anniversary
if you think the whole artifical soul empathy relapse shit is cool then do i have a prequel fic for you buster - https://rentry.co/53qwm
>you’re not actually sure when your anniversary is
>it’s not as if you just slipped into a relationship and never made the decision
>well, partially you did, you suppose
>but you remember the night things solidified
>you remember handing him a rose, nervously, knowing he liked cheesy shows of affection
>he’d mentioned it watching a movie, and yeah, in retrospect those movie nights probably count as movie dates
>he looked at you for a moment, and reached out for it
>slowly grasping the flower from your hand, thumbing at the thorns, spinning it around
>after the fact, he’d admit he wasn’t so confident
>that he was sure you’d get bored, or that if he opened up too much you’d recoil away
>couldn’t have been further from the truth
>but by that point you’re pretty sure you’d already been dating a little bit, you’re just not sure how long
>you’d shared a quick kiss beforehand, but you were both pretty tipsy
>you’re not sure if that makes it count more or count less, maybe it’s a lateral movement
>the point is, you’ve decided that without a set date for the special day, you might as well do it now
>you’ve been planning on and off for a couple weeks, and it’s turned out to be bad timing
>he’s having one of his empathy drops, courtesy of an artificial soul held together with little more than prayer and stubbornness
>but then, maybe it’s good timing
>maybe a little pick-me-up is what he needs, in these times more than ever
>so you get a rose, and you get a cute little bracelet you think he’d like, and you waddle around while he’s still out setting up candles and flower petals
>again, cheesy, but he likes that
>he wanders through the door before you’re done, and the effort is immediately worth it
>he’s beaming
>god he’s wonderful
>look at that fucking smile
>he does like the bracelet, but you have a feeling he won’t wear it much
>he hasn’t been wearing much cutesy stuff lately, testing the waters of how much black he can wear before his mom senses it from across the county and mails him a crucifix necklace
>you’re not... actually sure why crucifixes seem to be common imagery for angelism?
>you’re sure it has some reasoning
>but you can tell he’ll wear it a little, even if it clashes, and that’s more than good enough
>(to be fair, he’d probably wear it a little even if he didn’t like it, the romantic bastard)
>you knock the lights off and enjoy your candlelit dinner
>he bought this japanese blanket table, kotatsu, a while back
>it’s comfy and it’s cold out, so it’s the obvious spot
>you got him some monster food - a little plate of this, soupy kind of, meaty stuff
>you can never remember what it’s called, and you’re not much of a fan
>but he likes it, so you got him some
>he’s putting some hot sauce on it, that’s not monster food - it’s just actual pepper sauce
>he never used to like hot stuff, and it’s still not his go to, but him getting into it was kind of your doing
>once, he bit into a hot pepper thinking it was a normal bell one, and it knocked him flat on his ass
>nose running, eyes running, running around the room to distract himself from the heat
>it was bad, obviously, but it was also pretty funny
>cute too, in a roundabout way, face all scrunched up and waving his hands about to work off steam
>then a couple months later, you went to this indian place to eat, and seeing all the spicy stuff on the menu you brought that up
>you both shared a laugh, and goaded each other into something - not strong per se but strongish
>he really enjoyed it, to your surprise and his
>his mom might be masterful at baking, but she sure didn’t make much strong food, spicy or otherwise
>and in the flower years, apparently he couldn’t taste spice at all
>the cold of mint, too, it was something to do with the body’s makeup - being kind of artificial instead of a normal, natural monster body
>so the line of “I just don’t like spicy stuff, Anon. It’s not my thing.” was more “my only exposure to anything spicy is the stuff that’s so hot it hurts”
>and now he’s pretty big on spice, funny how that works out
>you got yourself a big magic steak, which doesn’t really taste like actual steak at all
>it’s like... something???
>it’s like itself, and you don’t have any other point of reference, not for a bit of it
>it’s nice, though
>afterwards, he shifts over towards you, from the other end to your side
>he gives you a look
>his eyes lid a little, his mouth curls up, his shoulders relax
>he slides his hand over onto your knee
>his eyes melt you when they’re not even aimed in your direction, this is mesmerizing
>you know he knows, that he’d be able to tell even if you hadn’t told him as much
>as he’s gotten more comfortable opening up like this, he’s gotten less averse to...
>playing to his strengths
>rather than worry that it’s manipulative, that it would be a cruelty to use all that people-sense in such an up-front way, he’s
>well, “he’s” as if it was all on him - you’ve talked him into it, at least half of the way
>but he knows he has your consent to not pull his punches, and boy does it hit hard
>you think you’d faint if you were standing, honestly
>he presses his snout up to your nose, breath falling against your face, hand reaching up to your shoulder
>”You know what people do on Honeymoon nights, right? Who’s to say anniversary nights should be any different?”
>yes please
>yeah yes yeah, please, please
>you’re sure trying to stammer out something affirmative, but you know he gets the gist, he got the gist when he had the idea
>and so he steadies you to your feet and leads you over to the bedroom
>and as your head de-fuzzes a little, you have another idea on how to make the day special
>it just might take a little coaxing
>when he propositions you, it’s a fairly specific thing
>it’s going to be mutual stuff, face to face or side by side, touching and straddling but no penetration
>you’ve always let him go at his own pace, so you never tried to push it further, but you did ask eventually and you have talked about it since
>he doesn’t like giving because he’s afraid to hurt you, which you suppose is fair enough, he can get a little frantic just by your side
>that and, he has a history, it’s understandable he’d be worried
>he doesn’t like receiving because he’s... also, afraid to hurt you, which sounds a little strange
>until you look at his legs (fuck, those /thighs/), and remember him talking about cross country
>yeah, he could probably crack one of your hips if he got carried away, even from the bottom
>just wrapping them around you and slamming himself back into you until the whole area from your upper legs to just below your ribs is numb from the impact
>...why is this is a problem again?
>funny comments aside, you get it, he’s just
>uncomfortable with intimacy like that, you think
>he doesn’t like opening up, and sex requires a lot of vulnerability one way or another
>so as much as his given reasons technically make sense, you don’t think that’s the real kicker
>and honestly, you think pushing him might be the right thing to do here
>not hard, but, you know he’d enjoy himself if he /let/ himself
>he’s just scared
>it’s your job in all things to soothe him, so
>why not in this?
>he’s got you pushed onto the bed while you were thinking, he’s on top of you
>no time like the present, so you float the idea
>that he could let loose a little, stop worrying so much for a night
>his face slowly shifts from “smug bastard” to “slightly smug, mostly worried bastard”
>”I’m really not sure about this, Anon. You... you know what I’m capable of.”
>you think that’s bullshit
>relapses or not, he’s never tried to hurt you, at least not physically
>there’s been a few cruel comments here and there, but he’s apologised profusely after the fact
>but, like, actual /hurt/?
>not a chance, you can’t see it
>maybe that’s naïveté, you don’t really care
>you trust him completely, utterly
>and you know how possessive he gets sometimes, how red he gets when you say you’re his
>he deserves an outlet for that
>he deserves the world, really, but you give him what you can
>this is one of those things
>so after a little more coaxing, a good bit of cuddling and petting, and a promise to let him know right away if he gets carried away
>he snuggles up to your side, both on even ground
>he slides your shirt down, your pants off, his hands to your shoulders
>he dips his toes in by yanking you closer, not that hard, but enough that it jolts a little
>he’s quiet after that, you can’t see his eyes, and he’s breathing a little heavy
>he grabs you by the waist with one hand and pins your arms down with another, and now
>now you can see his eyes
>fuuuuck
>he looks fuzzy, unbalanced, /needy/
>the line of his smile fidgeting uncomfortably as his brain tries to figure out what it wants on there
>as he tries to process the free pass you’ve given him
>the actual start of things is kind of blur
>one minute the moment is stretching into eternity, gazing into those unfocussed but /very/ focussed eyes, the next...
>he’s down to the base inside you, snout buried into your neck, grabbing at you
>all of his weight on top of you, pretty much railing you all-out, manhandling (monsterhandling?) your body from side to side and passion to passion
>eventually he gets his rhythm going and just latches on while he pounds away
>he’s holding you /really/ tight now, actually
>his hands digging into your shoulders, steadying as he thrusts
>no, like - he’s digging his claws into you and it /stings/
>you wince a little, and a few seconds later your shoulders feel kind of warm
>you’re pretty sure he’s drawing blood - not much, but enough for you to feel it
>this would be a good time to use the safe word, he’s probably gonna beat himself up for this, but it’s no harm done
>really no harm done
>at all
>...
>...
>...just gotta...
>...say the safeword...
>...just...say the...
>...fuck
>fuck fuck fuck harder
>harder harder please please please
>this feels fucking incredible
>he’s not stopping, thank fuck he’s not stopping, he hasn’t noticed
>he seems kind of unresponsive, honestly
>maybe, even if you said something, he wouldn’t hear...?
>maybe you just, yeah, you figured it would be a waste to, no you didn’t
>this is a complete selfish move, you just /desperately/ don’t want him to stop
>and he isn’t
>he’s going harder
>digging his claws in further
>your arms are going a little numb from how tightly his arms are wrapped around you, and oH
>OKAY
>HE JUST
>he just fucking
>picked you up
>you’re practically on his knees now and he’s holding you up with his hands and arms, his claws
>he really is using you like a toy
>you catch errant glimpses of his face, scrunched up beyond belief, neck pushing down and shoulders just the opposite
>he’s really in the zone
>he picks up again, somehow, and you feel like the sound of impact alone is giving you a headache
>he throws you back down, collapsing on top of you, and cums for about 2 and a half minutes straight
>at least that’s how long it takes for him to unscrunch his face a little and start pulling his claws out
>...ah, fuck
>he doesn’t take it well
>”Y-You promised! You promised you’d say if I hurt you, I didn’t want this! I don’t want you to suffer for my sake!”
>it does hurt a lot, and there’s a pretty worrying amount of red on the sheets
>you... don’t have an excuse for him
>it takes a while, but he stops and asks for a reason
>maybe he’s asking himself or something, he seems in a bad way, and fuck that’s entirely your fault
>your selfish decision on a special day
>you just, tell him the truth
>it felt like electric and you didn’t want it to stop
>he doesn’t buy that at first, at all
>grabs your face and looks you in the eye
>but you repeat it, on request, and he gives you a look
>one of the looks you haven’t learned to “get” yet
>his “figuring out” look
>before he can look any way, he has to figure out how he feels about something - even without any element of deception, he’s kind of granular like that
>all you can see is the cogs turning, that there’s cogs turning, but not why or to what end
>he takes his finger
>runs it down your chest
>and pinpricks a little spot, still staring right into your eyes
>you try your best to meet his gaze, but after a minute of building curiosity you look down
>there’s a little drop of blood on his finger
>you can see the little trail it left from the source, down his claw, down his finger halfway
>he lifts it to you, his face still implacable, and slides the finger into your mouth
>...you like this
>this is - not a guilty pleasure, but a silly one
>it sounds silly
>”please shove your fluffy fingers into my mouth so i can suck on them like i’m sucking the sauce off a hot dog”
>his face is changing now, half softening half...
>something else you don’t quite parse
>his lip is quivering, and he whispers out
>”Were you made for me...?”
>it’s a very nice idea, but you’re not sure where he’s going with it
>”You’re so... Unconditional. Is that why you’re here? For me?”
>”...Am I here for you?”
>you’re smiling really hard
>holy shit you’re smiling
>this goat is so sweet
>and maybe he’s onto something
>he fit into your heart like something you’d been missing your whole life
>like he was always meant to be there
>maybe you’re soulmates
>he’s more careful about it in the future
>keeps more of a handle on himself, because those scars took a month and a half to really clear up
>not your smartest hour, in the end
>still worth it
>but he’s more comfortable indulging himself, and more confident that you’ll be alright
>in the end, he never does /really/ hurt you
>nothing a bandage and kiss-better can’t fix
>closer yet closer, baring your hearts ever freer, knowing and loving ever more
>maybe you really were both made for this