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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 14 hours

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Winter's King 12

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: have a good weekend.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stand, still uncertain. You look at the king as he tilts his face up to the moonlight. The silver sheen washes over him with an unearthly glow. He looks lupine, much like your dream.

“Your highness?” You echo again, hands curling around the sides of your skirt.

“Will you continue to disregard my order?” He challenges as his gold eyes meet yours. You wince at the way they shine.

“No, your highness, I am only...” you hush yourself and clamp your lips tight. You turn and search around, numbly walking along the curve of the pond.

He growls as you reach the line of hedges into the next walkway.

“You will want to go much faster than that,” he warns as you hear him stand. “I will allow you some advance...” He exhales as you glance back at him, “ten...” he stares at you, his figure shrouded in shadow from far away, “nine...”

You blanch and tumble backward through the gap. You spin and stagger on your soles, throwing your arms out as your heart pulses madly. Something about his timbre, about his words, has you alight. There is something amiss about him.

You push your legs against your skirts and hurry blindly into the nocturnal void. The moonlight seeps in around the silhouette of leaves as you keep your hands ahead of you to prevent a collision. You try to see through the dark, like silk across your eyes, making out little more than hazy orbs.

You crash into a thicket of thorns and pull away from the rosy bunch. Their scent clings onto you as you turn to the left and dive down the next path. You don’t know these gardens, not like Debray. For all you know, you’re going even deeper.

You hear a step behind you and swirl to face it. You squint, trying to see who is there. Is it the king? Do you want it to be? What does he mean to do when he catches you? What is the meaning of this game?

You plunge back into a sprint, puffing as you pump your arms. You whimper and whine as you slow, legs heavy and feet dull. Where are you going? You don’t like this. You remember a night like this before, how the cold dew of the forest crept up your legs, feet hitting the earth in quick succession, the holler of men and snort of horses behind you.

You stagger and spin back. No, you can’t run anymore. You don’t like this. You don’t like those thoughts. That last night before you were taken to Debray, before you dawned the cap of your bearing. That orphan girl running from servitude.

You walk forward, shaking as you peer back and forth. You wade through the thick grey air. You hear a twig snap and a bush rustle, each noise from a different direction. Perhaps it is a rabbit or a chipmunk. You sniffle and wring your hands.

You must find the king. You will surrender this game and ask that he takes you back to the castle. You trudge over the beaten path and hear the soft trickle ahead. It must be the pond. The silver light blooms brighter as you come upon a space in the hedges.

Suddenly, there is only air beneath your feet. You kick out as something rigid wraps around your waist and lifts you. You wriggle desperately and cry out, your eyes tinging but not overflowing. Your fear has you clawing at the hold around your middle.

“Please, please, don’t hurt me!” You plead as you flail, “please, sir, I’ll go back to the castle--” you choke as the grasp on you slackens but your feet still do not meet the ground. You quiet as you recall your present, that you are not in that forest, that you are far from Debray.

You are sat upon the bench, the silver moon gleaming down on you as it outlines the broad shadow before you. King Geralt faces you, kneeling as you tremble and hug yourself. You put your head down in shame.

“Apologies, your highness, I was lost,” you reach to rub your cheek, flicking back your tears with your lashes, “I got confused.”

“No, it is I who should apologise, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he takes your hand between his big ones, “I only meant to make some fun.” He brushes his touch up your arms and squeezes as you drop your hand to your lap, “little maid, did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, “I was only... delirious. It is too dark out here. I cannot see,” you bite down and look away, “apologies, I did act out.”

“Little maid,” he tickles along your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine, “I would not let you get lost or hurt.” He tilts his hand to cradle your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone, “what was it you were running from in your head? Who?”

“No one,” you lie. “Just a memory.”

“Memories are not just that,” he insists, “but I understand how they can hurt. Forgive me, treasure, I wasn’t--”

“Your highness,” the sullen voice has the king recoiling. He quickly plants his foot and stands. You rise as well, toying with that word he called you. Treasure. “The queen sends for you.”

Bryce steps out into the moonlight. You look at him then the ground. How long had he been there? How much had he heard?

“The queen,” King Geralt grumbles, “what is it she wants? It is late--”

“She would not say and I would not guess,” Bryce says, “but she screams for it. Like a yowling cat.”

The king sighs and lowers his head. He squares his shoulders and resets his posture. He steps away from you and gestures to his soldier. The king twists around and marches away. Bryce falls into pace with you as you follow. He is silent, you all are.

You approach the castle, guards lurking in the shadows, and are let past the front doors by a sombre pair. Inside, you follow the king through the great hall and up the stairs. You peek over at Bryce as you proceed down the corridor. He gently squeezes your wrist, just briefly, and carries on.

“Your highness,” Bryce speaks as you hear a racket ahead of you; screeching and crashing. “Should I escort the maid back to her chambers?”

“Cursed woman,” King Geralt mutters as he slows, Queen Jazlene’s door just ahead. He pauses and looks over his shoulder, “the cost of a kingdom...”

“Your highness?” Bryce prompts once again.

You echo him and step forward, “I could calm her. Bring some wine--”

“No, she will have no more of that,” the king declares sharply. “I wed her, I put my name next to hers, so it is I shall attend to her. Sir,” he looks at Bryce, “do as you suggest, put the maid in her chambers and I will put the queen in her place.”

“Aye, your highness,” Bryce bows his head and points you back, “come, maid, the night wears on.”

You glance up at the king. His golden eyes are wrought as his gaze holds yours for only an instant. You see the hesitation bob in his throat before he turns away. You mirror him and follow Bryce back along the corridor.

As you climb to the next floor and continue down another corridor, Bryce slows. He stops as he gets to the door and faces you. He takes a breath as he looks you up and down.

“It’s treacherous here in the summer kingdom,” he says, “but that will not change on the road. Mouse, you keep yourself well.”

“Thank you, sir, I am fine.”

“Aye, you do not take my meaning but you do not take the king’s either,” he puts his hand on his belt, “his favour might do you fine in this moment, but it is dangerous. Let not others notice so they may not envy it.”

You grimace and shake your head, “what do you mean?”

“Your little games do not need an audience. It is no tournament.”

Your chest sinks and your skin speckles. Is he accusing you of something?

“I... I haven’t done anything untoward. I would not, sir--”

“You may not,” he intones, “but we are all ruled by the will of the king.”

“Sir, the king is married to Lady Jazlene--”

“And we both see how they fare,” he states bluntly. “Carry my words with you, do with them as you may, but I could not leave them unsaid.”

Your eyes gloss and your nose tingles once more. He’s mad. Truly, he can’t think you and King Geralt. A maid and her master.

“I would not,” you repeat.

He huffs and nods curtly. He turns to the door and unlatches it, “go, rest your head while you can.”

“Sir Bryce--”

“I am bid protect you by the king,” he pushes the door inward and rests his hand on the frame, “not from him.” He looks past you, as if through, “little mouse, I do hope I am wrong as well but I know better than to depend on that.”

You shudder and tug at the end of your sleeve. You slump and drag your feet through the doorway. You stop, just inside, “good night, sir.”

He grunts and pulls the door shut. Your lip trembles as your heart races, just as it did in the garden. He is wrong. He must be. You saw yourself how the king is trying, he even said it was the queen he meant to game with earlier. It was only that she was too unwell. He said it!

And he goes to the queen’s chamber that night. He is not there. He has not been disloyal. The matter is not your concern. You serve wine, you lace gowns, you braid hair. You are only the maid.

⚔️

You return to the queen’s service the next morning. The world is a bit more familiar as you help her into her gown and twine her hair into an elaborate coif. Servants pass in and out of her chambers as they prepare for the royal party’s imminent departure.

“Why can we not keep this capital?” Queen Jazlene whines, “but my husband does insist on return to his frigid homelands.”

You say nothing as you sift through the old monarch’s jewelry chest. You present to her successor each gem, brooch, and chain. She has yet to turn any away though you wonder if there would be room in her already bustling luggage. Perhaps the cart will be a touch more crowded on your ride north.

“And yet my husband did come to me,” she boasts, “I think... hmm, well, perhaps this marriage won’t be so turbulent.”

You show her a cuff and she snatches it. She puts it on her wrist, turning her arm this way and that, as she oohs and aahs. She wiggles excitedly.

“I recall this piece. One year, when I came with father to court, the queen wore this cuff. You see the emeralds. I remember she was so proud of it even though all the court knew it was only gifted to her by her husband to distract from his mistress,” she trills, “oh, how foolish. But the old queen was so boring. It is a wonder the king didn’t dispose of her, who can blame him for taking an amour?”

She sighs and looks at the mirror, “and she wasn’t half so pretty as me.”

You remain silent, continuing to sort with her endless approval. You don’t think there is a single trinket she could ever turn away. You don’t see the need for so many of the same thing. Some stones are brighter than others but why not keep the brightest and do away with the rest.

“As I was saying,” she goes on, “last night when the king came to me, he was... almost meek. That man. Can you imagine? I admit I was distraught after the day I suffered but he listened and we spoke.” She strokes her fingers as she admires her oval nails. “There are some southern lords who will come north as well, some northern to stay behind. He says it will help us acquaint the two kingdoms into one.”

She drops her hands and pushes her shoulders straight, “he is wise. I suppose I should heed him if I am to be a good queen.”

You are want to agree but to do so aloud may be taken as insult. She might have done it sooner and saved herself some trouble. Yet it isn’t your place and you haven’t the wisdom of a queen. You’re merely a servant.

“Once I give him an heir, he will have to listen to me too. Yes, I will do what mother could never. Give my husband a son,” she drags her hand to her midsection, “I think last night...” she flutters her lashes dreamily. Her suggestion makes you squirm. Her and the king’s relations are hardly your concern. “It was better,” her voice is brittle, “even if...” she peers around and clamps her lips. She narrows her dark eyes, “close the door.”

You obey. You come back to her and return to your previous task. She reaches in to pluck out a string of pearls.

“He puts me on my stomach,” she whispers, almost as if she thinks you won’t hear, but she is speaking to you. There is no one else in the room. Perhaps she is only embarrassed that she has only to the courage to tell a maid. “And he behind me so I can’t see him and... he can’t see me but... but if he could...” she toys with the pearls, “if he’d just look at me, he might like it better.”

You lift a pair of medallions earrings and she ignores them. She tosses the pearls back in the chest and stands. You back away.

“He won’t let me touch him otherwise,” she mulls as she paces. “But he is warming. It is early, isn’t it? And compared to the first night... I don’t know. It will get better. It must.”

She quiets and stands by the window. Her anxiety is palpable. It’s uncharacteristic. You’ve never seen her uncertain of anything yet you can understand it. She is soon to set off to a new life and to brave a long road. When she reaches her destination, she will be a true queen. When you get there, you’ll still be a maid.

“I’ll go to him tonight,” she says and raises her head, “yes, yes, I will go to him and try again.” She spins and smirks at her grand idea, “maid, I must find something to wear for him. Well, nothing very much,” she remarks coyly, “but I will need a robe. Yes, I saw a satin one in the queen’s closet.” She swallows and stands as straight as she can, “my closet.”

You diligently cross the chamber and search the wardrobe. You find a white satin robe stitched with gold and silver. You turn to show the queen. She giggles and claps her hands.

“Wine,” she says, “I must find some courage too.”

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #the witcher #series #au #medieval au #winter's king

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entomjinx · 1 day

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ONE PIECE CHAPTER 1113 SPOILERS!!!

It's tagged, it's in bold, if you didn't see it that's on you, but I'm sorry. (I'm also a little sick so sorry for how this starts to turn a little insane at the end.)

The reveal makes perfect sense. I've seen a few people struggle to figure out where it came from, so I'm gonna explain why it makes perfect sense and then pop off with some silly theory.

The first hint at the fact that the One Piece world is sinking exists all the way back in Long Ring Long Island.

That seems like an odd place to start, but it's the first time we're shown how drastic the tides of the ocean in the One Piece world can change. It's enough to separate entire parts of an island, causing it to appear as separate islands, once every year.

This implies that the tides change drastically over the course of much longer periods than it does in the real world.

After that, we get to Water Seven and discover that it's sinking, and that the Aqua Laguna is getting worse every year. We also know that it's caused by the water receding at Long Ring Long island. We're also outright told that they want to make the city float to stop the sinking problem.

We also, much later, see just how high Wano is in altitude.

Knowing that the Redline is so tall that it cannot be passed by any ship, cannot be broken through, and that Mariejois is sat right on top of it only adds to why it makes sense.

The world isn't "sinking," those some islands technically are(Water Seven, modeled after Venice), the tides are going to rise exponentially, and fast.

The force of the water would instantly drown most people, and those who survived would be those who could get to higher altitude islands, the sky islands, Fishman Island, or the Redline.

And because I know someone will try to point this out: land bound plant life can temporarily survive underwater, so Ohara's 5000 year old library tree would be fine for a a bit while submerged. There's lots of places with high tides who's plant life is just fine. (This also could explain why they'd be so willing to throw the books into the water. Not only was it to save them from the fire, but many of them had likely been submerged for long periods of time before. They knew the books would be find in the end because they had record of it. And well, it's mentioned in the chapter that Vegapunk means to finish what Ohara started.)

This would also explain how thorough the government was able to be with wiping out information from the void century. If only a few places can survive, then few things that tell the truth will survive, and even fewer people.

Do I think I'm 100% correct about any of this? Or course not, it's Oda. It's One Piece. Things are pretty much never predicted with 100% accuracy. But that's my thoughts on why it makes sense. Now we get into theory:

I have several points to make, so I'm going to write out the shortest ones first.

-This would, completely unironically, explain some of the centuries long racism campaign against fishman. They have no reason to fear the high tides. They will survive no matter what happens on the surface, and that scares the humans who cannot.

-I think that the extreme tide is a part of why the bridge is being built in Tequila Wolf. I believe the bridges purposes is to connect all the highest points of the world so there's no need for ships to carry them. This way, the Celestial Dragons will still have access to more slaves, produce, and anything they can't get within Mariejois on their own during the time period when everyone drowns.

-and now we get to the big one:

I think that the reason the 20 kings and their people destroyed the ancient kingdom is because the ancient kingdom had a way to survive the high tide while keeping the maximum number of people safe in the process, and while being able to save many more people. They refused to ask for help, and were instead afraid of the power the ancient kingdom held, so they sought to destroy it.

I think that the ancient "weapons" were instead a means of survival, and the reason they were hidden is because the 20 kings would have used them as weapons instead. We don't know much about the ancient kingdom, so much of this is speculation.

I think Pluton was a large enough ship that it could carry the entire kingdom. We've already seen some massive ships in One Piece, and Iceburg intends to turn the entirety of Water Seven into a ship, so the idea of an island sized ship isn't all that odd.

If you continue to think about it, why did none of the Beast Pirates manage to find Pluton while searching for the poneglyph in Wano? I have two theories for this based on the fact that we're told Wano would have to open it's borders in order to get Pluton. If the walls would need to be torn down, then we can continue to assume that Pluton is massive.

Theory one is that Pluton is is hidden within the mountain itself, and that the mountain was man-made to hide the ship. Not only would the walls need to come down, but the mountain itself would have to be destroyed. They would also need a way to survive the high tide without it, so creating a mountain that is high enough in altitude to keep them safe would have been a necessity. I think this is the more believable of the two theories.

Theory Two is that Pluton is Wano. The entire island is the ship, and many of Wano's people descended from the people of the ancient kingdom or those they rescued. This one is much less likely, but it's still a possibility in my mind.

We know that Poseidon was the former mermaid princess, and that the current one is Shirahoshi. She can control the sea kings. Why would this be important? Because if everywhere floods, then the sea kings, who are already very large creatures, suddenly have an influx of room to move, food to eat, and places to lay eggs. It would cause a population spike. *However,* that would cause an ecological disaster within the food chain. The sudden influx of sea kings would be desperate for any food they can get their hands on, and many would likely die of starvation. This means they need some way to repel them from the large ship.

We don't know anything about Uranus yet, so I've nothing for you.

Another thing we know about the ancient kingdom is that they seemed to be friendly with everyone, or at least it's implied via how many friends Joy Boy made.

Fishman: Along with the bonus of having Poseidon, the fishman also have access to the tree resin from Sabaody. Should the ship(Puton) or the ancient kingdom ever need to submerge in order to keep people safe or to have a temporary air bubble, They'd be safe.

Lunarians: The people who originally lived on top of the redline. Sinee the redline is high enough to not sink, it would have made sense for them to be trade partners.

Skypians and Shandians: Another race with wings. if the tides really got too high, then they could join them in the sky sea for a time. They could also trade with them.

Minks: Zunesha was a friend of Joyboy's. We don't know much else about that situation, but it's likely that Zunesha is plenty tall enough to keep the minks from drowning, and they could have traded often as well. Maybe Zunesha was even able to do something similar to the giants.

The Giants: This feels like the most important one to me, and not just because of recent chapters. Obviously the giants think very highly of Nika/Joyboy, but it's also very likely that Elbaf is tall enough to survive the high tide, and if not, the the giants themselves are. If you look at what's known about current giants, some of them are tall enough to walk along the sea floor, and the ancient giants were so large that it's said they pulled and moved continents.

Why is that bit important? Because a ship the size of an entire island would likely need a lot more than sails buoyancy to move quickly. The ancient kingdom was pulled by the giants. They moved to different areas to rescue people and to trade so that life continued while the tide was at it's highest point.

Another random thing that supports this is the giant's vehement hatred towards Charlotte Linlin. She has Totto Land, which is supposed to be a place where all races live in harmony, but it would be a mockery of what the ancient kingdom was like, and for giants, who live about 300 years, that's only a few generations back. They would still have stories about the ancient kingdom and remember the truth.

Again, I don't think anything I predict will ever be 100% accurate, but I hope you enjoyed my rambling nonetheless.

#one piece #one piece chapter 1113 #one piece spoilers #one piece theory #nika #joyboy #one piece ancient kingdom #this kinda turned into stream of consciousness at the end #so I hope it makes some sense.#if you read all of it #thank you #I love and appreciate you #drink something eat something and take your meds today

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pedroshotwifey · 1 day

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To the Flame chapter fourteen

Series masterlist

Pairing: Dark!Javier Peña x afab!reader

Chapter w/c: 2.7k

Chapter warnings: physical abuse, manipulation, mental abuse, Javi being a dick, toxic relationship, alcohol consumption, mild description of injury, mentions of noncon, emotional distress, anxiety attacks, this is fucked, please just go in with caution

Chapter Summary: Is this the beginning of the end?

A/N: hey, y’all! Another chapter that hits pretty close to home for me, as I’m sure a lot of the upcoming ones will. A lot of emotions in this one! Please always remember that I am here for anyone who would like to talk ❤️

*****

You don’t get out of bed for the majority of the next day.

When you first wake, you feel like you’re being crushed by an overwhelming weight of emotion. It pushes you down and strips you until you’re bare and gasping for air, making you writhe and whimper in pain. And then it just stops. And you don’t feel sad, or scared, or anything else. Just void and numb. Like your body isn’t yours and your mind is in a far away place that you don’t dare attempt to reach.

The curtains are down, leaving the bedroom a dark and quiet place. Perfect to lay in bed, unfeeling and alone. It gives you nothing to focus on, so you instead hone in on the stickiness of your wet cheeks and the throbbing of your sore eyes. The sensation of your crumbling heart, though, you push it far, far away and leave it to rest.

It’s Monday, so you know Javi’s gone to work, but you have no idea what time it is. You don’t want to get up to look, and you don’t want to think about your husband. Fuck, your husband. Tears sting your eyes and start to overflow, but you’re not consciously doing it. It’s like your very soul is confused and is causing your body to react in every way you wish it wouldn’t. At the thought of him, the uncomfortable ache between your legs makes itself known. It fucking hurts and it makes you feel pathetic, though you don’t understand why. You just know that there's an underlying feeling of shame crawling uncomfortably beneath your skin.

You want to wash it away—all the shame and hurt and confusion you won’t allow to surface. You want to get in the shower and scrub your skin until it burns. You want to drown his scent, his touch, the memory of his hands, his body on top of yours. But you don’t, you can’t. You can’t move from the place you’re already drowning in.

You lay in the dark and silently sob, not doing anything to wipe the tears as they run down into your hairline because you know that there will just be more. You cry until your eyes hurt and your breathing starts to smooth out again, until you’re lulled back asleep by the wracks of your body. It feels like a cruel trick from the darkness, but you let it take you willingly. Anything to escape this nightmarish reality.

It’s probably only a couple of hours later when you wake up again to the silence. But this time, the first thing out of your mouth is a frustrated and strangled sob. Anger warms your entire body as you throw the blanket off without thinking. You’re not really sure where the aggression comes from or what it’s directed to, so you just blame it on yourself for being weak. For waking up and crying and giving up. You want to kick yourself and tell yourself to just suck it the fuck up.

But you can’t, so you instead slam the bedroom door open and stomp into the kitchen. Another heave leaves your lips as you enter the threshold, this one closer to a scream as tears escape you and your stomach twists painfully at the reminder of last night. Your knees give out, leaving you to sink down onto the freshly tiled floor. You soak in your anger and your hatred, and it’s unlike anything you’ve felt before. It fully consumes you, making you tremble with the force of it and your teeth grind as you try and fail to bite it down.

Your hands come up and thread through your hair, pulling tightly and close to the base, but more to ground you than to pull any strands out. You can’t fall into a panic attack here, you may not come out. Javi’s the only one who can save you from that, and he’s not here. You give yourself two minutes to collect yourself, though you’re still not all the way there as you force yourself up and push toward the medicine drawer.

With rough movements, you pull it open, snatch up the melatonin, and shakily pour four tablets into your palm. You shove them into your mouth and swallow them dry, wanting them to kick in as soon as possible. You start to screw the lid back on, but it doesn’t thread right, and you make a sound of frustration again as you say ‘fuck it’ and just shove it back onto the counter, pills spilling all over the place. You go straight back to bed, pulling the blanket up and letting yourself cry back to sleep.

The third time, you wake in a panic, your body shaking in an aggressive and unnatural way. Your eyes snap open and find that the light is turned on, and it’s only once you feel a harsh grip on both of your arms that you comprehend someone shaking you awake. Your first instinct is to push back on the bed, struggling to get away, but the hold gets tighter as the person yells something that you can’t understand yet in your current state.

“How many did you fucking take?” Javi demands, his face coming close to yours. Tears are already leaking from your eyes as you meet his gaze, your voice stuck in your throat. You wish they would go away. It seems like it’s impossible to be awake without them accompanying you.

“W-What?” you manage to squeeze out. He’s stopped shaking you, but he looks angry. No, not just angry, you realize as your heart contracts painfully in your chest. He looks scared.

“The pills, how many did you fucking take?”

Your head just shakes as you try to catch up.

“How fucking many?” He does jolt you this time, bringing you even closer. He starts to drag you off of the bed, and his fingers dig in so hard that they hurt. You yelp and jump up, trying to ease the strain. It only hits you once your feet hit the ground, what he could possibly be talking about.

“F-Four!” you spit. “I took four!”

He stops talking but his jaw stays set as he looks you up and down like he’s both assessing your well-being and deciding something detrimental. Your lip trembles as he looks into your eyes, and you know that the only reason you’re standing right now is because of the support of his rough hands. But you still try to back away as he brings you closer and embraces you. But it doesn’t feel right. Whereas your body used to fit together with his, it’s now like something chipped away, leaving a jagged gap. It feels so fucking wrong.

You let him hold you for a moment before you speak. And when you do, you’re not quite sure where it comes from. You think that the words were bouncing around in your head, but you didn’t want to actually say them, you didn’t try. But they come out—quiet and trembling—but they do.

“Let me go.” It’s spoken almost incoherently into his chest, but he goes still all the same. He doesn’t attempt to loosen his grip.

“Javi,” you say, more confident than you figured it would be. You think it might be the anger coming forward and holding you up, lifting your voice higher. “Let me go.”

He loosens up slowly, but keeps you in his grasp as he steps back just enough to look into your wet eyes. “What did you just say to me?”

Anger bubbles up even more, causing you to boil over.

“I said let me the fuck go,” you seethe, matching his firey gaze. You pull one arm away from him and he snatches you back quicker than you can blink. You’re flipped onto your stomach and your front half is pinned to the bed in a flash.

“Let me fucking go!” you yell and thrash, fear creeping up alongside your fury. Javi’s heavy body covers yours, his grunt spilling into your ear as he uses all his weight to keep you between him and the mattress, defenseless and unable to move. The more you squirm, the tighter he holds you, his grip crushing to the point where you cry out in pain.

He doesn’t relent until you stop struggling, and instead lay there and pant like a feral dog being forced down for a shot. His chest heaves against your back from his efforts as his hot breath fans across the side of your face. You smell a faint tinge of alcohol, but you don’t think it’s much. He must have not been home for too long. Maybe just enough for one or two beers before he saw the pills or grew curious about your absence.

“There’s something you need to understand, sweetheart,” he says quietly and so calmly that it sends a shiver down your sweaty spine. He waits to make sure you don’t have anything to say before he continues. “I’m in charge here, and you need to get that inside your dumb little head.”

Your stomach drops with dread, your eyelids fluttering as you resist the urge to close them. Whatever part of your heart that hadn’t cracked and bruised within the last few weeks, just fell apart. You’re overcome by a sudden surge of grief, the only thing racing through your mind just keeps repeating to you that your husband is gone, lost for good. You’re alone and you’ll never see him again. Your body trembles, and Javi must recognize it as submission.

“Everything I do is for you, whether you like it or not,” he growls. “You need to start showing some fucking respect about it.”

You both lay there for a while, and it’s like you’re seeing it from the outside. A scared woman being pulled apart from the inside by the shell of the man who once gave her everything. She doesn’t know where he went, nor what happened for him to leave, but she knows that she’ll, too, never be the same.

When Javi gets back up, you stay exactly where he left you. You’re not crying anymore, but you think it’s because you’re finally out of tears. Come to think of it, you don’t remember the last time you drank something. Your body is probably incredibly dehydrated.

“I’m going to make dinner,” Javi tells you from the doorway. “Get yourself together and be at the table in half an hour.”

You nod shallowly into the mattress, not looking at him, not looking at anything as he walks away. You don’t wait long before you numbly drag yourself into the shower, locking the bathroom door for the first time since you’ve been living with Javi. You strip, avoiding the mirror, and then crawl into the shower and just sit in the hot stream for a moment. It’s almost a little too hot, but you don’t pay too much attention to it.

All of your energy goes into clearing your mind. You don’t want to fucking think, you just want it to stop. You let the water wash it all away; the grief, the fear, the ache, the sadness, the pain, the lingering hope and happiness that doesn’t seem to get the hint that it’s no longer welcome here.

The next thing you now, you’re back out of the shower, your hair and body scrubbed clean. You’re towelling your wet breasts off, trying not to think about anybody else's hands on them. You never want to be touched again, now that your body has been tainted and defiled. You feel broken and disgusting.

You jump when the doorknob rattles, your heart racing as you clutch the towel close to you. There’s a quiet sigh and then a gentle knock from the other side.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Your legs wobble as your vision blurs. He sounds so normal that it fucking kills you. He sounds like your husband, caring and concerned. You forget to answer, stuck all alone inside your head.

“Sweetheart?” No response comes from your lips. “I’m coming in,” he tells you. And you don’t protest, because that hope that you’d tried so hard to scrub away has somehow lingered and clung to your battered heart.

The door starts to unlock and slowly open, and you take a step back to make room. When it’s open all the way, you catch the eyes of your husband standing in the doorway. He watches you with sympathy and something you clock as regret. He opens his arms and gives you a barely-there smile. It doesn’t reach his sad eyes, but it conveys what he’s trying to say. I’m sorry, please forgive me.

You bolt forward, immediately sobbing into his chest as he wraps his arms around you. You want to hate yourself for how quickly you give in, but you can’t. A different person, you tell yourself. You soak up the attention he’s giving you, relief flooding your very bones as you accept his embrace. His chin comes down to rest on your head as he holds you tightly and shushes you.

“I know, baby,” he whispers. “I know.”

He pets your hair and brings you into the bedroom, helping you sit down on the bed as you sniffle and attempt to dry your tears. He goes to the dresser and then comes back with one of his T-shirts and a pair of your underwear and pajama shorts. You calm down as you stand and let him dress you, savoring the calmness that’s filled the air.

When you’re dressed, he leads you into the kitchen, where he has what smells like chicken noodle soup warming on the stovetop. You sit down at the table as he makes you a bowl and brings it over to you along with a glass of water, of which you quickly gulp down half of. Your mouth waters at the smell, your empty stomach grumbling. He hands you your spoon, places a kiss to the top of your head, and takes the seat across from you.

You eat in silence, allowing yourself to sink back into your body. The soup warms you and you find it easier to relax. The meal is spent in a comfortable silence, and Javi waits for you to finish your bowl before he talks again.

“I invited Steve and Connie for dinner next weekend.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You’d thought he didn’t like them.

“Do you think you could make dinner Sunday night? I can pick something up, but I think they’d both be lucky to try your cooking,” he winks at you, a smile playing at his lips.

Your cheeks heat slightly and you avoid his gaze as you smile as well, pride swelling in your chest. “Yeah, I can do that,” you tell him. “What would you like?”

“Whatever you feel like, sweetheart.”

You nod and get up to get another small bowl of soup. When you turn back to the table, he motions for you to come toward him.

“C’mere, baby,” he pleads, pushing his chair out so you have room to sit on his lap. Your heart jumps to your throat out of reflex, but you walk toward him anyway, trying to quell your anxiety as you lower yourself on to him. He waits for you to get comfortable, your legs dangling off of one side of his lap. He nuzzles his face into your cheek as his hand grips your waist, and your breath hitches.

“I hope you forgive me for earlier, baby,” he whispers. “I know I was rough. I was just so scared.”

You lean back slightly to look at him, at the vulnerability in his eyes. You don’t even think about what happened in the bedroom as you tell him, “It’s okay, Javi. I forgive you.” You give him a weak smile and cup one side of his jaw, stroking the light stubble there.

“I meant it, though,” he says gently. “I’ll always do what’s best for you, and I’m sorry if you don’t like that sometimes.”

You swallow, ignoring the lump in your throat as you nod. “It’s okay,” you assure him, though your voice is barely even a whisper. You hold as still as you can as Javi leans forward and presses a barely-there kiss to your lips. He doesn’t linger, and a part of you is extremely thankful for that.

“Alright, baby,” he says, his lips tickling your jaw. “Go ahead and finish your soup.”

You nod and pick up your spoon.

******

Lmk if anyone would like to be added or taken off of the taglist!

Series taglist: @corazondebeskar @yorksgirl @nerdieforpedro @axshadows @melaninmommy @survivingandenduring @kewwrites @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @callachloe @missladym1981 @sofiparallel @koshkaj-blog @sheepdogchick3 @movievillainess721 @jessie8605 @casa-boiardi @justlulu @iamsherlocked-1998 @hjzghi-blog @glitterymanboy @letstalkaboutshtufff

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itbmojojoejo · 9 months

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Bronze Onyx | Sigefrid x OFC

Pairing: Sigefrid x OFC

Word Count: 3.4k | Part 1 | Other works

Summary: With the fall of Eoferwic, Arnora flees with Sigefrid and Erik to Frankia.

Warnings: MDNI18+ NSFW. Mentions and threats of violence, unprotected PinV. Oral (m receiving). Slight somnophilia, light choking and very light hair pulling (if you squint).

Authors Notes: *feral raccoon noises* -There isn't much plot to this one LMAO. I'm sorry this took a damn while but it's here, and yes part 3 will still be happening at some point.

The night sky was heavy with the heat of the day clinging to the air and the smell of a thunderstorm rolled in through the window of the dimly lit bedroom. Sigefrid lightly trailed a hand along the soft skin of Arnora’s back as she laid with her head on his chest listening to the steady beat of his heart with her legs tangled in his.

“Come with me ‘Nora,” Sigefrid’s low voice rumbled in his chest beneath her ear.

“To fight the Scots? Don’t be absurd.” She laughed lightly.

“I wouldn’t dare give you an axe, I just ask that you keep my bed warm.” He jested, pulling her further into him.

“Oh, how could I forget! My one use,”

“Now it is you being absurd. Will you not miss me?” He stroked the golden hair from her face and tried to get her to look at him.

Arnora’s cheeks blushed a gentle hue of pink as a smile played on her lips and she pushed away from him getting out of the bed. They had not spoken of their feelings for one another in the time since Arnora came to Eoferwic, Sigefrid knew that she was his and that was all that mattered.

He felt no need to speak of sentiment when both of their actions showed how fond they had become of one another. Arnora had not tried to flee the city when she was given more freedom choosing to remain by Sigefrid’s side, and he had paid no notice of any newly enslaved women brought into the city.

Sigefrid watched her pull on his red tunic and tie it at her waist covering up what he deemed to be her best parts and pour a cup of ale, with a sigh he got up not bothering to cover his own naked body and came to stand behind her stroking his hands down her arms.

“I think you would, so, you can come with me or stay here with Haesten until I return.”

“And here I was thinking you were giving me a genuine choice,” Arnora spoke playfully and turned to meet his onyx gaze poking his chest, “Admit that you would miss me, and I will follow you,”

“I will miss having a warm bed without yo-AH!” Arnora pinched his nipple at his jest and her laugh cut off into a yelp as he roughly lifted her over his shoulder and dropped her down back onto the furs.

Sigefrid grappled with her kicking legs and she laughed as he settled between her thighs with a huff.

“I would miss you, ‘Nora.” He admitted looking into her bronze eyes.

“Then I will come with you.” She responded softly, stroking her fingers along the dark ink decorating the side of his head.

Under the morning sky Arnora weaved her way through the crowd of women and children who were to stay behind in Eoferwic saying their farewell’s to the parting men. Checking over her saddle Sigefrid’s hand came to replace hers and she looked up over her shoulder at him, his face was set in determination for what was ahead and he spoke quietly not meeting her gaze.

“You are to wait and leave with the wagons, understand?”

“Yes.”

They had spoken of this the night before, it was to ensure that the fighting men were able to clear their path should anyone be waiting to launch a surprise attack on the road.

Sigefrid silently helped her mount the horse giving the reins a final once over and as he turned a shorter priest with murky brown hair bumped into him. Arnora watched on as Sigefrid held the holy man known as Hrothweard by the neck and face before headbutting him hard after Erik had failed to completely resolve the situation.

His temperament was something that no longer took Arnora by surprise, he could be laughing then lashing out at a person all within the same breath but she had somehow been spared this behaviour.

The journey north had been slow and Arnora found herself glad to be under a fabric canopy with furs to sleep on, the camp was still half a day's ride out from where Erik and Sigefrid would be starting their battles so she would be at a safe distance with the others who would also remain.

At night all was quiet with the men ordered to keep themselves sober and Arnora had managed to reduce the feeling of unease that had seeped into her bones enough to eventually fall asleep with Sigefrid enveloping her smaller frame in his arms.

The sound of a light breeze rustling leaves of surrounding trees crept into the tent Sigefrid laid awake in, he stared up at the canopy with his arm trapped under Arnora’s head and her sleeping breaths tickling his skin.

Rolling onto his side he brushed his knuckles down the bare skin of Arnora’s back hoping to rouse her but she simply leaned herself further back against his chest. With a smirk playing on his lips he smoothed his hand down her hip, over her arse and between her legs letting his fingers skim over her folds.

She shifted ever so slightly at the contact so he slipped his middle finger through her folds as his trapped arm folded inwards wrapping around her chest keeping her close and started slowly circling her clit as her core grew slick with each ministration.

A breathy gasp escaped Arnora and her hands came up to grasp his forearm, Sigefrid hummed deeply, placing a kiss to her shoulder knowing she was awake now and pushed two fingers into her wet core causing a louder moan to fall from her mouth.

“Sig…” Her whine dripped with honey as she brought her knee up spreading her legs, and the sounds of Sigefrid’s fingers pumping into her wet cunt filled the tent.

“Mm, I know.” His voice rumbled lowly and he nipped at her shoulder as he replaced his fingers with his throbbing cock.

As her walls stretched around his thick length with each painfully slow roll of his hips into her Siegfrid brought his hand to her slender throat and turned her face to him with a light pressure. Their mouths met in a messy kiss with Arnora sliding her hand down and gripping onto his thigh with her nails biting into the skin for some form of purchase.

Having gone from sleeping soundly to pleasure taking over every fibre in her body Arnora allowed Sigefrid to manoeuvre her as he wished and didn’t complain when he slipped out of her to resettle between her thighs.

Sigefrid laced his fingers through Arnora’s, holding her hands above her head as he thrust back into her cunt and captured her lips with his. With every brush of the head of his cock against the sweet spot that had her toes curling she clamped her mouth shut to stop the readying men outside from hearing her.

“No, I want to hear you.” Sigefrid growled and brought his hand back to her throat with a squeeze and kept his grip on her.

The simple feeling of being at his mercy increased the intensity growing in Arnora’s core enabling her to give him what he so desperately wanted with ease. Sickly sweet moans fell from her lips and her hand reached down grabbing his arse urging his thrusts deeper and deeper.

Their knotted hands that remained above Arnora’s head gripped the other tightly with their knuckles turning white and their eyes mirrored each other, the colour of their irises being swallowed entirely by lust blown pupils.

With the flutter of her walls around him and broken moans against his lips Sigefrid spilled his warm seed into her with a few final hard thrusts and replaced his hand around her throat with gentle kisses.

Arnora’s fingers worked deftly at lacing Sigefrid’s leathers ensuring nothing was loose and tied correctly. Watching him secure his sword belt she held onto his axe with a tight grip and he stepped into her space taking the weapon from her with one hand easily and cupped her cheek with the other.

“If anyone but myself or Erik returns to this camp, what will you do?”

“You will return.” She insisted wrapping her fingers around his wrist.

“Arnora..”

“Glory or Valhalla.” She whispered with a small smile.

Over their time together Sigefrid had always spoken of death being a better option for her than slavery as it would be unlikely to go the same way it had for her the last time, and Arnora agreed. She had not expected to survive being enslaved or claimed, let alone end up in the position she was in now.

“Glory or Valhalla..” Sigefrid smiled, brushing his thumb across her lips before meeting them with his own and then left her to wait for his return.

Over the course of several days Arnora had barely slept or eaten with the lack of news coming from the ongoing battle with the Scots, the only piece of comfort she was able to give herself was that not a single enemy had entered the camp signalling defeat, yet.

She had been sitting on the furs when the thunderous sound of horse hooves and shouting came into the camp and she lurched forward grabbing a small wood cutting axe she had kept close and stood to exit the tent to see who was approaching but stopped in her tracks as the entrance tore open to reveal Sigefrid.

“Nora..” He sighed with relief at seeing her but there was a rage simmering in the depths of his eyes.

“What happened?” She asked, rushing into his space, her hands hovering over his frame unsure if her touch would be welcome.

“Defeat. Come, we must go.” He spoke fast, reaching for her nearby cloak and guiding her out of the tent by the elbow heading towards his horse.

Not wanting to waste time, Sigefrid lifted Arnora onto the horse and quickly seated himself behind her and along with Erik marched the surviving men back to Eoferwic. It was on this journey that they were met by Haesten who had the grim news that the city had been taken, there was no place of comfort to retreat to now.

On the second night of marching south Arnora settled on the cool ground and leaned back on a large tree trunk as she watched the men spread out and set smaller fires for themselves to quietly huddle around. The group was eerily quiet compared to their usual behaviour with their defeat and exhaustion worn on them for anyone to see.

When Sigefrid approached Arnora shifted her legs and skirts to allow him space to sit between them and once he was resting back against her chest she enveloped his already warm body in her woollen cloak, stealing his heat for herself.

“We have lost everything.” He spoke lowly, his fingers brushing down her shins.

Arnora had never been sure if she was included in Sigefrid’s use of ‘we’, but she knew for certain it always meant him and Erik. She always held the opinion that the brothers were a formidable force when leading an army riding on the highs of victories, seeing them both backed into a corner after a defeat with near to nothing left to lose was something she thought could make them even more dangerous.

“You shall get it back, and more.” She soothed and rested her chin on his shoulder.

The brothers had been invited to a meeting with King Guthred the next day and made an agreement to take the fortress Dunholm from Kjartan and have it as their own forming an allegiance with a King whose avoidance of battle made him appear weak which granted them a safe return to Eoferwic.

Guthred leaned on the brothers reputation and numbers more heavily after he had the commander of his army sold to slavers to acquire 200 spears and an allegiance with the Lord of Bebbanburg, Aelfric. This Lord had been unhappy, having asked for his nephew's head and the King not staying true to his given word, which in turn proved to Erik and Sigefrid that this truce of peace could not be kept with a weak King and abandoned Eoferwic all together.

Arnora found a strange sense of peace being a small part in the chaos that the brothers were unleashing as they raided settlements and villages in an attempt to regain their lost wealth and power.

She listened to Sigefrid talk of the plans he’d been making with Erik when they laid together under their shared furs and soon enough almost an entire year of living in a camp had passed, along with her peace.

Anora had been frozen where she stood, the cool downpour soaked through her clothes in an instant, chilling her to the bone and turning the ground beneath her mushy with wet mud. She couldn’t tell if she was struggling to blink away tears or rain, if it was tears they were of rage. The sounds of Sigefrid’s cries for Erik to kill Uhtred as he clutched his wrist filled the air overpowering Erik’s voice who tried to negotiate with his attacker.

Their journey to Frankia had been bitter and solemn, Sigefrid had become quiet unless it was to spit insults or berate his brother in private for not taking Uhtred’s life when he had the chance. Erik’s promise of more men coming to join them had not been empty or false, in the space of a few short months they had gone from a small camp to taking over a hall and its outbuildings for themselves near the coast.

Arnora had hoped this would ease Sigefrid’s anger, their growing wealth and seeing fellow pagan’s answer their call to join them, and although she had seen a smile here and there with a humorous comment or jibe thrown out it never met his eyes.

His mood did improve ever so slightly when he was presented with a soft leather covering to wear over the scarred flesh of his arm where his sword hand had once been instead of a crude knott in the end of his shirt sleeve.

More improvements came when he began training to fight with his left hand, but a rage returned when his brutal blows of an axe were swapped for the less graceful swings of a sword. Arnora had attempted to soothe him of an evening with soft words of encouragement that it would take time and practice,

“And what would you know? You are merely a woman, not a warrior.” He spat, venom lacing his words.

His words stung, but Arnora tried her best at not taking it to heart. She understood his anger and hoped that the tenderness and care he once had for her would return eventually.

She carried on dutifully helping him dress in the mornings and assisting with the odd thing here and there he struggled with since his loss but over time she became tired with his sneers and cold demeanour towards her but said nothing of it until one morning she watched him growing more and more frustrated as he attempted to lace his own breeches.

Arnora had replaced his hand with her own on the laces not meeting his gaze but she saw the way his bare chest began to flush red as his hand quickly raised to back hand her across the face. She reacted quickly, managing to catch his forearm in time to prevent the blow from landing and stared into his onyx eyes.

“You would strike me? I am helping you!” Arnora shoved his arm into his chest and stepped back.

“I do not want your help!” He roared back.

“You may not want it but ask yourself this Sigefrid, do you need my help?” She responded cooly, refusing to back down from his cold stare.

It was Sigefrid who looked away first, his eyes dropping to the floorboards beneath his feet and with each breath his flushed skin dimmed along with his anger.

“I feel like a lesser man.” He spoke quietly, finally meeting Arnora’s gaze once again.

“You are not.” She said flatly, returning to his space and taking hold of the thin leather laces and his body tensed up at her closeness.

Where anger had once been Arnora could now see the sadness clouding his eyes and his words sat heavy in her chest, with a gentle sigh she attempted to offer him comfort again knowing it could backfire just as her previous tries had.

“Sigefrid, you are not, you are still the same man,” She spoke softly and pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth, “You are still a warrior,” Her voice became stronger with another kiss to the other side, “You are still the Lord of chaos.” She finished, pouring honey into her words and ghosting her lips over his.

He hummed quietly, nudging his nose with hers before meeting her lips in a slow caress. Pushing up onto the balls of her feet, Arnora deepened the kiss, letting go of the laces in her fingers and palming at Sigefrid’s cock over the fabric of his breeches. With a light nip at his bottom lip feeling his growing erection she pulled away ever so slightly with a small smirk.

“I belong to you, I am to serve you. Let me do just that.”

“On your knees.” He growled.

Arnora obeyed eagerly, her eyes never leaving his as she settled on the bare wooden floorboards pulling the fabric covering him with her. Sigefrid slid his hand along her jaw and came to rest at the nape of her neck and watched as she flattened her tongue, licking from the base of his cock to the tip and circled twice before wetting her lips and taking him into her mouth.

He sucked in a slow breath as her eyes fluttered closed and his leaking tip nudged at the back of her throat. Tightening his grip in her golden hair Sigefrid guided her back and forth at a slow pace as spit pooled at the sides of Arnora’s mouth, and with each bob of her head she took him deeper until eventually her nose was pressing into the hairs at the base of his cock.

She moaned around his length and hollowed out her cheeks picking up the pace as her nails dug into the exposed flesh of his thighs and a wetness began to grow between her legs. She gasped as he yanked her away off him and pulled her up to stand making her scalp burn, his lips crashed against hers before she was able to wipe the spit from her chin and walked them backwards until his legs hit the bed.

Arnora bundled up her dress and straddled Sigefrid’s lap making quick work of lining him up with her wet core and sinking down onto him with a whine. She lightly pushed him back to rest on his elbows and started to move her hips, sighing at the delicious stretch of her walls around him.

Sigefrid watched as her head fell back and breasts heaved beneath the fabric of her dress. He groaned at a deep grind of her hips against him and his fingers inched up her thigh towards her sensitive bud and she slapped him away with a breathy laugh, she pushed the fabric into his hand instead giving him a clear view of where their bodies connected.

He smirked, enjoying the sight of her middle and ring fingers rubbing tight circles into her clit and her hips began to stutter with her walls fluttering around him, taking him with her over the edge into bliss.

Sigefrid laid back and Arnora followed, resting her head on his chest as her breathing calmed and they came down from their high together in a comfortable silence before Sigefrid spoke quietly,

“Nora, I’m sorry for..” His voice trailed off, unsure of the words to use but he knew he had been unkind to her in recent months when she had done no wrong.

“Being insufferable?” Arnora offered playfully and he chuckled.

“Mm, perhaps. Will you forgive me?” He asked, stroking her hair.

“Always.”

“That’s a bold promise.”

“But it is a promise I can make,”

“Why?” He frowned, looking up at the eaves.

“I believe it is called love, Sigefrid.” She laughed lightly.

“Love.” He repeated with his own laugh, the word felt foreign on his tongue, but right.

Taglist: @arcielee @lady-writes20

#just going to throw this out into the void #sigefrid x oc #sigefrid thurgilson #tlk fanfic #the last kingdom fanfic #sigefrid tlk #sigefrid

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polter-heist · 1 year

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Dp x Dc prompt 7

(most likely a limital!amity park)

a feud between Amity Park residents and the Justice League but it's one sided.

any time an Amity Parker goes out of town and ends up in a location where the Justice League gets called or any member gets called, an Amity Parker Will Take Care Of It.

Amity Parkers have dropped-kicked Lex Luther, ganged up on the Joker, punted Mister Mind, and more.

The Justice League and Villains are desperately trying to find out What Their Problem Is for different reasons.

When confronted, the answers vary but a concerning consistency is "If our dead teenage superhero can take care of world-ending threats by himself, we can take care of the little things."

#this one isn't very good I'll admit but. it's special and fun. to me.#the JL probably didn't even *know* about amity #maybe cause of John labelling it as ''Don't Fucking Touch''#it be really funny if this was how the JL learned about Amity #if we go the ''no mans land Amity'' route then it might be more interesting #also i firmly believe that two of those Amity residents were Sam and Jazz #Sam was at a gala held by the Waynes and one of the rogue gallery decided to fuck around and find out #and before any of the waynes could even disappear to suit up Sam just Went For The Kill #and Jazz?#We Don't Talk About What Jazz Did To The Joker #but anyways *throws this prompt into the void* have at it #polter prompts #dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc prompt #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover #danny phantom #amity park #amity park citizens #liminal!Amity Park

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syrupfog · 3 months

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AU where Sanji never actually left Germa, and Judge made him a test subject early on, successfully getting rid of his empathy after years of torture.

But like, he has those years of bullying from his brothers first, and his empathy’s gone but his anger’s still there. Also with no Zeff, he fights with his fists and doesn’t treat women Like That. Because Zeff’s the one who instilled in him to never hit a woman (and made it weird but that’s not the point).

He’s out on some mission in the Grand Line when he runs into the Straw Hats and he sees Zoro’s green hair and associates it with Yonji and he just haaaates him on sight.

The fight is super evenly matched and Zoro manages to knock him out eventually but he’s like what’s the guy’s DEAL. Wtf is his problem.

Maybe Law’s with them when it goes down and he recognizes that costume and fanboys…

Oh actually yeah— Law’s with them! And after Zoro knocks him out, Law goes into Creepy Surgeon Mode and is like for the love of god please let me get my fingers in that chest cavity

And everyone else (bar Robin ofc) is like Σ（ﾟдﾟlll）

But Law gets a room going and finds all sort of odd Germa technology literally implanted in him and starts pulling it out and messing with it and suddenly Sanji wakes UP and he’s— he’s scared. And overwhelmed. He’s in real time having to reckon with years of torturing people.

And Law’s like oh the emotional part of this is not in my pay grade this is not my job anymore and dips.

So Sanji’s there in the Sunny’s infirmary like “I’m a monster I need to be put down oh my god” and Luffy shows up like HEY you’re cool as hell join my crew.

Zoro is not a fan of this option and also it turns out neither is Sanji BUT sanji has nowhere to go so he makes a deal to sail with them until the next habitable island. So Zoro watches him like a hawk bc he’s like “you’re definitely faking this and are gonna turn evil and try to kill people again right”

But instead he just keeps finding Sanji being really pathetic and sad and looking longingly at the kitchen (Robin doubles as the cook and her food is damn near inedible but that’s just the life of a pirate innit)

Late one night Zoro comes off watch and he sees Sanji sneaking into the kitchen and he thinks OH he’s going to try to POISON US so he sneaks in after him and confronts him, swords and all. And Sanji, who knows what an awful person he’s been and knows he deserves death, just starts crying and is like “yeah you can kill me just let me cook one thing once I just want to remember what it feels like”

So Zoro lets him cook, and is like yeah I’m killing you after this, and Sanji spends a long time sniffling as he re-familiarizes himself with pots and pans and spices and knives and ends up making something garlic-y and delicious that smells strong enough to wake up the crew, and everyone traipses in enraptured by the smell. So Sanji serves them and Zoro tries it first because if it’s poisoned he’s not letting EVERYONE go down. But it’s not poisoned and it’s really good, and anyway Zoro can’t kill him now in front of everyone.

But three nights later the same thing happens— he sees Sanji sneaking into the kitchen and follows him and Sanji says “I know you should’ve killed me last time but you couldn’t, I get that, but I’m dangerous. So let me cook just one more time and then you can kill me.”

And it doesn’t happen of course. Everyone comes in and everyone eats and Zoro watches Sanji recover a little of himself.

And so it goes. At first every few nights and then every other night, and then every single night.

And whenever Zoro comes in, Sanji says, I know I deserve to die but let me cook just one more thing.

And at some point Zoro stops thinking about killing Sanji. He’s a part of the crew now. He’s proving himself, and anyway Zoro can beat him and hold him down and Law can reverse whatever it is again if needs be.

So it’s just a thing they do. Zoro lightly threatens him and Sanji begs for his life and they move on. It’s routine but it doesn’t actually MEAN anything anymore.

That is, until one really bad night where Sanji doesn’t show up in the kitchen like he always does, and Zoro goes looking and finally finds him deep in the steerage, and Sanji says, “I can’t keep living like this, please just kill me. I can’t keep living knowing I’m going to die the next day.”

And Zoro’s like ???? You’re not gonna die the next day wtf

And Sanji says, please, just get it over with.

Zoro realizes that Sanji has continued all this time assuming Zoro really is coming to kill him every night

But it’s been MONTHS at this point. Surely he wouldn’t still think—

But Sanji’s wracked with more than a decade’s worth of guilt, is so sure he deserves the worst the world possibly has to offer.

Too bad Zoro’s a little in love with him at this point. And says anyone who wants to kill Sanji will have to go through Zoro first.

Which Sanji DOESNT UNDERSTAND and he doesn’t understand the kiss Zoro follows it up with, but he returns it. Greedily.

Because as much as he knows he deserves death, he also relishes every moment of life, every chance to feel the emotions he wasn’t allowed. And Zoro goes from jailer to protector in his mind. Slowly. Hesitantly.

He spends years working through the trauma, decades really, but the simplicity with which Zoro sees the world helps. Zoro doesn’t blame him. Zoro loves him. Sanji doesn’t know much but he knows he’ll defend this ship that saved him with his life.

And he knows Zoro wouldn’t let Sanji defend HIM with his life, because Zoro views his life as precious and important.

Which is something Sanji is still learning.

He’ll get there.

#zosan #it’s always a toss up what fics to write vs what to just throw out into the void like this #uhhhhh I need a tag for this #would this go in the Zosan fanfic tag I dunno if that’s just for finished fic #my writing #I guess that works #anyway cross posted from twitter since I have like 3 followers lmao #and tbh it’s been a week I’m still thinking about this #(I’m thinking about writing omegaverse Zosan more tho)#(and ptsd law who’s scared of luffy)#(too little time in the world)

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