification’ doesn't really come up in everyday conversation, does it?”

“Then maybe we don't need it.” He smiles, senses an opportunity. Smells blood. “How about ‘love’? I'd much rather know how you say that. I bet it sounds beautiful.”

You give him a long look. Your eyes are vulnerable when you share it: Love. I love you. He’s fascinated by the sound of it. Your voice is never that fragile when you say it in Standard. It's never so earnest. He repeats it, staring at you, and your gaze falls to the ground. His mouth curls.

“I like it,” he says. “Let's use that. It'll sound nice in Avgin.”

You try to recover. “Sure. That works. But back to ‘black hole’—”

And the two of you continue like that for days, weeks, months. It feels like a complete bastardization of his mother tongue on some days, in some conversations. Almost unrecognisable. But it doesn't feel bad. It’s all he has, it's all you have, and when he walks into your home, he starts speaking it without thinking: your bastard, patchwork language. The Avgin dialect that exists only in your house. A tongue that can only be understood by a liar.

And then, one lazy Sunday morning, he gets a familiar ping. He expects it to be Interastral Standard, as usual. The language balloons with each planet that the IPC colonises.

But instead, he opens his screen and freezes.

SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT SPEAKERS: 2 STATUS: Endangered. SERVICE RESUMED: 2157 AE NEW UPDATES: 103 loanwords and 5 neologisms added.

He can't stop looking at the status. Endangered. Endangered, which means dying, but alive. The Avgin dialect is alive again. The Intelligentsia Guild determined it, so it must be true. But Aventurine can't agree: there are no Avgin speakers in the known universe other than the two of you, and what you speak isn't real Avgin. The Avgin spoken by his mother and father and sister is dead; the Avgin spoken by Kakavasha is dead. The festivals are gone; the deserts have been terraformed. There are no wagons; there are no dances; there are no prayers. There are no blessings, and he has no home—

As long as you are alive, the blood of the Avgin will never run dry.

His throat locks up.

“Aventurine?” you ask. Your voice is drowsy, but concerned. “Is something wrong?”

He looks at you from his phone, a polished smile on his face.

“No.” His syllables are plain and efficient in the noise of Interastral Standard: “Just looking at details for a new assignment. It’ll be a long one.”

“Oh.” You frown. “Will you be away from home for a long time, then?”

He stops himself from swallowing. “Yes, I'll be away from the house. For several months, probably.”

“Okay.” Your voice is small. “Take care of yourself, okay? I'll miss you.”

Each word you speak resonates with heartbreak. It always does in these conversations, even in Standard—but the sorrow is amplified in Avgin. His mother tongue has an inherently sad quality to it, he's noticed. His people have lost so much over their history—their language is one of loss. It's his language of loss. Kakavasha did all his grieving in Avgin; Aventurine has never felt sorrow in Standard. When the language died, so did Kakavasha—and all his regrets with it.

“You'll come home to me, right?” you ask. It's a beautiful sentence in Avgin. A heartrending one. He feels something that he hasn't known since he was a child.

It's a feeling he has to kill.

“Yes,” he says in Standard. “Of course I'll come back.”

This is not the first time that Aventurine has been mistaken for dead, but this is the longest time.

The latest world to join the IPC network was a tough acquisition. It had been ruled by a despot who wreaked havoc on both the people and the planet, and who was too stupid and reckless to resolve conflicts with his trade partners. He probably would have blown up the whole star system had he been left to his own devices. Aventurine had no qualms about bringing him to ruin, nor did he have qualms about nearly dying in the process.

If things had gone his way, he'd either be dead or missing. This would have been the perfect opportunity to do the latter, actually—to be freed from the IPC. Free to drift alone, speaking with strangers in strange, unfamiliar tongues. No connection to his past, to the cruel history of his luck, to his commodity code. No tether to his inherently unjust destiny. But instead he's back in your house, pockets heavy with his borrowed wealth, speaking to you in his bastardised, childish Avgin. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

Your Avgin is—shockingly fluent. He doesn't know how. He can't think about it right now. All he can process is the wounded animal noise of your speech as you yell at him, as you cry. Like an injured songbird, or a weeping child. Why did you leave, why did you lie, why do you always lie to me, why don't you give a shit about me, you spit. Why do you want to die, why do you want to die, why do you want to die, you keep saying. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost, he keeps hearing. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost. Don't leave me, big sister. People will die. Why do you have to go?

“I’m sorry,” he tries again, this time in your language. “I'm so sorry. Come here. Let me hold you.”

You collapse into your mother tongue. Aventurine is both relieved and horrified. Relieved that he doesn't need to hear the language of his grief—horrified that he needs to hear yours. He's never heard you cry like this. He's never heard you break like this. These must have been the words you used when the soldiers found you hiding in your closet, when they dragged you out of your home. You were just a child.

Aventurine doesn't know the words you are using—you've never taught them—but he still understands them.

You're very malleable when you’re sad; even more so when you're hysterical. Aventurine understands this about you, and he understands how to calm you—this time in your native tongue—and he understands how to kiss you. He understands that you need to feel close to him. He understands that there are ways to accomplish this other than sex. A normal person would talk it out, have an honest conversation, come to a mutual understanding, and maybe even stop trying to kill himself. They wouldn't fuck you into the mattress while your face is still wet with tears.

But Aventurine is not a normal person. He doesn't know how to have an honest conversation, and he doesn't want to be understood. Lying is his greatest weapon, and sex is a close second. So he kisses you until you’re too breathless to cry, fucks you until you can't think, and makes you come so hard that you’re in too much bliss to grieve. And maybe it's horrible of him, but he enjoys it. He enjoys the way your body takes him in so easily, the way your nails dig into his back, the way you tighten around him when you climax, so wet and needy for him. The way you beg for him in your language for liars as he spends himself inside you: I love you, Aventurine, I love you, I love you, I love you—

Only because it feels good. This is all only because he enjoys fucking you. This is all only because you enjoy fucking him. This is all it'll ever be, and it'll be this way until he gets to meet his end.

(Some months ago, Aventurine started dreaming in Avgin.

It surprised him when he first noticed it. The last time he remembers having a dream in his native tongue, he was twelve years old and still in chains. And even then, it had become a sporadic, strange thing. Awful to wake up from. One minute he was with his mother and sister on a cool, rainy day, speaking fluently in Avgin as he laughed and played—and the next minute, he was being shaken awake in his cage, hearing the cruel lash of Katican.

But ever since he's started speaking Avgin with you, he's been dreaming in it. Vividly. Sometimes he's a child in these dreams, and sometimes he's grown. He's always back in the Sigonian desert, among the tents and the campfires and his family wagons. His mother and sister are alive. Sometimes his father is too. The skies roar with thunder and the stellar winds are always harsh, but they always keep him cocooned up in their arms. He's always warm.

Sometimes Aventurine dreams of nicer days. Clear skies, warm sun, cool breeze—all blessings from the Mother Goddess. On these days, he tends to be an adult, and you tend to be there with him. Your Avgin is fluent but strange, filled with funny loanwords and peculiar slang. His father likes the neologisms and starts using them—but only in wrong ways. His sister finds it embarrassing and keeps apologising to you.

His mother loves you. She loves you so much it hurts. This is how I know you're blessed, Kakavasha, she says, glowing. You’re so lucky to have found such a kind person.

Kakavasha knows this. He knows he's lucky, and in his dreams, that isn't a bad thing. In his dreams, his luck means that his home is not violently excised from his heart: his father never dies; his mother never dies; his sister never dies. The tents are not burned; the wagons are not destroyed. He is never forced to forget his people's dishes, their songs, their language, their joy. And in his dreams, his luck means that he meets you anyway, without all the loss and the chains and the lying.

In his dreams, he is able to bring you to the desert. He is able to teach you the Avgin he spoke as a child, to cook all the meals his mother used to make, to share with you their coffee and their tea. He teaches you prayers. He teaches you blessings. He tells you about Mama Fenge, about how the rain fell when he was born. He takes you to the Kakava Festival, shows you how to dance, sings to you all the Avgin songs until you're singing back. He presses his palm to yours in prayer; he kisses you in devotion, not avoidance.

Sometimes the two of you still fight, the same fights that you have in real life, but he handles them with honesty. He listens to you. He apologises to you. He tells you that he’ll change, and he means it—because this world is a kind one, and he has no need to be so cruel to you.

In this kind world, when you lay in bed with his arms tight around you, you smile at him and say, I love you, Kakavasha. You say it in Avgin—real Avgin, not the dialect born from genocide and deceit—and when he responds, there's not even a little bit of insincerity in his voice. Because Kakavasha never became Aventurine in these dreams, so he has no Interastral Standard in which he can lie to you, no silver tongue with which he can manipulate you, no commodity code that inspires his fear of being controlled by you. Kakavasha only knows Avgin, and he only has his sand, his family, his goddess, his home.

And he has you. Finally, he has you.

He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and then he tells you the truth.)

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.

You noticed this very early on: whenever he lies to you, he always switches to Interastral Standard. Probably he wouldn't be able to do it in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak, and the words he knows are all too kind. He speaks with the innocence of a child, and children cannot deceive people in the way that adults can. Children cannot perform commerce or negotiate contracts. They cannot use a silver tongue to rob people blind. They cannot save themselves from the gallows.

So Aventurine’s Avgin is defenceless. Vulnerable. So vulnerable it hurts. You are not so vulnerable in your first language because your captors spoke it on occasion, and you learned to lie in it to gain their pity. You told Aventurine that knowing it would help him understand you, but this was a deception. Aventurine’s mother tongue was a language of trust, but yours is a dialect of abuse.

The Avgin language died before Aventurine could be gutted by it; this is why it disarms him so completely. This is why he’s so indulgent and so warm when you use it with him, why he yields to all your requests. Not requests for money or gifts—you’re certain those are meaningless to him—but for affection. Let me hold you. Let me touch you. Let me kiss you. He can never say no.

This is also why he loves hearing you speak his mother tongue, you think—it makes him feel at home, it makes him feel safe. Maybe it even makes him feel loved. He never seems so at peace speaking any other language, so you try to use Avgin as much as possible. You like seeing him happy. You like it even if it means you need to teach him your own native language in exchange, even when it means you need to hear him say all the things your captors used to say. You don't mind it if it's him. You never mind the harm he inflicts on you, especially not when it brings you closer to him.

It is convenient that he cannot lie in Avgin. You only wanted to learn it in the first place because he talks in his sleep—mostly in Standard, but sometimes in his native tongue. And now that you know he cannot lie in Avgin, you also know he's always being honest in his dreams. Honest when he throws his arms around you in his sleep. Honest when he grabs you so tightly that you bruise. Honest when he buries his face into your neck and whispers prayers into your skin.

Most of the words he says are common ones, the earliest vocabulary that he taught you. But there are some things he's withheld from you—and to learn those things, you had to track down linguists from the Intelligentsia Guild, bribe them with your dirty money, have them give you all their deprecated, extinct data. It felt two-faced, and it was violating, but it was the only way. You already know that Aventurine would rather die than translate his feelings for you, would never want this part of himself understood.

I'm sorry for always leaving you.

I'm sorry for making you cry.

I can't bear the thought of losing you.

Freedom would be too lonely without you.

I don't want to hurt you anymore.

I don't want to lie to you anymore.

I missed you.

I want you.

I need you.

I love you.

end

afterword

#aventurine x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #x reader #hsr smut #aventurine smut #lol it isnt really smut but it is nsft i suppose #nsft #yueshuo.fics

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tender-rosiey · 6 months

Note

how would modern day sukuna be like a father? :o

nerves — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: no curses au, lovelies! thank you for being so patient MWUAH and of course, merry christmas to everyone who celebrates it!

when one thinks of sukuna, one thinks of a broad muscular man covered in tattoos with a sharp jawline and an even sharper tongue punching the hell out of anyone.

you never think of the same man carrying a pink glittery bag and his own little pretty princess.

“do you have your lunch box?”

“yup!”

he quirks an eyebrow, “you sure?”

your daughter nods excitedly before looking over her dad’s shoulder. she grins when she finally sees you and excitedly calls you over, “mama! ‘morning!”

a smile instantly appears you on your face as you make your way towards your little sweetheart, “good morning, baby!”

you take her into your arms—ignoring your husband—and you kiss her cheek, “you excited for your first day of school?”

“mhm!” she gasped suddenly, “mama, look at my hair! papa made it for me!” she giggles, proudly showing off her ponytail.

you look with a knowing look and a small smile at your husband.

sukuna frowns and looks away, “it was easy anyway,” he then glares at you, “don’t make a big deal out of it.”

you giggle and pad your way towards him, resting your arm on his shoulder and gently kissing his lips, “it’s a really cute deal, though.”

you lightly bounce your daughter in your other arm, “right, d/n?”

“yeah! papa is the best!” she cheers, hugging him tightly.

your husband groans, but—nonetheless—his arms are wrapped around you two, “you two are such drama queens.”

he leans slightly, mouth near your ear as he whispers, “you better give me a proper fucking kiss when we drop the brat off.”

you gasp lightly and smack his shoulder, “watch your language!” you watch him scrunch his face—most likely about to sass you—so you press a quick kiss to your daughter’s cheek then your husband’s.

you then push them through the door with a nervous smile, “okay, bye! have a great time and don’t forget that mama loves you!”

“I love you too, mama!”

of course, you would’ve loved to accompany your daughter to school, especially on her first day, but the darn office just happened to call for you right now.

sukuna knows that, and so does your cute daughter, so there is a reason why they were both so reluctant to leave.

anyway, back to the present.

your husband’s frown is still evident as he is robbed yet again from a ‘proper’ kiss. he picks your daughter up easily and then throws her in the car.

she, as always, finds it funny and starts laughing her little butt off. sukuna rolls his eyes, and gets into the car himself.

he puts on the playlist that your daughter made herself, and finally starts the car. the ride is quiet, if you don’t count the singing and screaming of your daughter.

of course, sukuna can’t do anything about it—even if he knows that he doesn’t want her to stop in the first place.

the school isn’t that far away anyway, so they reach it in no time. your husband skilfully parks in front of the gate and takes his seatbelt off.

he doesn’t hear hurried unbuckling of a belt or nonstop squealing and fidgeting, so he looks at his daughter, “what’s up?”

she fidgets with the hem of her shirt then speaks up, softly, “I am—scared.”

he furrows his eyebrow, turning his entire body towards her, “huh? why? you were so excited with your mom earlier and you were screaming my ear off about it yesterday.”

“I know,” she murmurs then frowns, “…but what if people don’t like me?”

sukuna is stunned for a moment. he isn’t the one to normally deal with your daughter whenever she needed deep or meaningful emotional advice.

that was what you did, especially since you are able to read your daughter pretty well.

but he tries his best cause he would be damned if he isn’t the best father. his hand is placed on her head, albeit a bit roughly.

she whines, “papa, my hair!”

he takes a moment, “I…” he starts then quietens down for a second, and even then, you’re daughter is looking intently at him.

he then looks at her again, “they will love you. you’re a good kid."

your daughter’s eyes widen at her dad’s unfiltered compliment. she beams, quickly unbuckling her belt and throwing herself into his arms.

her smile is so wide it almost hurts her, but her heart feels so full because of her dad’s praise that she couldn’t care about anything other than him.

he slowly starts patting her head, “and if someone bothers you, I will just beat them up.”

“mama said no violence!” your daughter scolds and almost on cue, your face appears on the screen: you’re calling!

looks like you managed to squeeze in some time to check up on her. your daughter swiftly presses on answer and chirps, “hi mama!”

“hi baby! why are you not in school yet?” you question, eyes darting towards your husband, questioning.

“papa wanted to get some food first, so we just arrived!”

sukuna is—internally—flabbergasted. this liar. he is about to interject, but then he ponders about it for a moment: maybe she doesn’t want you to see her hesitant about the whole school thing.

maybe she wants to appear strong—with no weak points—in front of her mother. then he breathes out a chuckle, at least she takes after him in something.

“sukuna! she could’ve been late!” you huff then sigh, “good thing that you guys moved early anyway.”

your eyes then focus on your daughter, “how’re you feeling?”

“excited!”

“any nerves or anything?” you ask knowingly, but she shakes her head.

she hugs sukuna tighter, “I was a little nervous, but papa made me feel better!”

you grin, “did he now?”

he notices the teasing glint behind your eyes and looks away to avoid your gaze. your daughter giggles at her dad’s behaviour, and so do you.

and your husband has never felt more teamed up on than now. she hears the bell rings, “oh! I gotta go now!”

“bye papa!” she kisses her dad’s cheek, “bye mama!” then kisses the phone’s screen. you blow her a kiss back, and she dashes out of the car, ready to start her day.

even while walking towards the building, she turns again to her dad and waves at him happily.

sukuna nods and she grins, switching her focus back on the school. his focus is on her intently, until you speak up, “I am proud of you.”

his gaze snaps to you, expecting a teasing smirk, but instead you’re smiling warmly at him. his heart contracts in a way that makes him feel weird, and he can’t find it in him to give you a snarky reply.

he groans, “she is my daughter as much as she is yours, y’know.”

you hum, “of course, she is,” he hears rustling on the other line, so he assumes you’re checking some papers before turning to him again, “she takes after you in more ways than one.”

“yeah, I noticed,” he says quietly, and you laugh.

he notices from the corner of his eyes his daughter laughing excitedly with a bunch of others girls, and he lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

you tap on your desk a little, “you nervous?”

“if someone hurts her, I will kill them.”

“I figured."

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