#but that shame has carried over to now even though now i think its something that's tied to my brain being the way it is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nicksolemnlyswears · 7 months

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WAYS TO DESTRESS

summary: after a long day, all coriolanus wants to do is blow some steam off. nothing will stop him from getting what he wants…not even your sleepy state

pairing: young! coriolanus snow x capitol! reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: 18+, smut, cursing, somnophilia, dub non-con, p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, squirting, pussy spanking, belly bulge (?), LISTEN I KNOW ITS UNLIKELY BUT LET ME BE UNHINGED, a bit rough nothing too crazy, get your holy water though, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it please)

a/n: this came to me the moment i opened my eyes this morning. pure filth. i shouldn't be proud but i am. goes to show how much coriolanus is plaguing my thoughts day and night. my new little hyperfixation. a new villain to add to my collection <3

PT. 2

requests open ✨

All Coriolanus feels is anger. It's been pumping through his veins throughout most of the day, almost causing him to lose his composure at all the wrong places. He can never afford to fuck up. He already did it once, and second chances are nonexistent in the Capitol.

He owes a lot to Dr. Gaul. After all, she saw the value in Coriolanus. She saw right through him and his faux kindness and unearthed his true wickedness. He simply needed a nudge in the right direction.

While working for with her is an honor, it is hardly easy. Like all aspects of his life, he's had to adapt to how she runs her lab. Coriolanus is hardly a follower; he's a leader, but as long as he remains under the tutelage of Dr. Gaul, he will have to follow her orders. Which means he has to talk when spoken to and perform how she expects him to.

There are days when it all becomes too much. His pride rises to the surface, forcing him to stifle it as best as he can before he does something he regrets.

He has to think of the scrutinizing gaze of his peers waiting for him to fail. As much as they pretend to be his friend, they want him to make a mistake so they can rise to the occasion. He won't allow that.

His apartment is silent when he steps in. The lavish decor is obscured by the lack of illumination. It's to be expected, seeing it's well past midnight.

Leaving his coat by the door, Coriolanus walks towards the bedroom. He needs to destress now, or he'll carry all his anger and frustration on his shoulders for the rest of the week. He can't have that. He can't lose control and look bad in front of Dr. Gaul and the others.

In the master bedroom, he finds you lying on the soft mattress, tangled in the silky bedsheets. He watches your chest rise and fall with gentle breaths, your pouty lips slightly ajar. It's a shame he's going to disturb your sleep, but he needs to let off some steam. That's one of the numerous reasons he has his pretty little girlfriend.

Coriolanus unbuttons the red waistcoat and removes his shoes, leaving them in the armchair. As he approaches your side of the bed, he notices the bright orange bottle on the nightstand and your book thrown haphazardly on the floor.

It's rare for you to take sleep aid medication because you hate how they knock you out. You only take them when you've had a particularly rough day. It seems Coriolanus is not alone in this. Today has been bad for both you and him.

Still, his plan remains the same. Coriolanus leans over you, kissing your forehead gingerly before his lips continue to trail down to kiss your cheek and lips. You don't stir with the soft touches.

Coriolanus darkly chuckles. It's not often he gets to do this. He'll take it as a treat for his patience throughout the day. He'd say the universe is working in his favor if he believed in such silly things.

Having you so pliable and willing in his hands excites him to no end. Lying on the bed, he digs his head on your shoulder, leaving marks for you to find in the morning. It spurs him on to hear little gasps falling from your lips.

"Beautiful and all mine," he mutters into the silent room as he lowers down the thin straps of your night dress to reveal your chest.

Coriolanus takes his time with your body. Even while asleep, it responds to his touch. He sucks and squeezes on your breasts harshly, biting down on the stiff peaks of your nipples.

He's not as gentle this time around compared to other times in the past. Then, you were simply asleep; now, you're completely doped out. He will miss your whines and the way you berate him.

Coriolanus continues down your body until he settles between your legs. "Fuck, darling," he audible groans when he lifts up your nighty to find a patch on your panties. Who would've thought you'd be as responsive to him while asleep.

He gives into his urges as he presses his nose against your center, smelling your arousal and licking up the wet fabric with his tongue. He only parts for a moment as he roughly slides the thin fabric off.

With you like this, there is no reason to tease. He doesn't have to kiss your thighs or hold himself back. Coriolanus can truly delve into what he wants without a spectacle.

It's why he buries his tongue into your wet cunt as soon as he has the chance. He holds your limp thighs on his shoulders as he presses himself against you, his blue eyes closing in ecstasy at the taste.

Soft noises- moans- come from above him as you slightly stir in your drug-induced sleep. While Coriolanus suck on your pearl of nerves, he wonders what you're dreaming about and if he's the protagonist as well.

His hips roll onto the mattress underneath, soothing the ache on his cock. He could go straight to fucking you but wants this to last. He needs to keep his mind busy, and eating you out is the answer.

Unconsciously, you grind your cunt on his tongue, chasing your release. Coriolanus smiles at this and rewards you with fucking you with his tongue. He's determined to make you cum all over it.

"Oh," he hears you whine when his nose rubs on your sensitive clit. He knows you're close. He feels it in the way your thighs are suddenly clenching around him.

There is no doubt in his mind you're still asleep. If you were awake, you'd be gripping his hair like a vice and calling his name for everyone to hear. You'd be begging him to fuck you silly.

Coriolanus laps up your juices like a starving man when you cum. Despite living in poverty, he never felt the need to act in such a way until he tasted you for the first time. He treats his sweet little girlfriend's cunt like a delicacy.

He stops himself before he almost makes you cum again as he slurps and sucks on your cunt. From up close, he can see the way your clit twitches under the pleasure. He leaves a bruise that will turn purple by morning on the inside of your thigh. It'll be a telltale sign he was there, devouring you while you soundly slept. A reminder you're his to use whenever he pleases.

Taking the rest of his clothes off, Coriolanus returns to your sleeping body. He pumps his cock in his fist as he looks at all the bruises and marks he left behind, and you'll have to hide because you can't have him seem like a pervert in front of his classmates.

Kneeling on the bed, he wraps your legs around his hips. He teases your wet cunt with the fat head of his cock, nudging over your clit repeatedly. He continues this until his cock is slick with your juices. As an extra, he spits down on your cunt, spreading his saliva over you. Not because you need lubrication but because he likes the sight of him on you in every which way.

No matter how many times Coriolanus has fucked you throughout your two years of being together, he's always had trouble pushing his cock in. He has to take a deep breath when he bottoms out as your cunt tries to choke him out. It's one of his favorite things about you, a constant reminder of the day he took your innocence.

It's only when he begins rocking his hips into you that you give any indication of waking up.

"What?" You whine as panic settles into you. Your brain isn't working properly. You're hazy and confused. Not knowing where you are, you get scared, and your heart races.

Coriolanus holds your hands as you begin struggling. As he leans down to talk to you, he pins you down, leaving you impaled with his cock. He immensely enjoys the struggle but can't have you screaming out in panic.

"It's just me, darling," he coo's in your ear, nuzzling his nose against your face. It works as your heart begins settling down.

"Coryo?" You sniff with tears in your eyes as your panic is quickly swept away. You try to speak, but the pills leave your tongue heavy and your brain foggy.

"Yes, your Coryo," he responds, kissing your cheek sweetly.

You've stopped struggling and spread your legs once again, just how he likes it. He even feels you clenching down purposefully around Coriolanus' cock. You're no saint; you enjoy making it hard for him even in your drugged-out state.

"Relax, darling. Go back to sleep," he hushes you, softly rocking into you.

Your eyes are already closed as he utters the words. You have no choice in the matter. Granted, now you sleep calmer, knowing it's Coryo touching you and making you feel food.

Coriolanus calls your name once, twice, and there is no response. You're back with the sandman, peacefully asleep. He takes it as a sign to keep fucking you.

Kneeling back on the bed, Coriolanus brings up your thighs to touch your chest. Your pretty cunt is on full display, showcasing the hues of pink and glistening fluids that shine under the lowlights of the bedroom.

Coriolanus licks the pads on his fingers before they smack down on your center. The only way it'll look even better is if it had that familiar twinge of red. He aims for the center, straight at your pearl, and smacks his hand down several times.

It manages to wake you again, eyes hooded with sleep, staring at him and complaints falling from your lips. Each time the 'smack' reverberates and you flinch, he soothes the sting, spreading the clear strings of arousal that drip from your hole.

Only when your cunt is flushed red and your clit is puffed out of its fleshy covering, does he pull you down on his cock. He fucks in and out of you mercilessly, addicted to the way your tight walls hug his cock even as he pulls out.

He glances towards your face and notes you're back to sleep. If it were up to him, you'd take the pills more often just so he could find you waiting for him asleep, naked on the bed. A real-life doll of his own.

The sound of skin slapping and his desperate moans and grunts fill the room, along with some of your smaller ones. He doesn't tend to be so vocal; he prefers listening to you beg for him, but with no one to hear him, he lets it all out.

Coriolanus places a hand on your lower tummy, pressing down to feel himself through your walls. It's an erotic thing to feel his cock slipping in and out, reaching the deepest parts of you.

He slows the pace of his thrusting, opting to go harder and deeper, just where he can make out the bump on your pelvis of his cock head.

The pressure Coryo is causing doesn't go unnoticed by you. Groggily, you open your eyes to find him with his head dipped down, whispering profanities to himself, a pretty sheen of sweat covering his fair skin.

"Mmm, Co-coryo," you moan, catching his attention.

With a glint in his eyes, he grabs your hand, placing it where you can feel it too, his fingers lacing through yours as he holds it down, "Feel this? No one will ever get you to feel like I do, darling. I'm going to ruin you for all others. Not like I'll let you leave anyways."

It's never crossed your mind to leave Coriolanus. Not for a second. The moment you set eyes on him, you knew he was it, and the ring on your finger is a promise of that. It's why you let him use you as he pleases.

You babble out a response as the darkness consumes you once more. By morning, you'll barely remember a thing as a side effect of the pills, but Coryo won't let you forget.

The mixture of your relaxed state, Coriolanus' hand pressing down on you, and the angle of his thrusts allow for something that hasn't happened before. Something he'll enjoy for the years to come.

As he viciously snaps his hips to chase his release, you wiggle under him. There are words on your heavy tongue neither can make out, a warning.

"Shh," Coriolanus quiets you down, focusing on the way you're milking his cock for all that his worth.

He's in for a surprise when a particularly angled thrust causes you to squirt around him. A stream of your juices covering his cock and abdomen. Although he falters for a moment, he quickly pulls out and rubs at your clit, causing a smaller stream to leak out of you.

His night has become a hundred times better. His eyes widen in wonder as his brain creates new ways to have you and make you do it again. "This is going to be fun."

When you wake up in the morning, you don't remember what happened, but you know something did. It's in the way your cunt aches and how thick cum runs down your leg when you get up.

Brief, blurry memories surface as you shower. Truly, you didn't care. If anything, you're upset you missed out on the fun and can't remember the pleasure. Ultimately, you trust Coriolanus and that he won't hurt you.

You feel well-rested as you dress and make breakfast for the two of you. There is an undeniable ache in your cunt, but that's always welcomed. Your problems from yesterday are only a quiet hum in a dark corner of your brain.

"My love," you softly call out to Coriolanus, touching his naked shoulder.

"Good morning," he says with his eyes closed, although there is an undeniable grin on his lips. All the stress he felt yesterday has dissipated, leaving a pleasant feeling in his chest.

"Good morning to you, too," you giggle as you lean down to catch his lips in a kiss. There is a tangy taste attached to them that you recognize well. "Had a good night, did you?"

"I certainly did. Do you remember anything?" He asks, sitting up on the bed. The falling bedsheets reveal his toned chest and stomach. Gently, you grab the tray with food and place it on his lap.

"Barely," you scoff, "It's a shame." You technically haven't had sex with Coriolanus in two long weeks. His stunt from last night did nothing to satiate you or your mind that keeps picturing him in all sorts of compromising positions.

Coriolanus hums as he takes a bite of toast. You know him well enough to know he's amused that you don't remember and that he's hiding something.

"What is it?" You prod, brushing a strand of pale blonde hair away from his eyes.

"Nothing," he says with a shrug. He's making you work for it. Coryo loves his games, after all.

"Coryo," you speak his name with a warning.

He takes his time, sipping on the glass placed on the tray. "I just…I didn't know you could squirt," he reveals cheekily, stabbing his fork on a piece of fruit.

"What? That's because I don't," you say, taken aback.

A crease forms between your eyebrows. You and Coryo are not ashamed to talk about sex. It took you by surprise at first because he always presents himself so elegantly and no-nonsense. Behind the scenes, though, when he's with you, he's open to discussing everything he wishes to try and his likes and dislikes.

You, in return, have been the same. Admitting that you've never been able to squirt and might never be able to. It's been a topic of conversation numerous times, seeing as it's something Coryo has always been curious about.

"Yes, you do. Last night, you squirted all over my cock and my fingers and my tongue," he boasts with a smirk as he remembers all the times he made you cum after that.

"I did?"

"You were such a good girl for me, darling," Coriolanus responds, putting the tray of food to the side and cupping your face, "All you had to do was relax."

"Hard to do when you're edging me for hours," you roll your eyes at him. Edging you is just one of the fun ways he tortures you.

"Don't be a spoilsport," he frowns, gripping your face harder before planting another kiss on your lips.

"It's not fair. I can't remember anything," you softly murmur. It's a real damn shame you won't remember the first time you squirt or the face Coryo made at the realization.

"Poor thing. I can show you how to do it again. I practiced last night a couple of times," he whispers in your ear, kissing down to your pulse point, "But I can't right now, or I'll be late."

"Huh?" You dumbly respond, enthralled by his words, imagining all the pleasure he'll give you.

"Thanks for breakfast," Coriolanus says, standing from the bed and heading into the bathroom butt-naked.

You watch after him lustfully and angrily, forced to continue your morning as if nothing happened.

In less than an hour, Coriolanus is ready to return to Dr. Gaul's laboratory. He has to check for any progress in his experiment before heading to the university for his classes.

He sits you on the bed before he leaves, though, to show you something 'important.' "I'll see you tonight," he says, kissing the crown of your head and turning on the TV.

The screen shows you lying on your back, whining helplessly as Coryo slips two fingers into your cunt rapidly. The rings on his fingers and the palm of his hand glisten with your sticky juices.

He did not lie about your new ability as you watch your hole leak clear liquid. The Coryo on the screen, who had been encouraging you with lewd words, eagerly attaches his mouth to catch it all. When he pulls back, his chin is dripping with your release.

Watching yourself in that fucked out state and Coryo behaving so obscenely gets your silk panties wet. Glancing at the clock, you note you have 30 minutes till you have to be at the door.

In no time, you're spread out on the bed with your hand under your university skirt, panties pushed to the side fucking two fingers into your cunt. Your eyes are focused entirely on the screen, rewatching the clip.

thanks for reading! i hope you liked it!

part two for coryo making her squirt while she's actually conscious?

#fanfiction #smut #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games fanfiction #coriolanus snow fanfiction

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wolfish-trickster · 2 months

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I would've chosen if I could've

Gojo x fem!reader, Geto x fem!reader

Part 3

Previous part

Word count: 3.2K

Summary: after a talk with Geto Gojo realizes few things and even though he plans on doing better he decides to give both himself and you a little break before trying to ask for forgiveness. Geto however has a plan of his own.

Warnings: bad grammar (possibly), typos, angst, very little comfort

Taglist: @ilovebattinson @catobsessedlady @tqd4455 @nanao4k

@abcdefghijklmmopqrstuvwxyz

By the time their little "therapy" ended the sky outside changed from clear blue to cloudy gray. One would think rain will fall any minute now. The only thing that fell however was the air preassure.

Since Gojo was always one of the sensitive ones he quickly fell asleep. Geto offered him his big bed to take a nap in but Gojo proclaimed "he deserved to sleep on a floor for what he did". They settled on a compromise in a form of a couch. As Gojo was snoring away, more mentally tired than physically, Geto got into thinking. His entire conversation with his best friend took a mental toll on him too.

Thinking back to his relationship with you, he never really spotted any problems. The amount of times Geto spaced out while Gojo gushed about you at the begining of the relationship made it seem like he would set the world on fire if you as much as hinted you felt a little cold. He just couldn't wrap his head around how Gojo could fuck all of that up in the span of one day. Or several years. Has he been like this since the begining? When did Gojo start lying about you being too busy to hang out with him and Shoko? Was there a breaking point for Gojo? Did you do something that made him realize he just isn't the type for serious relationships?

For the first time in his life Geto Suguru couldn't answer any of these questions about his best friend.

Sun began to set. First raindrops hit the window. Soon a soft rain turned into a heavy storm. And yet even that couldn't wake Gojo up. 'He must be so exhausted,' Geto thought as he pulled a thin blanket over his sleeping figure. Even unconscious Gojo looked hurt. Geto was as well. Both from what happened and what he's about to do.

It has been a tough day on your mentality. After packing majority of your clothes into your favourite backpack you ran out the apartment with no real plan in mind. Nowhere to go either. You roamed the city for hours until you saw a short haired brunette girl smoking in the distance. After running up to her it turned out to not be Shoko to your disapointment. But it wasn't pointless. Noticing the girl made you remember Gojo and Geto's friend.

You walked to her place as if on autopilot, letting your muscle memory carry you. What would you say once you come to her door? She was the one to help you get together with Gojo in the first place. Did she know something like this would happen? She has known him for as long as Geto did.

The thought of Geto made you shiver. If it wasn't for him none of this would've happened! You were sure he was just enjoying pulling Gojo away from you, keeping him to himself and himself only. Did he ever planned on making you and Gojo break up? If so, he succeeded masterfully. You wondered if Gojo was sad even a little bit about you leaving, and if so if he was calling Geto about it, telling him he needs more time without him. You smiled. It would be nice if that was happening. Such a shame you won't find out.

Soon you arrived at a small house with old dark brown door and a worn out mat. The only thing that changed from your last visit was one of the windows at the front. Its glass was new. At the begining of your and Gojo's relationship Shoko and Geto wanted to have a small sleepover to get to know you better. Shoko was really warm and welcoming, so was Geto, even though in a lesser extent. He didn't touch you in any way, no hug nor hand shake, and when it came to laying out sleeping bags in the living room he placed his as far away from you as possible. Gojo then started teasing him and after all testosteron fully kicked in they ended up breaking one of the windows. You panicked and quickly looked over at Shoko. She just lit a cigarette and told you you'd get used to it.

You smiled. It was a nice memory. Back then when everything was simpler and somehow calmer. Still, one thing was weird to you. How Geto was pulling away from you since the begining.

You shook your head. First he started occupying your relationship and now your thoughts? No fucking way. He doesn't get to win. (A/N if you understood the reference you get a cookie 😉)

Your hand hovered a little above the old wood of Shoko's door but in the end decided to softly knock. You heard shuffling behind the door before surprised Shoko opened it, definitelly expecting someone else instead of you. She was dressed casually in jeans and some basic T-shirt, but you could tell she was trying to make herself look a little nicer than just 'casual'.

"Hi, what happened?" she asked and reached out to caress your cheek. You must've looked horrible.

You sighed and as best as you could explained the gist of what happened. Somehow you could do so in just three sentences and no crying. Did you already run out of all your tears?

She accepted you into her house and made you some calming lavender tea. "You can sleep over if you want," she said.

"Thank you. And sorry for bothering, I just... I had no other place to go," you admitted and sipped on the purple steamkng bevarage. You never had a lavender tea. Tasted like a hug in a mug. Something you desperately needed in these tough times.

"Don't worry about it," she rubbed your back comfortingly, "that's what friends are for."

You smiled at her and leaned into her hand. "You don't have to stay and take care of me. You were just about to go out, right?" You gestured at her face half covered in make up. Realizing you must've ruined her most-likely date made you feel even worse about yourself.

Shoko just waved her hand. "It was just a movie thing with Geto. It's fine tho, you need me more now."

She mentioned two things that broke you: Geto and you being put above all else. You collapsed into her arms and cried out bunch of apologies and words about ruining her chance at finding a relationship for herself. You weren't fond of Geto at all right now, but you knew Shoko and how single and alone she must've felt with her two male friends being always away.

Now that you think about it, you were surprised she even went above and beyond to help you. They were three before. Then came you and took Gojo away. And then Gojo took Geto away from her too. You felt sick. She was all alone because of you.

You must've said all of this out loud tho, because Shoko pulled you from a tight hug to an arm's length away from her and made you look into her eyes. "Don't. Just don't. You didn't make anyone leave me. Me being alone isn't your fault. If anything I should be thanking you. Those two have been hogging my free time for a long time and with them finally focusing on other things I had more time to study and got my grades from 'barely passing' to 'top of the class'. Besides, I was always more into femboys," she winked which made you laugh. Such a shame not everyone was like Shoko. She was truly a ride or die kind of girl.

You hugged her as tight as you could and just held her. Feeling another body's warmth brought you calmness, no matter who it belonged to.

Unfortunately, not every good thing lasts forever. And neither did this moment.

Shoko's phone vibrated. She pulled it put of her backpocket and looked at it. "Shoot, I almost forgot. Would you mind if I-?" she pointed at her phone with Geto's contact shining brightly on her screen.

You shook your head, even though seeing Geto's relaxed smile in that contact made your chest hurt. That bastard doesn't even know what he did.

Shoko smiled and walked into her bedroom to make the call. You stayed sitting her kitchen, sipping on your tea, looking around. There were little peaces of paper with some medical notes written on it taped on random places all around the place. You figured it must be her way of studying.

After a while she came back from her bedroom and sat across from you. "Gojo's at Geto's."

"Of course he is," you scoffed and went in to take a sip from your tea only to realize you've drank it all.

Shoko sighed. "Geto told me he'll speak with him," you rolled ypur eyes, "and quote 'take care, both of you'," she added.

You looked back at her surprised. "He what?"

Shoko smirked. "Not even gonna ask about your beloved boyfriend?"

You frowned. "Shoko, please stop."

"Sorry, I just wanted to lighten up the mood."

"And he's an ex."

Shoko raised her eyeybrows. "So, it's official now?"

"Yeah. I mean, packing your things and leaving couldn't be taken as anything else, right?"

It felt weird saying that. Ex boyfriend. You've had few in the past, but most of them were in your youth while you were still figuring out your place in the world. To be honest, you were still figuring it out but now you were a little closer to finding it out than before. You thought you would be able to find out completely with Gojo by your side. He wanted someone else by his though...

"Right," she answered.

The rest of the day was pretty calm. You talked, cooked something together, and then watched the rain drops race on a window. It felt nice. Not thinking about what was happening in your life.

As the night time approached so did tiredness. The entire day did its number on your psyche and you desperately needed to sleep it off. Shoko offered you her bed, making up an excuse she needs to study fro her upcoming exams, but you weren't having it.

"Listen girl, if you really want me to stay in my bed we can be in there together and cuddle," Shoko smirked as she helped you prepare the couch for the night.

"You snore so no thanks."

She stuck out her tongue at you and you giggled. It felt like having an older sister.

You both said goodnight and went off to sleep, her in her bed and you on her couch. You have slept on many couches but Shoko's was by far the softest. So warm, so comfy. You were minutes away from falling completely asleep when you heard a small ding, startling you wide awake.

It came from the kitchen. What dinging thing did Shoko have in the kitchen?

You turned on your side, thinking it was just a one time thing. Right as this thought bloomed in your head you heard two more dings.

Annoyed you dragged yourself to your feet and using your phone's flashlight tiptoed into the kitchen.

The noise source wasn't even trying to hide. Shoko's phone was shining like a lighthouse right under a window, where you both had your droplet race. You picked it up just as its screen turned black. You wouldn't want to read the messages as to not invade Shoko's privacy. Even if the curiosity was stronger.

Even though... it could be something from her school, right? It wouldn't hurt just to check. You'll bring it to her right after. Yeah, that's what you'll do!

You turned the phone on and you nearly puked. There was a notification about 3 new messages from Geto Suguru.

Do you want to know?

Yes you do.

You unlock the screen and went straight into messages.

hi, i just wanted to tell you i had a talk w/satoru and he's doing rly bad. he has no idea what he wants in life, but he also swore he never wanted to hurt Y/N. he also promised to become better and have a talk with her, so dont be surprised if he shows up at yours tmrw

oh and btw how is she doing

You stared at the phone. Should you reply? Should you just pretend you saw nothing and go back to sleep? As if you'd fall asleep after that. As horrible as it sounded you were kinda glad Gojo was doing bad. It showed he cared about you. And Geto saying he's willing to change for you? One part of you was glad things would go to normal. And the other one was screaming at you to notice the next sentence of Geto's message. Gojo has no idea what he wants in life. That little fact could be interpreted in so many ways.

Before you could think of any the phone in your hand dinged again. A new message.

y are you silent? i can see you reading this

Oh crap, you forgot he could see if the reciever read the message or not.

It was time to act. Pretend to be Shoko and find out stuff they would never tell you or admit you're you and risk losing the spicy information you could pull out of Geto.

As much as you hated to admit it Geto was really important for you right now.

"I'm so sorry Shoko," you whispered as you typed away.

I was just thinking, that's all. What exactly did Satoru tell you?

promise you won't tell Y/N? it would hurt her even more

Geto Suguru... cares about you?

Okay, I won't tell.

good, good. well basically he told me he has no idea what to do. that he doesnt want to choose any of us in fear of losing the one he doesnt choose. worst thing tho is i think he isnt really ready to be in a relationship. said he felt trapped but also not. idunno, it was messy

oh and did you know he lied all those times? everytime we invited both of them he said Y/N was too busy to attend, he told me he just wanted to feel like old times again.

They what? Invited you? You ahve to think fast. If you weren't you but Shoko, what would you reply?

Damn.

Yup, the only sensible thing coming to mind.

It worked though.

yeah, my thoughts exactly. how is she doing by the way?

You thought for a while. Then you began typing.

She's better. I made her a tea, talked with her, had fun.

okay, thats good

He wasn't replying for a while. You thought this was the end of it but then another message popped up.

i'm kinda surprised youre not saying anything

Check the clock mister, I'm tired.

i didnt mean that

Then what did you mean?

cheering me on in pursuit of Y/N

What the actual? Pursuit of you? In what way?

Your legs couldn't take it anymore so you sat down on the cold kitchen floor, head resting against one of the table legs. After your heartbeat slowed down a little you were ready to find out more.

As I said, too tired.

so all it took for you to stop teasing me about my crush was being too tired? where was this info three years ago?

Crush? Your fingers began to shake. This can't be. Geto Suguru, the source of your anxiety, the reason for your break up, the best friend of your now ex boyfriend has had a crush on you this entire time? And Shoko was teasing him because of this?

You have to keep a calm mind.

I don't think it's a good idea to act out right now.

yeah, no shit

what i said still stands tho

satoru is my best friend. and even if the girl that has been haunting my dreams the past few years is single now i cant possibly do it to him

You said it yourself, didn't you? Satoru doesn't know what he wants in life. What if he didn't want Y/N either?

You had to play these cards in order to find out more. More about Geto's crush, more about what Gojo really told Geto.

after what i heard today i think theres a possibility for that. but look, this is the first real relationship he has. that boy has been sheltered half of his life. tomorrow he will come to yours and have a chat with Y/N. the rest is up to her.

And what if she chooses to get back together with him? It would break your heart.

wouldn't be for the first time.

besides, as much as id want satoru to be single for a while to figure out his shit on his own i cant really wish Y/N told him to gtfo. at the begining she looked so happy

Geto...

yeah

You waited for a while but no more words came from Geto's end. The conversation died and you were even more confused than before.

Morning came. A sleepless night now behind you, Shoko's phone still in your hands and bunch of questions in our head. As well as anxiety.

What will you tell Shoko? Sorry girl, your phone wouldn't shut up so I impersonated you and texted with the best friend of y ex and also the reason why he's my ex in the first place and by the way when did you want to tell me he has had a crush on my and that's why he was acting all hot'n'cold with me ever since we met?

Even more, will Gojo really come and try to win your trust again? Before yoi read Geto's messages you would be even willing to try, but after? You weren't sure anymore. Especially after one specific sentence that kept you up all night. 'After what I heard today I think there's a real possibility of that.'

Shoko's bedroom door creaked open and in came a half asleep Shoko. Blindly filling up the tea kettle she turned to you. "Do you want some coffee?"

"No thanks," you said and placed the phone on the table infront of you. This will be bad. "Hey, Shokoy I have to tell you somethi-"

You were interrupted by loud knocking on the front door.

Both you and Shoko looked at the door than at eachother. Rubbing her eyes she walked over there and looked through the peep hole. "It's Gojo. Do you want me to let him in?"

You hesitated. Adrenalin was running high in your system, anxiety was clawing at your chest like never before.

And against all your better judgement you nodded.

A/N: i'm so sorry for ending it like this but it's really fucking late and i only have time at night to be creative... i don't know when the next chapter/chapters (i have at least three more planned) will come out but i promise i will try my best to post them by the time next monday comes. See ya ✌️

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk gojo x reader #gojo angst #gojo satoru angst #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk geto #jjk geto suguru #geto angst #geto suguru angst

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midnightkolrath · 27 days

Text

I've woken up on this day with a few quick thoughts on this scene from DMC5

Some things ppl (maybe myself in the past) have noticed and stated probably before but I'll throw my thoughts in anyway.

So, after Dante and Vergil knock back Nero, to keep him from following after him and establishing him as the protector of the human world while they go on to the demon world to cut down the Qliphoth tree. You can see Vergil's gaze linger on Nero for a good moment.

And I mean for a hot minute, too. He's gazing at the one he just found out is his own son. After witnessing the kind of strength his son displayed. He's thinking, and you can tell.

What about, you may ask?

About giving Nero his poetry book, of course. A personal belonging of his that he's personally cherished. And you know...this is actually the most affectionate Vergil has been towards Nero, in his own why. Let me elaborate real quick on why that is.

In Visions of V, its established that Vergil sees his poetry book as his 'heart'. Its tied to all the trauma he's suffered at first, but lamenting with his younger self, he realizes that he no longer needs to run from it and instead face it. His Heart will protect him.

He goes on to say to himself that he doesn't have to toss away what he has left. It goes on, in this moment, to show how Vergil eventually believes deep down that he and Dante can be twins again. It twists the deep sibling rivalry on a more positive spin.

I say positive, because all this time Vergil's been very keen on proving his strength into defeating his little brother who he's lost twice to by this point. As himself (3) and as Nelo (1). Its why he splits himself to gain more power and laments over the whole thing as V.

Its why Urizen is so quick to bring up how he's stronger than Dante and no longer has to 'see him as a threat'. He doesn't even have to spare the effort.

Getting back on track, though. Its funny how its stated V's poetry book is his heart, because of how much its tied to not just him, but Urizen. He named Urizen after one of Blake's works after all, the 'Book of Urizen'. Both halves of him are tied to that one book. His heart.

So Vergil spending a moment to ponder and consider giving Nero that same book? Him having a taunt that involves asking himself if he should entrust it to him? And he does? He's giving Nero not just something personally cherished, but essentially a piece of himself as well.

I think the nice bow on top is that Nero picks up the book, very likely recognizes that its the one V was carrying around all the time and realizes just how important it is. Thus, he's actually reading it by the end of the game to maybe understand personally how it was cherished.

Vergil took a minute to decide on giving his son his 'heart', followed through with it, and now Nero is holding onto and 'protecting it' until the day they can one day meet again. Its basically Vergil's own way of displaying a sort of affection towards Nero, the way I see it.

Its the little things I like about these games, ya know...just the things you can potentially pick up when you think about it. Its a shame alot of added context is in a media that you can only read through fan translation (thankfully) and not accessible traditionally, but its a good thing the community has come around to getting a hold of and translating such things for others to read.

#devil may cry #dmc #leo's dmc analysis #I posted this on twitter so I'll cross post it here too #I love the symbolism of Vergil's nerdy book

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moscowluvr · 4 months

Text

°•°•° dark!rhysand x reader

•°•°• rhysand always gets what he wants. sometimes, it takes longer than others. after finding something of yours, he gets the perfect opportunity to make you his

You never lost your journal. The leather-bound brown notebook was tucked under your pillow, under your arm, or under a loose floorboard in the servant's quarters of Hewn City. That morning, you put it safely under the floors at the base of your small bed. It had every horrible thing you'd done, every ill-thought, and worst of all, how much you hated Prince Rhysand. As his personal servant, you knew more than you should about him. You criticized him, his friends, his sexual escapades with males, females, lesser fae, and High Fae alike.

Hewn City was not kind. Even less so for the servants. Born into it, there was never any chance for you to do anything else with your life. From the time you could walk, it was decided that you would take over for your mother once she decided to step down. She'd had you in her later years, far past the point expected for females to carry. Her own father had put her in a life of debt, and she was expected to work it off. She wouldn't have children until it was dead and gone. She wouldn't put that kind of strain on you.

But, shit happens.

Now, here you were, standing over the open floorboard, the space empty. Your fingers clenched into a fist, nails digging into your skin. You thought you should just leave while you can. High Lord Rhen would take it as an act of treason. For writing those things about his son, he'd surely take a finger. Maybe even your tongue. Whoever had it wouldn't hesitate to turn it in.

Oddly, you felt numb. For now, there was shock, the full scope hadn't hit you. You thought you were clever. You thought no one would find it.

That calm feeling didn't last long. Not when he started reading in a low, mocking voice. Ice practically filled your heart. He found it. Maybe this was the worst outcome of all. "He thinks we all don't laugh at him, that even though we may be beneath him, we will never have to live with his shame and disgrace–"

You cut him off with a whimper, whirling around finally to stop him. He leaned against your wall, sleeves rolled up his arms. His hair had been messy, alcohol wafting off him. His purple eyes tracked you, a predator looking at its prey moments before it strikes. When he did, you knew it would land. Gods, you didn't think you would survive it.

He snapped the journal closed, holding it above his head. Against all rhyme or reason, you lunged for it, body pressed against his as you clawed for it. With ease, he has the two of you swapped, hand on your throat with your back against the wall. You blinked, gasping, as you wondered if he had winnowed or if he was simply that quick.

His wings appeared, spreading wide. The tips just barely missed the walls of your room. It efficiently cut you off from the rest of the room. Light didn't peek above his shadows. It was like Rhysand has suctioned all the light and warmth from around the two of you.

He was furious.

You held your chin higher. So be it. Those words you wrote were true. Maybe if Rhysand were a better male, you would've been able to tell him what you thought. If he were a better male, then maybe he never would've been snooping in his private servant's room.

Rhysand could be good when he wanted.

He could be even crueler when he felt like it.

"Be done with it," You said finally.

His lips pulled upward, his smirk sending chills down your spine. "I'm not going to kill you, darling. Rather, I'm going to make you regret every fucking letter you wrote. Be in my room tonight at midnight," His wings flared once more before they vanished entirely.

He laughed, grin pulled wider like he'd gotten the best idea. "Don't be late. Hell, maybe you should. What's one more thing I get to punish you for?"

#acotar x reader #rhysand x reader #rhysand acotar x reader #mine

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the-s1lly-corner · 6 months

Note

tadc cast x sensitive child reader headcanons? (Platonic ofc. No pressure at all for this request)

TADC cast x sensitive!reader ! (platonic)

taking a short break from todays treat making to work on requests! so far ive made meringue cookies, lemon curd, and chocolate pretzels! woo! it doesnt sound like much but these are real huge batches </3 rolls around this might be a little short, though, since im dry on ideas and i still got stuff to do TToTT

CAINE:

spoils you, a lot, as well as kind of babying you. will it do you any good in the future? probably not, but for now it works since hes putting you before everything else. makes sure IHAs arent too hectic, though... it took him a while to find that sweet spot between too crazy and too boring, caine isnt really good at mellowing himself out.. has probably spooked you at least once on accident since he has this large booming voice and hes kind of out there.... he didnt mean to startle you, please dont cry! he makes funny faces to try to make you stop crying

POMNI:

very bad at comforting someone when theyre crying and i think this would still be an issue with you even if youre her kid/adoptive kid.. younger sibling... something.. tries the basic stuff you do to calm a crying kid down; funny faces, candy, toys, ect ect. over time she does get better at identifying what you need in scenarios where things are upsetting you. speaks for you a lot of the time when there can be a possible conflict, kind of shields you from things that could hurt you out of fear that something is going to hit too hard. long run its not ideal, but similar to caine, it works in the moment, you know?

RAGATHA:

very sweet and patient with you, hardly ever raises her voice at people and she will never raise her voice around you. gently urges you to try to speak for yourself and stand up for yourself when someone is being a little mean (though, to be fair, i cant see any of the current cast being intentionally mean.. we'll get to jax in a minute hush). very encouraging, too. kind of a mix between letting you be sensitive, but also urging you to try to get a little tougher, you know? never makes you do things youre not comfortable with doing, though. lets you hang out in her room if youre getting too overwhelmed with something, lets you play with and mess with some of her sewing stuff (supervised! needles are sharp!)

JAX:

teases you but is gentler with you, though with how sensitive you are sometimes even softening himself isnt enough. while the others try to shield and protect you from the world around you, hes likely going to try to push you to be more... bold, tough, you know. not sensitive. i feel that he might be too pushy with you and may thrust you into the deep end before youre ready for it, so either youre going to need to speak up, or someone else will... generally not ideal since hes more of a big brother figure that kind of messes with his younger siblings rather than a parent.... shrugs.. does stand up for you the second someone else makes you cry, regardless of if they do it intentionally or not

KINGER:

the dad. the father, the papa. the grandfather, even. maybe its because i hc that he already has kids out in the real world and he instinctively knows what to do with you... but i think he would be really good with you developing a thicker skin. does not shame you for who you are, though. actually i feel like he would also remind you that being sensitive isnt a big deal and it doesnt exactly make you weak compared to others. it just means you have big emotions, all the better to connect with people, you know? good dad. probably plays catch with you... those talks kids and dads have when theyre fishing that carries a life lesson... or maybe admin was introduced to really specific scenarios growing up... shrugs

ZOOBLE:

cross between jax and pomni i think. zooble is bad at comforting people, but i do think they would push for you to grow a spine and snap back at someone when theyre messing with you. though unlike jax they dont immediately throw you into it, rather i think they would have one on one time with you where you guys just talk about the stuff... still stands up for you, though they tend to give you a minute to speak for yourself during situations to say youre not okay with whats being done to you. probably teaches you little comebacks and insults to say to people when theyre being assholes

GANGLE:

honestly? she can relate. i can see this going two ways... perhaps being both at the same time...? shrugs.. she can relate to you because shes also sensitive, and it leads to you guys having this sweet sibling connection where you guys dont feel so bad for crying so easily. or it inspires gangle to try to be tougher, for your sake, so you have someone to lean on during tougher days. i think both are nice, in my opinion. similar to ragatha she lets you hang out in her room, drawing.. you both use art to express yourselves when wording things get too hard

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #caine x reader #pomni x reader #ragatha x reader #jax x reader #kinger x reader #zooble x reader #gangle x reader

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vodika-vibes · 2 months

Text

The War Chest

A Magic and Knights AU

Summary: It’s been fifty years since the war between Mandalore and Serrano ended. A war that ended with an uneasy peace between the two nations…an uneasy peace that has since grown into something stronger. You are a daughter of one of the Noble Houses of Serrano, though only through marriage. You stand to inherit nothing from your step-family, unlike your mother. So, in an attempt to get your feet under you, you turn to treasure hunting.

Pairing: Pre Kix x F!Reader

Word Count: 5400

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly @the-bad-batch-baroness

A/N: So, I know Kix already has a story in this AU, but I'm giving him another one that is unconnected from the last one. This one, I think, fits a little better with the rest of the stories. Also, there's a fun little twist at the end that I'm not sure about, honestly. Anyway, I started writing this at 8 am and it's now 2 pm, and I managed to write it without any breaks. Go me~

“Rumor has it,” You arch a single brow as the man you’re talking to, a pirate who you’ve had more than one run in with, “That Count Dooku’s War Chest has been discovered.”

You wave your hand as if brushing the rumor aside, “Everyone knows that Dooku’s War Chest was propaganda from Mandalore.” You counter with a roll of your eyes.

“That was the accepted fact. 50 years ago.” He leans into your space and you lean back to try and keep him from breathing in your face, “Come on, girlie. You’re not even remotely curious.”

“I’m far more interested in facts, Shen. Not fairy tales.”

“Bah! You’re no fun.”

“If you want someone willing to chase fairy tales, you should be talking to Lyna, not me.” You eye your drink, and then push it to the side.

“Lyna is an archeologist,” Shen counters bitterly, “She’s all, ‘this belongs in a museum’ and ‘we should return this to its rightful owner’. She’s even less fun than you!”

“Come on, you tell her about Dooku’s war chest, and she’ll be all over it,” You say as you lean back in your chair, “Can you give me anything more than fairy tales?”

“No.” He folds his arms, “You were more fun when you were running with the crew.”

“Yeah, yeah. So you’ve mentioned. If you’re not going to try and help, you can take off. Find some other patsy to do the research for you.”

Shen scowls at you, and then pushes to his feet and storms away. He hasn’t changed since you were kids, tragic but understandable.

In any event, you’re not going to get any intel on your next score here. So you suppose that the archives is your next destination. Which is a shame, the archivists are always so annoying when you decide to visit.

They’re all, “Oh, Lady Nalcin has come for a visit!” Which is annoying since, A, you’re not Lady Nalcin, that position belongs to your mother. And B, you don’t even carry that Nalcin last name, seeing as your father is still alive.

Mother just had to marry Serrano nobility, didn’t she.

You push away from the table and shove your hands into your pockets as you meander through the bar. You step through the open door, into the cool air of the autumn evening and you inhale deeply.

You love this time of year. Not too hot, not too cold, and none of the plants you’re allergic to are spewing pollen. If you could live someplace where it’s autumn year round, you’d be a happy woman.

Tragically, such places don’t exist.

You turn to the left, starting towards the inn you’re staying at for the time being, when you hear heavy footsteps behind you. You tense and half turn, your baton falling into your hand from where it’s stored in your sleeve.

And then you turn properly.

The person running up to you looks like a college students, slightly younger than you, with wide eyes hidden behind thick glasses. She’s gasping for breath, and is barely able to say your name

But, garbled as it is, she does say your name.

You slide your baton back up your sleeve, and take a good look at her. She’s well dressed, and she’s wearing a brooch that marks her as a daughter of one of the High Houses. She’s also nearly bent in two trying to catch her breath.

“...are you okay?” You ask, after watching her gasp for air for a moment.

“I-” She gasps out, “Not fit-”

“...I can tell.”

The younger woman takes a deep breath and then straightens, “My name is Evie Wilsi, I’m the oldest daughter of House Wilsi. You are the daughter of Lord Nalcin, right?”

“Step-daughter.” You correct flatly.

“Yes. That.” She takes a step towards you, “You’re…something of an archeologist, right?”

“In a manner of speaking, sure.”

“I want to hire you!”

“...what?”

The girl flushes, “I…um…sorry. I would like to hire you, please.”

You stare at her and arch a single brow, waiting for her to continue.

“I want to hire you to find Dooku’s war-” You roll your eyes and turn your back on her to walk away, “W-wait!” She grabs your wrist and then scrambles so she’s standing in front of you, “I know that this sounds…insane-”

“Dooku’s War Chest doesn’t exist.” You say flatly, “It was a rumor. No more.”

“I have reason to believe that it does exist.”

You sigh and shake your head, “Look, Miss Wilsi, I don’t chase fairy tales. Period.” You tug your hand out of her loose grip and step around her to continue to the inn.

“2 million.”

You stop mid-step, and turn your head to stare at her, “I beg your pardon.”

Her hands are clenched into fists near her chin, “Two million credits. You’ll get two million credits just for taking the contract, and another two million when you find the war chest.”

You turn to face her fully, “And if the war chest doesn’t exist?”

“Then…then you’ll still get the second half of your payment. But only after you exhaust all avenues.”

“And you can afford this?”

“Yes.”

Your eyes narrow at her, “Prove it.”

She nods and pulls out her comm, pulling up her banking information, before she turns the device towards you. You glance at the number on the screen and your brows raise, “Four million credits is almost your entire bank account, is this worth that much to you?”

“Yes.” She stows her comm again, “It’s…everything to me.”

You fold your arms, and shift your weight slightly as you examine her. Over the years, you’ve become very good at reading people. Part of it is your natural magic, an innate ability to read intentions off of people, most of it, however, is just experience.

She’s being honest.

Not only does she believe that the War Chest is real, it really does mean everything to her.

You drop your arms, “Fine. But I want to be paid immediately.”

“Deal! Is there someplace we can…talk?”

You turn your back on her, and start walking away, and then you pause and glance over your shoulder, “Follow.” You don’t want to see if she’s following your instructions, you just start walking, your feet leading you to your favorite food cart.

“A…food cart?”

“Don’t knock it til you try it,” You reply as you order a caf and move to the side to wait until it’s done. Your maybe employer’s nose is scrunched up in distaste.

“Is this where you want to talk?”

“Surrounded by people? No.” You accept the cup of caf, and motion for her to keep following you. You lead her down several winding roads, and then make a sharp left into the biggest cemetery in the area.

You notice her hesitate at the gate, but you don’t slow down. If this means as much to her as she implies, as much as your magic is telling you it means to her, she’ll follow you anyway.

And you’re right.

Though she dithers at the gate for half a minute, eventually she hurries to catch up with you as you head into the older parts of the cemetery. As soon as you’re sure that there isn’t anyone around you can listen in on your conversation, no one alive at least, you perch yourself on the worn down stone wall and stare at the other woman.

“Alright. I’m all ears.”

“Here?” She asks, her voice hushed, “Isn’t it…disrespectful?”

You just tilt your head, “People don’t come to this part of the cemetery, which means no one can eavesdrop.”

“Right. Right.” Evie paces in front of you for a moment, and then she stops, “How much do you know of the Six Great Houses?”

“Assume I know nothing.”

“Right. Right! Okay. I can work with that.” Her hands curl into fists again, “There is a hierarchy to the six families, with House Dooku at the top of the pyramid, and House Wilsi at the bottom. House Nalcin is nearer to the top than the bottom.”

You lean back on the wall and take a sip of your caf, waiting for her to continue.

“This is why, 50 years ago, it was so easy for House Dooku to incite a war with Mandalore.” Evie continues.

“As I understand it,” You interrupt, “House Dooku was manipulated into it by what’s his face from Naboo.”

Evie looks genuinely pained, “You mean Court Wizard Palpatine?”

“That’s the bitch.”

She takes a deep breath, “You’re right. He was, and it was only after Count Dooku was killed that we were able to sue for peace-”

You sigh heavily, “Evie, what does this have to do with the price of chicken in Corellia?”

“...what?”

“Why does this matter?”

“Oh. Well, my family lost a lot of clout during the war…we sided with House Dooku. It seemed like a politically sound choice…so when the peace treaty was signed…we lost almost all of our status. We almost lost our noble name.”

“And?”

“And, finding Dooku’s war chest will do so much in helping us recover from this.”

“If it exists.”

“It does! It does. I’ve been researching this for years, my whole family has, and we have a solid lead.” Evie says as she steps closer to you, “It’s…here.” She digs into her purse and shoves a thin notebook at you, “All of the evidence is there, if you know where to look-”

You set your cup to the side and flip the notebook open, every page is filled with different handwriting. The notebook has clearly been in the works for years.

“Count Dooku had a safe house. He had many safe houses, in many different countries. But in the middle of the war, he vanished for three months. My family thinks he went to Hoth.”

You arch a brow, “Well, if that’s where he decided to hide his war chest, it explains why no one has found it.”

“Yes! Exactly. According to records, Count Dooku’s safe house was up in the mountains of Hoth, which would be nearly impossible for anyone to traverse at the time-”

“It’s still impossible to traverse.” You point out, “The storms of Hoth never stop, and you need special gear and equipment to survive even the lower parts-”

“Yes, but you’ve done the impossible before.” Evie says, “I mean, you’re the one who found Palpatine’s palace in Mustafar-”

“You’re not wrong, I just hate that you mentioned it.” You mutter.

“Can you help?”

You stare at her, silently, for a moment, and then you sigh and nod. “Yeah, alright.��

“Really! Oh, this is-”

You hold up a finger, silencing her, “Several conditions. 1, I hold on to this for as long as it takes for me to read it cover to cover.”

“Deal!”

“2, you are coming with me. It’s the only way for your family to get all of the credit.”

“Of course. I’ll even pay for everything we need to survive-”

“3,” You interrupt again, “We can’t leave for 6 months.”

“...what! Why?”

“I’m not fool enough to try and climb a mountain in Hoth in the dead of winter. And good luck trying to find anyone who will.” You say flatly.

“...you raise a fair point. So we’ll head out in the spring.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Evie claps her hands together in excitement, “Oh! You won’t regret this! I promise.”

Your gaze drifts off of her, lingering on a dark thread connecting Evie with something else, a thread that only you can see with your magic, “Well,” You murmur, “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it.”

“Hm?” Evie tilts her head, “Oh! Right, payment.” She pulls her comm out and hurriedly, very hurriedly, sends you the two million credits that you’re owed for taking her contract.

You watch your bank account shoot up, and then promptly move the money from that account into your personal account, “I need your comm code,” You say once that’s done, “I’ll call you when we’re ready to leave.”

“I can’t wait!”

And then Evie is gone, hurrying out of the cemetery with none of the grace that you’d expect to see from a lady of her standing.

You watch her leave, and then pick up your cup of caf and take a sip, while eyeing the notebook thoughtfully, “Well, it won’t be boring at least.”

7 Months Later

Hoth is a miserable place.

Frigid even in the dead of summer, with very few animals that won’t kill you as soon as they see you.

True to her word, Evie did prepare everything that you might need for an expedition, and then some. You have a base camp, vehicles that are suited for the freezing weather, and cold weather gear that is light enough to move in, yet heavy enough to protect you from the biting wind.

There are also people. So many people. Aides and attendants, and bodyguards. Not to mention maids and chefs and butlers. You’re not impressed, at all.

“So, I was thinking we’d go up the mountain in the morning?” Evie says, her eyes alight with some emotion that you don’t want to think too hard about.

“Mm, bad idea.” You reply, as you eye a group of men that you know come from a Merc Group, “There’s a bad storm rolling in, we go out in it, we don’t come back.”

“Oh, really?” She glances at the monitor and makes a face at the massive storm rushing in, “I should tell the others to prepare for the storm.” Evie mumbles, before she gets to her feet and hurries out of the room.

You’re alone for a moment, before one of the mercs brushes past you. “You should know,” He murmurs, his voice low, “The moment you find this treasure, we have orders to remove you from the equation.”

“Hmm.”

“You saved my life that day on Taris, this is me returning the favor.”

“Noted.” He glances at you, and then continues walking. The exchange took less than 5 seconds.

Luckily, you prepared for this exact scenario.

It’s not like this is the first time a client has betrayed you, after all.

You remain in the monitoring room for a bit longer, watching the storm build and grow in strength, and then, when you’re sure it’s late enough, you meander to your “room”.

You waste some time in your room, packing what few items you need to be able to survive in the storm, and then you cut out the lights, and you wait.

One hour passes. And then two.

And finally the lights dim in the hallway, and you know it’s time to go.

You don the severe weather gear that you bought yourself, grab your bag, the notebook, and you slip out the window.

As you figure, you have about five hours before anyone notices that you’re missing, and by the time they notice you’re gone, the storm will have erased any and all evidence of where you might have gone.

You walk quickly through the snow, wanting to get as far as you can before the storm hits. Though, you do take the time to veer towards a ravine just long enough to toss the notebook as well as a decoy pack down the ravine. With luck, anyone chasing you will think that you succumbed to the storm and nature.

The trick won’t work for long, but it will buy you a couple of hours, at the minimum.

That done, and with a storm moving in, you veer towards the mountain range. According to some of the notes you decoded, Count Dooku had pathways dug through all of the mountain ranges. You just need to find an entrance.

Luckily for you, Dooku wasn’t half as clever as he thought he was, and you were able to find an entrance in less than two hours. Unluckily, the passageways aren’t heated or lit.

You dig around in your pocket for your lamp sphere and light it with a touch of magic, ordering it to circle your head as you walk through the empty tunnels.

“Let’s see,” You say, aloud, to yourself, “If I was Dooku and needed to hide a war chest, where would I hide it?” You look around, peering down identical dark passages, and you sigh.

If you have to search every passage, you’ll be here for ages. There has to be an easier way.

You close your eyes for a moment, and focus your magic on your eyes, and then open them again.

Your natural magic isn’t the most useful for your chosen career path. You can see intentions, which is useful in foreign countries when it comes to bartering and when dealing with clients.

It is an innate magic, you don’t have to focus on it at all.

However, if you focus your magic on your eyes, and if you’re lucky, sometimes you can see traces of people’s intentions. Memories, written on the world around them.

It’s a desperate act. Dooku has been dead for almost fifty years. The odds of any of his intentions having been strong enough to leave an echo so far into the future is…unlikely, but you have to try.

As you fear, there’s no hint of intention in any of the passages.

You’re about to power down your magic, when you catch a glimpse of something higher than where you are. You focus your gaze on the dim glow and you frown.

The intention is…strong, but faint at the same time.

You puzzle through what you’re seeing. Strong implies that someone is actively in the passages with you. But the faintness implies…slumber, perhaps. Maybe someone lives in these passages.

Well, it’s better than continuing blind.

So you mentally mark the location in your head, and you start heading that way.

It takes time, though, to find the right path that will take you to the right level. The passageways were designed as a labyrinth, and you wonder if the passages aren’t complete, or if Dooku was just that paranoid near the end of his life.

You’ve never heard one way or the other.

But finally, after many dead ends, several looping paths, and one time when you thought you were going up but were actually going down, you reach a door.

You send a silent prayer to the patron god or treasure hunters, and then push the door open.

It creaks loudly, and another hard push causes it to fall inwards. “Whoops.” You whisper as dirt and dust swells around you. You wave the dust away from your face, and then step into the room properly.

It’s…empty.

Well, okay. Not really empty.

There, sitting in the middle of the room, is a massive crystal formation.

It looks man-made, to your eyes. Crystals don’t generally grow in such a deliberate way, at least not in your experience.

You move closer to the crystal and circle it, your eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

Now that you’re closer, it looks like there’s something inside it. You press your hand against the stone and try to peer through the cloudy material, but you might as well be trying to look through a solid wall.

You rip your gloves off, and press your bare hands against the planes of the crystal. Slowly you feel around the edges of each plane you can reach. And then…there, near the bottom, on the opposite side of where you started, you find a single sigil carved into the crystal.

Now, sigils and runes are basic magic.

It is, quite literally, magic 101.

But you’ve never been interested in modern runes or sigils, preferring to focus more on the more ancient versions that you normally encounter while on your treasure hunts.

That said, runes are runes, right?

They all get activated in the same way.

So you pull your hand back and summon a small amount of magic to your fingertips, and press your fingers against the sigil. “Please don’t be a bomb.”

For a moment, nothing happens, and then there’s a loud crack. And then another one. And a third.

And you’re forced to dive out of the way as the crystal shatters, sending large shards crumbling to the ground.

Then you see what was in the middle of the crystal, and your heart sinks.

It’s a man. Maybe about the same age as you, or a bit older, with a strict military cut and a five o’clock shadow. He’s wearing mandalorian armor, with the symbol of the medical corps on his shoulders.

You hurry over to him and kneel next to his head as he releases a low groan. You push your hood off your head, and tug your scarf down and goggles up as his eyes flutter open.

He looks like-

Your lips turn down in thought.

“Hey, can you hear me?” You ask, shoving your concerns to the side.

“Y-yes,” His voice is raspy and he blinks a couple of times, as if trying to clear his vision.

“What’s your name, soldier?” You ask, as you help him sit up.

“Kix…M’name is Kix.” He groans as you sit him up and he looks around the room, and then at you, “Your accent…you’re not Mandalorian.”

It’s not a question.

“Good ear,” You pull your bag off your back and dig through it, please let you have enough cold weather gear for him. “I’m Corellian, born and raised.” Kriff, you don’t.

Kix looks around, sharpness sliding through his gaze as he shakes off the sleep, “This isn’t Corellia.”

“That is correct.” You reply, before cursing, “How good is that at keeping you warm?” You ask with a nod towards his armor, and the helmet laying half forgotten in the shards of crystal.

“Good enough.” He lets out a pained groan as he gets to his feet, “Why?”

“Well, because it’s a wee bit chilly outside, on account of us being in Hoth.” You reply dryly and you stand and grab his helmet. You make sure that there aren’t any crystals inside the helmet and you offer it to him.

“...Hoth?”

“The one and the same.”

“What is a Corellian doing here?” Kix asks suspiciously.

“Well, I was hired to find Dooku’s war chest.” You glance at the crystal shards, and then at Kix, “And I found it, apparently. I’m not generally in the business of saving people, but I suppose I’ll make an exception.”

“...what?”

You glance to the side when you hear, what sounds like, magic explosions, “Times up, I’m afraid.” You look around, and then find another door, “This way, hopefully this door stood the test of time better than that one.” You pull your scarf and hood back on, “Put your helmet on, it’s freezing.”

Kix pulls his helmet on, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of you, “What’s going on? What’s with the explosions?”

You glance at him, before you focus on the door, “Oh. My former employers. The Wilsi family from Serrano. I was informed that they were going to kill me once I found the War Chest, so I decided to cancel the contract.”

“You keep mentioning this war chest, what is it?” Kix asks as he walks over to you and helps you open the door wide enough that the pair of you are able to leave the room.

“Well, unless we find a vault full of riches, I think it’s you.”

Kix pauses, “What?”

You glance at him, “There’s no easy way to say this, but it’s been 50 years since the war between Serrano and Mandalore ended.” He freezes, and you quickly tug him out of the room and shut the door, “Listen to me, Kix, I know that this is a shock to you. I know that. But if we don’t start moving, we die here. Can you contain your totally understandable freak out until we’re somewhere safe?”

It’s kind of eerie, having that blank helmet staring at you, but slowly Kix nods, and you release a sigh of relief.

“Come on, this place is like a maze. Maybe we can use that to our advantage.” You turn to the left, and Kix falls into step behind you.

All you have to do is find a way out, and make sure that neither you, nor Kix, die. And then, somehow, get him back to Mandalore.

No pressure.

“Can we take a break, please?” Kix asks as he helps her close another door, leaving the pair of them in a slightly warmer room, “I can’t hear the explosions anymore.”

She frowns, though it’s only noticeable because she pulled her scarf down a little bit ago. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve apparently been in stasis for fifty years-” And isn’t that a kicker, how is he supposed to deal with that? How can he deal with that? His brothers are all going to be in their 70s- “I just need a break, that’s all.”

She nods, and tugs her hood down, before she sits on a rock, stretching her legs out in front of her. Kix watches her for a moment, before he sits on another rock, “So…who are you, anyway?”

She blinks, and then laughs, “Sorry, I never actually introduced myself, did I?” She introduces herself with a slightly crooked smile, “My mother would have my head for such rudeness.”

“And what is it that you do?”

“I’m an archeologist. Technically. That’s what my degree says at least.” Her name, something long and complicated, does not suit her at all. So Kix makes a mental note to just call her runi, and then moves along.

“That sounds like you don’t actually do archeology, runi.”

“Eh, I go to old places and look for old things to sell to people who would rather stay safe than do things.” She waves her hand.

“Ah.”

“What?”

“You’re a tomb robber.”

“I am not!”

“Oh, so you have permission to take these items then.” Kix asks.

“I…well..not exactly. But I haven’t exactly been denied permission either-”

Kix smirks, “Tomb robber.”

“Yeah…well..what do you do?”

“I’m a medic. A perfectly respectable career that isn’t illegal.” Kix replies.

She huffs, but doesn’t respond, so Kix takes it as a win.

“So, I assume you have a plan?” He asks, “To get us out of this mess.”

“I have a broad idea of what needs to happen, but as for the details…not so much.”

“...what?”

“Why plan? I mean, they never work out like they’re supposed to.” She shrugs, “But in the end, I do intend to get you back to Mandalore.

“And you’re going to do this without a plan?” Kix asks.

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

He heaves out a sigh and then stands and pulls his helmet back on, “Maybe I should stick around with you. Stars know how you haven’t been killed yet.”

“Rude,” She scowls at him, but scrambles to her feet and pulls her cold weather gear on as well, “I-” She pauses and her head snaps to the side, “Motherkarking-...they’re planning on blowing up some of the tunnels. We need to go up and…over, I think.”

“Then let’s go. I’ll follow you.”

Kix watches as she leads him through the winding halls, pausing every now and then as though she’s following a path that only she can see. Having some kind of magic would make her survival a lot more understandable, all things considered.

He very nearly stumbles as a massive explosion makes the whole mountain shake, and Kix has to tackle runi through a door to keep them both from being crushed.

Turns out to have been a good thing, as the room they ended up in had a single set of stairs that lead somewhere else. It’s good enough for Kix, as he hoists runi to her feet and ushers her to the stairs and up.

And up.

Finally she throws open a door at the top of the stairs and they find themselves in a workshop of some kind.

“This must be where Dooku did his magical studies,” She notes as she peers at some of the books lining the walls.

“Wouldn’t there be a teleportation circle in here somewhere?” Kix asks, thinking back to the wizards tower back in Mandalore.

“Well, yeah. Probably. But I’m not wizard, I might be able to make it trigger it’s last destination, but-”

“This mountain is coming down, like it or not. Anywhere is better than here.”

“Ugh…fine! Help me find it.”

The pair search frantically around the room, before Kix lets out a shout of triumph. “Found it!” Runi hurries over to him and, with Kix’s help, clears the teleportation circle.

“Um…let’s see, it looks like it’s set to teleport somewhere…west?” She says as she scans the runes.

“West is good enough.” Kix shoves her into the circle as the building trembles, “Can you activate it?”

“Can I activate it.” She scoffs, “Of course I can activate it, but I have no control over where we land.”

“Better there than here,” Kix points out logically, and she makes a face, but clearly doesn’t disagree.

The runes start to glow, faintly at first, and then brighter.

Runi pulls her hands away from the seals, her eyes widening in panic, “Oh…oh bad…”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Um…” She turns panicked eyes on him, “The runes and sigils are reacting to the magic of the explosions…they…this is bad.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Kix asks, and runi opens her mouth to reply, but before she can say anything the teleportation circle activates.

It’s the most painful thing that Kix has ever felt in his life, and he’s almost grateful when he blacks out.

His last coherent thought is that he hopes runi is okay.

Kix wakes with a groan, this is beginning to become a habit for him. His everything is throbbing in pain, and it’s funny but his first thought was to question where his armor went.

“Easy there, vod. You’re okay.”

Kix squints at the man, one of his brothers, “-where?”

“You’re on the Resolute. We found you and the civvie passed out near a bombed out building. Seems like you threw yourself over her to save her.” Kix blinks a couple more times and finally he recognizes Vacc, one of the men he trained.

“...civvie?”

Vacc helps Kix sit up, and there’s a slightly jarring sensation when he realizes that he doesn’t recognize the medical bay. It’s…whiter and starker and has a lot less magical healing equipment than he’s used to. “Over there.” He motions to runi clad in some kind of medical attire, “She hasn’t said a word since she woke up.”

She’s curled up on the bed, her knees pulled up to her chin and her hands tangled in her hair. She lifts her gaze to meet his, and as soon as their gaze meets, her gaze darts to the portside window.

Kix follows her gaze, and his breath catches in his throat.

The Resolute was a sea-faring vessel.

But, for whatever reason, the Resolute seems to be in space.

No wonder she’s so freaked out. “Where…” Kix pauses to clear his throat, “Where are we going?”

“Coruscant.” Vacc claps his shoulder, “Get some rest, vod. We’ll be back at the barracks before we know it.”

And then his brother is gone, and Kix pins runi with a stare, “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” She sounds miserable, “The explosion must have mixed with the magic of the teleportation…I don’t know, Kix.” She winces and clamps her hands over her ears.

“Okay, okay. Runi, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

“How can you stand it?”

“Stand what?”

“The screaming.”

“What screaming, there’s no screaming-” She wraps her hands around his wrists as soon as he’s close enough, and then he hears it, high pitched and constant, as though someone, somewhere, is screaming in unending pain.

When she releases him the screaming stops, but she just tightens her hands over her ears.

“It…it’s going to be okay, runi. We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

Kix casts his gaze back to the window, just as a slightly mechanical voice echoes through the ship, “Preparing to jump into hyperspace in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…”And the galaxy outside the window fades into streaks of white and blue as Kix folds his hands around runi’s hands, trying to help her block out the screaming.

#star wars #tcw #star wars au #magic and knights au #clone medic kix x reader #kix x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic

32 notes · View notes

saulocept · 2 years

Text

you call the shots, babe

pairing: könig/f!reader

rating: t

summary: He shouldn’t think of you this way, he knows. It’s not right, it’s not appropriate. It’s a knowledge that’s been drilled through him from the start, and he hasn’t forgotten about that. And still, he can’t stop.

notes: oh u know lol. post cringe, log out, repeat 🫡

if its not obvious enough i am not sure what i am doing but also this is self indulgent in nature (have u seen him?) so warning for cringe all ahead. there’s a hint of a spice but its not explicit lol also might continue this further when an idea strikes but yea. sorry everyone lets get back to business. sorry

If anyone would ask, he’d be the first to confess, admit it out loud. It was his idea first – it always had been, and no amount of thinking, wondering could ever excuse his actions. He’d toyed with the idea for weeks, months; he’d stayed up late at night to dream, imagining how it’d go, wondering what he’d do if he’d only been bold enough to chase after what he wanted.

He knows he shouldn’t. Every bit of rationale he has tells him he shouldn’t. It’s not right. It’s not appropriate. He knows this more than he knows anything in the world – a knowledge drilled through him right from the very start, but he can’t help it. He’s liked you from afar, since the beginning, even before you’d actually met, got to know each other – loved, even though it felt too strong of a word to use.

And it’s no secret either. Everyone else around him seems to have caught on, sometimes even going as far as to tease him each time you’re around. You never seem to notice, however, or maybe you’re just used to ignoring it, pretending you couldn’t see the look he gives you, trying your hardest to stay professional, keeping him at arm’s length, like he knows you should.

He knows he should follow your example. Forget he’s ever had any feelings for you and carry on like the good soldier he is. Anyone else would’ve done the same thing, the right thing; you’re his mentor, for fuck’s sake – one of the only few people he’s got comfortable with over the months – and even if you’re not that much older than him, it’s still not right.

But he can’t stop. He’d tried, more than once. Did everything he could to forget about you. He’d tried to distract himself as much as he could, busied himself with other things. Focused on the only thing he’s good at, because it keeps his mind off you, stops his mind from wandering, thinking. And for a while, it worked, until he’s ran out of things to do and he can’t help but start thinking about you, again.

He hates it. He should move on, forget all about you. It’s clear you won’t ever like him back, especially now that you’re more distant with him. Avoiding him on purpose, like you can’t stand being around him anymore. Like a stranger, except it’s even worse, because he knows you now know how he feels about you. It’s unrequited; he knew it from the start, really, but now the knowledge of it closes in on him like dirt, undeniable. It’s the truth, something he can’t ever run away from.

And it hurts, really, because now he feels like he’s ruined everything between you, but it should also help, some part of him thinks. He could find some other hobby, something different to do. And maybe then, he’ll stop thinking about you the way he used to do, with hunger, yearning. Maybe then he could look at you the same way he did before all this: like a friend, a mentor – someone he’d looked up to and adored.

Maybe somewhere down the line, this will be nothing but a pleasant memory, something he’ll look back on with a bit of embarrassment and shame. But he knows he’d always search for you in the sea of everything. He’d tried. He’s still trying.

He’s not sure how it happened. If he thinks back on this night, all he’ll remember is a blur. Pieces of a puzzle he can’t hope to complete. Vague details here and there, but he knows that it had been harmless, at first, innocent even. He’d drunk too much, bitten off more than he can chew. He’s not sure why he was drinking in the first place, but he’s not sure if it matters now anymore.

And here he is now, stumbling back into his bunk, drunk out of his mind. His head’s pounding, his thoughts are in disarray, and there’s a second where he couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d like to do nothing more than to fall back into bed, asleep and resting.

But he stops, confused. He thinks he might be dreaming, at first – all his desires coming back to haunt him. You sitting on his bed, unmistakable even from afar, even when his thoughts are hazy. Flipping through a book – yours, most likely, because he can’t remember owning something like that in his life.

He blinks, confused. He leans against the door, looks you up and down. You’re still here, in the flesh, staring back at him with curiosity. It means he’s not dreaming, after all. “What are you doing here?”

His voice comes out a slur; he could barely hear his own voice through the pounding of his own head, and he murmurs a curse under his breath, rubbing his temples with his fingers, as though it’d somehow alleviate the ache in his head. It doesn’t work, not really, but your voice comes after, pierces through the fog, the silence.

“You’re in the wrong room,” you say, and your voice is gentle. He could almost swear you’re smiling, trying to hold back the laugh that he’s almost certain would come. “I think you drank too much.”

He shakes his head, mumbles another curse, then stumbles to sit beside you on the bed. He watches you scoot a little to the side, trying to give him more space, and he blinks in confusion, staring at you. You’re not looking him in the eye, focusing on your book instead like he isn’t there. He frowns. He could feel the sting of your rejection, and it hurts more than he cares to admit.

“Are you avoiding me?” He shouldn’t even ask that when he knows the answer. Maybe he’s really drunk out of his mind for him to be this honest, this talkative. There’s a part of him that knows he should stop talking, leave it alone. He wouldn’t like what you’ll say, he knows, but he can’t seem to stop.

He stares at you, waits, watches as you flip through another page of your book, still refusing to look at him. “It’s for your own good.”

This time, your voice is quiet, serious, and he grits his teeth, clenches his hands into fists. He knows that. Fuck, he knows it better than anyone, better than you even, and he hates that you’re the one who’s giving him a lesson, giving him a lecture over something he’s known from the beginning. And maybe it’s the alcohol in his system, maybe he’s fed up with your rejection, but the words are right there in front of him, waiting to be said. He shouldn’t, really, if he knows what’s good for him. But it’s too late for any regrets now, or maybe he’s just not in the right mind to care. Either way, it’s out in the open now, and it’s too late to take the words back. “Aren’t we friends?”

He sounds absolutely pathetic, pitiable. He’d laugh at himself if he were sober, less drunk than he is right now. He sounds childish, like a boy throwing a tantrum because he couldn’t get what he wants, and he knows he should stop before he embarrasses himself further, dig himself a grave he can’t ever rise from, but he can’t. Fuck. The words are just spewing out of him now, like a dam has broken somewhere inside of him, and can’t stop spilling, won’t stop spilling. “Don’t you like me anymore?”

“We are friends,” you say, and he hates the sound of your voice, that faux gentleness in it, patronizing and ultimately untrue. Like he’s a child, and you’re admonishing him for misbehaving. “And you know it’s not about that.”

You breathe out a sigh, closing your book with a quiet thump, placing it on the bureau next to you. And then you’re twisting toward his direction, facing him for the first time. There’s a somberness in your expression that wasn’t there before, and still, there it is: that gentleness that he hates, and the one that draws him in like a moth to a flame.

You like him well enough; he knows. He could see it in your eyes, in the way you look at him, and it should feel comforting, really, to know that you’re still friends, that you’re not going to treat him any differently, but fuck, he hates it. Hates how it all feels so fake – a lie carved out of nothing, meant to mollify and leave him wanting.

He’s tired of it, of this, of you. Tired of whatever this strange thing is between you, more confusing than ever. He’s seen the way you stare at him from afar when you think no one else is looking. He’s caught you a few times, and each time, he could never seem to understand what it means.

You’ve never once told him, not really, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be brave enough to ask. But it sits here, anyway, a weight pressing in on him, tight enough to suffocate. Lodged between you, though he wonders if he’s the only one who could see it, feel it.

There’s a time and place for everything, he thinks. Any other time and he wouldn’t even say a word. He would’ve nodded, left it at that, pretended he understood even if he didn’t. He wouldn’t have found the means to say it, too caught up with his own shame to even bother trying. But maybe all the alcohol’s making him numb, stupid. Maybe it’s the only thing that keeps him going, even when he knows there isn’t any hope.

“If you don’t hate me,” he begins, swallowing the lump that forms in his throat. There’s a voice in the back of his mind, protesting, yelling at him to stop, because everything would be ruined after this, but it seems so distant now, so far away. He should stop, say something else, before everything he’d ever worked hard for falls apart in front him. “Then kiss me.”

You stare at him for a long time, startled, uncertain, like it’s not what you’re expecting. A thoughtful look flashes in your eyes, and for a second, you’re frowning, looking deep in thought, like you’re mulling his words over, weighing the pros and cons. “Are you sure?”

He laughs. Fuck. He feels hazy, out of his mind. He stares at you, keeps his eyes on yours the whole time, shifting a little on the bed, closer like he’s daring you to move away. You don’t. He smiles a little, nearly grinning.

There’s a buzzing in his head, and he can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol in his veins or if it’s from excitement, or from something else entirely. He moves a little closer, and still, you remain where you are, refusing to budge. Your silence should feel like a rejection, but it doesn’t, not really; there’s something in the way you look at him that pulls him in, convinces him to take matters into his own hands.

He's giddy, drunk out of his mind, and bolder now than he’s ever been in his life. He would’ve never believed he has it in him, but it doesn’t matter now because he’s making the first move, leaning closer, his face mere inches away from yours.

And still, you’re not pushing him away. He takes it as a sign to continue; here, he feels the warmth of your breath, how it tickles his cheek, his skin. It should feel like a mistake, being this close to you, and he knows he shouldn’t do it, should stop before he starts regretting it, but he can’t. And now that he has you right where he wants you, he doesn’t ever want to go back.

It’s automatic, the way he moves, fueled only by his wanting alone. Slowly, he raises a hand, rests his palm against your cheek. You’re so warm against him, so real; the feel of you now wouldn’t ever compare to his dreams, his fantasies.

He should grab this chance, he knows, before you change your mind, push him away. But there’s a part of him that wants to make the most of it, savor this moment for as long as he can, knowing he wouldn’t ever get this chance again in this life, the next.

“Close your eyes,” he says, and it’s almost strange, hearing himself speak. He sounds different, somehow, his voice raw, thick with wanting that he almost doesn’t recognize it at first.

And still, you don’t object. It feels weird having all this much power over you when it’s always been the opposite. Still, he can’t deny and say that he doesn’t enjoy it, especially now that you’re doing as he asks without complaint, without another word.

He pauses a little, takes his moment drinking you in, memorizing every part of you as much as he could, refusing to take his eyes off you lest you disappear, fade out of existence. Like a dream. Gently, he traces his fingertips along your skin, as if to make sure you’re still real, still here.

His reward is a shudder, a shaky exhale spilling out of your lips, and the sweet taste of anticipation lingering on the tip of his tongue. There’s tension in here, too, somewhere: thick, cloying, nearly suffocating. He can’t deny it anymore, can’t ignore it, and it’s here that he takes the plunge, closing the distance between you.

Fuck. You taste better than he’d ever imagined, better than in his dreams, and he can’t get enough; from your response, it’s clear that you feel the same way, too. You wrap your arms around his neck, desperate to have him closer, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging.

It’s a harsh tug, unexpected, and he can’t help the hiss that spills out of him. It’s enough to make him lose control, though maybe it’s all he’s wanted all along. You’re quick to take the reigns yourself, pulling back briefly to nip at his bottom lip: light, playful, coaxing more sounds out of him.

He stares at you, wanting, waiting, and you only give him a smile before leaning in to kiss him again. The kiss is different this time: hungry, ruinous – all tongue and teeth and merciless taking. And still, it’s not enough, never enough. He tugs you closer, pulls you against him, as if he could somehow keep you with him, forever.

He knows, he can’t, not really. Still, he’s content with staying in this moment for a little while, riding out this fever dream until it’s over and he’s completely spent. Everything that happens is all a blur, and all he remembers are vague details – a series of images that come and go, as fleeting as a memory.

The touch of your hand. The warmth of your skin. The sound of your voice, breathless and wanting. All of your secrets laid bare for him to see: mirroring his own, converging until there’s nothing left but heat and fire, bursting in the spaces between, exploding.

It’s over as quickly as it comes. Darkness tugs at him, and he’s quick to fall into oblivion: content and satisfied. When he opens his eyes, he’s alone, back in his room. The memory of last night comes back to him in full force, but there’s no sign of you anywhere that he can’t help but wonder if it’s all a dream, something he’d made up in his head.

#renwrites #konig x reader #modern warfare x reader

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pinkarachnia · 10 months

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Lesbian Anime Review #12 - Revolutionary Girl Utena & Adolescence of Utena

Hey

That was funny revolutionary

How does one review a piece of media so foundational to everything else that it inspired?

Going into Utena, I felt like I wanted the show to prove itself to me. Why is this one always put on such a pedestal? When something is so universally acclaimed as this, it sets expectations so high it should be unreasonable for it to meet them.

And yet.

Utena serves as a reminder that sometimes we put pieces of media on a pedestal because they've earned gold.

In this show a girl transforms into a cow and the cow returns for the movie.

My biggest criticism of this show is it needs a flashing lights warning all over it. Some of the shots are really difficult to look at, which is such a shame considering how gorgeous the animation can be.

I don't know if it's possible for me to have an original thought about Utena. After finishing it and the subsequent movie, I spent some time listening to people's takes, impressions, and theories about it. I gained a lot of insight through that process. It helps that people have had a lot of time to dwell on this show and its meaning. When I finished it, I felt that I was still searching for more of that meaning. Utena doesn't try to explain what its themes and symbolism mean and a lot is left to the audience to interpret, but I got the distinct impression that it was supposed to carry a specific meaning, not something vague or nebulous. For a while this meant that I felt frustrated that after everything I still had lingering questions, as though there should have been answers I could have found, but by now I think I'm content. I found answers to the questions that needed answers, and what was left could remain unanswered and that was okay.

Anyway, Nanami episodes.

Utena is a show that has a serious plot with the duels and the student council and the absolute destiny apocalypse and all that, but every 4 episodes or so you're treated to a precious gift in the form of an episode centred around this little shit head.

She's the best character and she has ridiculous episodes that seem only tenuously canonical but I'll be damned if they weren't fantastic.

I really liked the part where she was pursued relentlessly by a group of elephants while she tried to acquire a rare spice to create a curry that will reverse Utena and Anthy's body swap.

RELENTLESSLY.

So this anime is about a girl called Utena who wants to be a prince because when she was a kid, a prince showed her kindness when her parents died and gave her a ring that would apparently lead her back to him eventually, and she thought that guy was sick AF.

Utena is good at sports and wears a masculine school uniform and all the girlies like her. She learns that the student council at her new school is fucked up and they've all got the same rings as her, which identify them as duelists. They have sword fights to determine who has the right to marry the Rose Bride, a girl called Anthy. Utena thinks this whole system is batshit, but she has to fight duel after duel because she just keeps winning and people keep challenging her. Anthy seems unnervingly chill about a lot of it, but also seems genuinely happier when she gets to be with Utena rather than any of the other freaks who are dueling for her.

Damn everyone in this show wants to beat up Anthy so bad! I mean, Utena doesn't but they're like girlwives so that's to be expected but everyone else loves smacking her around. I can understand why Utena's default response was to go protector mode, even though her attitude of wanting to protect Anthy and fight for her would be the thing that ultimately condemns them to inevitable tragedy.

Spoilers below the gifs!

The rest of this review is going to be messy. I'm not sorry.

At least one of the themes of Utena was unclear to me until after I had watched the movie.

I understood that the school represented adolescence in general and that escaping the school meant breaking free of that and becoming empowered with independence.

At the end of the series, Utena has a sword fight with the big bad, frees Anthy from her prison and presumably dies in the process. She had spent the whole series fighting for Anthy and trying to win her freedom, but the flaw in her thinking is that she never tries to help Anthy by empowering her. She destroys the power structures that were holding Anthy in place, but in the process she destroys herself, when what Anthy needed was for Utena to give her the strength she needed to leave on her own. Even after all the duels fought for her, Anthy doesn't have the courage to take that step by herself, and while Utena is fighting her evil brother, she stabs Utena, which might be the thing that ultimately kills her. Just like how Birdie Wing Season 2 stabbed me in the back after I gave season 1 a 10/10. Utena is dealing with a lot of her own shit this whole time too, which doesn't help her see through to the heart of the matter.

This is contrasted in the movie, Adolescence of Utena, which confused me initially because people had insisted that I watch it after the show and I assumed it might help me to understand more of the show, but it was mostly the opposite.

The movie is maybe an alternate universe, maybe a time loop. It's never elaborated on. The point is it's a retelling but a bunch of the parameters are changed. The relevant part here is that when Utena decides that she wants to help Anthy, instead of fighting her battles for her, she transforms into a car. Cars are used in Utena to represent the power of adulthood and the freedom it confers; the main villain of the series is almost always driving his car and uses it to manipulate and influence people. Utena turning into a car that Anthy can drive to escape the school was the exact thing she needed. From that point, Anthy becomes the protagonist of the film and is able to move forward herself. She is literally in the drivers seat, which is a kind of empowerment that Anthy in the series is never given. This is how I came to understand why Utena failed in the series.

I also liked that in the movie, Utena appears to go into it knowing she likes girls. In the series, there's a conversation towards the end where Juri is talking to Utena about her relationship with Anthy and Utena's response is to push back on the idea that she and Anthy have a romantic connection; she says that it's different from the way Juri feels about Shiori, that it's more "pure". In the movie, when Anthy is insisting that she's become Utena's wife after she wins a duel, Utena's response is that if they're going to have a relationship, they should move forward at a more natural pace. She doesn't deny that they could have a relationship, she just doesn't like that Anthy immediately shifts into wife mode the moment Utena wins a duel. But then they have a romantic dance and it's all good.

I haven't even talked about "all women are rose brides" and it's difficult to put into words how hard that hit me.

The imagery of Anthy in her rose bride outfit speared with a thousand swords holding her in place and the main villain talking about how actually, all women are just like that: items to be owned and preserved in adolescence without any power to choose or act for themselves. This show did so much.

And the Nanami development was unreal. The joke character who has an episode where she's despairing because she's convinced she laid an egg is the character who discovers that Anthy is being sexually abused by her brother. She's just had her own arc where she learns that her own older brother isn't blood related to her. He then comes onto her like, "this is what you wanted right?", and she rejects him. Nanami is repulsed by what she learns about Anthy and even more that Utena continues to live with Anthy while unaware. The way they grow her as a character is incredible. Thanks Nanami. Hit him with the 10 hit combo into command grab.

I could write another entire review just about Juri and her whole deal. Juri is the fencing club captain and she's crushing on the most toxic girl in the universe who's doing the whole Kaguya-sama bit where she thinks that if she tells Juri she likes her then she's losing at love, so instead she keeps getting into other relationships so that one day Juri might get jealous enough that she confesses first, but Juri just continues brooding and yearning. It's that toxic codependent yuri that everyone keeps talking about and this time I didn't even clock it when I watched the show, I need another lesbian to explain to me why people like Shiori. When I watched it, I just assumed she was a bitch! I was the Juri in the relationship, assuming Shiori was just an evil straight girl.

So yeah, everyone was right about Utena. It's one of the lesbian anime of all time. Ikuhara does it again. This guy really is my favourite director. This does mean I have some bias because I love all the things this guy does with his shows. I just need to watch Sarazanmai and I'll have seen them all.

Of course I'm giving this a 10; if not this then what are 10s even for? There's a lesbian sword fight in almost every episode. I'll be thinking about this show for the rest of my life. And I shouldn't need to remind you, but I cannot be killed. Zettai unmei mokushiroku.

Fuck, would it be too cringe to get that as a tattoo?

#lesbian anime review #revolutionary girl utena #shoujo kakumei utena #adolescence of utena

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saphirered · 1 year

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Hiii! I love the way you write for Azriel. Do you think you could write a Azriel x reader where they have a fight and then eventually makeup? Some angst and fluff :))

Sorry for the wait on this one. It's a long and angsty one. Hope the 4.6k word count makes up for it. 😘

Azriel returns home when the moon shines brightest and the stars illuminate the skies, when the streets have gone dark save for the few stragglers and wanderers. Were it not for these heavenly bodies he might as well still have been stuck in the Court of Nightmares, he might not have noticed the difference between callous shadows of earth and rock, and those of light and life. No longer does he breathe air that’s suffocatingly stale, yet still he each breath is taken against a gale. Every beat of his wings is one too many. He is exhausted; mentally, physically. Though, he’d never admit to it. There’s a job to be done and he’s always been the one to carry this weight. Now more than ever does it seem more important. He carries the burden of the horrors he not just endures but lives through and inflicts. Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Equally heavy is the blade of the soldier. The spy’s words cut ribbons of the mind is not without self-infliction. Heaviest is the heart that guards the scars of compassion and justice, of guilt and awareness. Azriel never considered himself to have a heart, not in that way at least. Never had the terrible choices burdened him, nor the bloodshed. Were he asked in the past he doubts he’d be ashamed to admit sometimes relishing in it. If he had a heart, he doubts it’s a good one.

Unlike his brothers who carry humility and shame for their bad choices, who face regret when they see in the past they would have chosen differently if only they had what they have present. They are haunted by the decisions and sacrifices they made even if they would make them a thousand times over. They always had their hearts in the right place, and while their minds might have been clouded throughout their years where the reminders of friends and family were not be enough, now they have the ones closest to them to keep them on their tracks, and to beat their asses into oblivion should they venture too far; become unrecognisable when the cruelty of the world threatens to whisk them away. Azriel never dared dream himself worthy of something so pure and precious, or so he’d comment self-deprecatingly. That’s a lie. It’s not that he does not think himself deserving, it’s that he’s mortified. As much as a good heart can bring out the best, a bad one can bring out the worst. It can change and corrupt and destroy. The things he faces, they are not meant to be shared. He might consider himself lacking a guilty conscious be cannot live with the thought of corrupting someone pure and good and honest with tarnished broken horrors.

But then you came along. You didn’t change his mind. He’s too foolhardy sometimes, you’d claim. He simply thought he could do both; be responsible for what he always has been, and cherish a good heart, put it on a pedestal and worship it. Light shines brightest in the shadows. He’d know best. You are his light however cliche that might sound. In turn you also became his conscious, his happiness, and comfort and hope. You became his world because of course you would but the world he lives in and the one you offer him cannot be one and the same. So he keeps them separate, if only to preserve you. You might have seen your own fair share of terrible things, you might have done terrible things too but that does not mean you have the heart to be burdened with the weight of his world. The life you live together is far from perfect but as is any. Azriel forgets light is blinding and its warmth addicting. Every time you ask him about his day, he’ll be honest only half of the time, and he brushes off any topic discussing the details of his not-so-good day.

He’s terrified to slip up and make the mistakes based on the things he is capable of. How can his hands that inflict such pain upon others brush so gently against your skin? How can carefully chosen words, lies, deceit and frightening truths flow from his lips when they whisper such wonderful praises in your ear? How can you smile at him and hold him when you know what you know already and how could that not change should he ever share with you the whole truth and full insights in his second life- his life as the Shadowsinger. How could you look at him the same, let alone love him still when you know all those stories are true? He’s the monster parents frighten their children with, the creature of shadows that looms in the darkest corners who might as well wield the executioner’s blade himself, he has. He’s tried so hard to keep these worlds separate but sometimes they mix and when they do some conflict is bound to rise. He avoids it until things calm down. He runs like a coward chalking it up to being caught up in work, or tasks he cannot avoid, being away for weeks on end for a mission. At least he convinced you to stop apologising upon his return, and claim the argument was just stupid. You were not wrong. He’s just too much of a coward to face you with the whole truth, to expose to you his bad heart.

This time things are different. This time Azriel does not return home to the light in the sitting room at the balcony burning. This time he does not return to the lingering scent of delicious food. He returns to the scent of ash; a hearth growing cold, and the fading faint scent of you. It’s a Wednesday and your selection of books has not been exchanged for the next. You’re not gone. His shadows tell him so. You’re in your room. You’re perfectly safe. Just sleeping. He enters the kitchen. On the counter sits a covered plate with a note.

‘Saved you a slice.’

He finds himself smiling at the handwriting undoubtedly yours, even the little heart drawn below. His own heart clenches and he finds that smile turn to a guilty frown. While he tries to eat the slice of pie, he cannot stomach it. He was supposed to be there with you, with everyone on the bi-weekly night out. He’d chosen his world over yours, over his family’s. He’d pushed you far from his mind so he would not think about the way you might look at him while he sacrifices people like pawns in a bigger game. You’d spend the day out, and still you’d managed to think of him, to be considerate. Somehow you make him feel guilt and he does not know if he can bear that.

While he passes the sitting room he debates sleeping on the couch but his body aches and feels heavy so he drags himself to your bedroom. Quietly he sheds the layers that have been stained by blood, most of it not his own, he sets asides the tools of his craft; suffering and considers moving them elsewhere so they do not tarnish you presence in this room. He would have if he was not this tired and doubted his legs would carry him much further. You lie on the bed, curled up on your side under a pile of blankets to keep you warm. Your light breathing, might as well have been the theft of the air from his own lungs when he forces a deep breath and sits on the edge of the bed, your back towards him. Again he debates the couch. He gets over himself and lays down under the blanket, trying his best not to make any contact as if he could avoid you. Even in your sleep, you know he is there. Even in your sleep you turn over, discard the additional blankets and bring yourself close to him. Azriel does not have the heart to push you away. You lay against his side, curl up under his arm as you stretch your own across him, clasping onto the fabric of the cotton shirt. You throw a leg over his and he is trapped within your embrace. Light sparks in the darkness of his mind and he deems this a self-inflicted punishment. He cannot bring himself to hold you in return.

Azriel is exhausted but sleep would not find him. Your mere presence eats away at his conscious. Dawn comes and he must leave. You wake up in the bed alone, with the blankets tucked around you and his side a fading warmth serving as the only proof he’d been there at all.

Repeat; Azriel comes home late, his mind fills with the same thoughts like a vicious circle. He stomachs the food you’d left out for him; a sign of discontent in your own way with his usual habit to skip dinner when he’s travelling back and forth and thus you pushing him to at least eat something. You’re already fast asleep by the time he lands on the balcony. He’s careful not to wake you as he bathes and changes and joins you in bed. He barely sleeps and leaves at dawn before you wake. With every waking moment that couch in the sitting room becomes a more attractive thought. What if you wake up? What if you ask him questions he cannot answer? Or worse; what if he answers them?

Repeat. But something changes. No longer do you leave a sweet little message with the food. No longer do you naturally respond to him when he finally makes it to bed. The hearth in the sitting room you’d read books together when he’s home remains cold and unlit. Your usual weekly pile of books remains unchanged until it disappears entirely. Eventually the thoughtful meals disappear too. Despite his perpetual lack of appetite he misses them. You remain on your side of the bed as opposed to finding him in your sleep. Your blankets keep you comfort now. When you get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, you return to that very same spot. No longer do you clasp his hand or brush your fingers along his cheek or kiss him before you lay back down as you had down a thousand times before. He might as well not have been there at all.

————

You wake up alone. Again. The bed’s grown cold, or so you think but when you reach out for that empty side, it’s not grown cold; it was never warm in the first place. You had not woken the middle of the night to notice his presence. You get up, make some breakfast and wander around and piece your thoughts together. Azriel had not returned this night. You find yourself in the sitting room, leaning against the cold hearth and looking out through the glass panes of the balcony doors with a sigh. You cannot linger on these things. Not now. Not today. Not when that incessant scrape against your mind almost has you drop your cup of tea. A summoning. You’re thankful for the distraction regardless. It’s time. You have a job to do too. If Azriel can go off Cauldron knows where doing Mother knows what, then you can barter and bargain and play games of chess with the devils dressed in fancy garb. You can play diplomat in your own way. You cannot let the Shadowsinger distract you now. You cannot let his distance get to you. He may not intend it so but you feel like a cherished but fragile porcelain doll in the haunted house he calls his life. It’s suffocating you. You’re not some precious little part of a dollhouse like the nobility owns to show off their wealth or be picked up and paid attention only when it suits him.

Night comes and your day does not end. When Azriel returns home in the dark morning hours he will find that home void of your presence. You’re not there and have not been since after he left. You do not return come dawn either. He thought perhaps without your presence he might sleep easier, if at all but he does not. It’s haunting quiet and he’s left alone with his guilt. He worries and when Rhys calls to him. He asks about you. He had to ask. Even if it made his brother suspicious. Of course he was chastised for his uncharacteristic concern or response but in the end he got confirmation; you had business of your own to take care of that ended in an overnight stay at another court. Which one? Where? Are you alright? Of course you are alright. He is not entitled to any of the other information and it takes him every ounce of self-control to not send his shadows to look for you, or worse go himself. He’s always respected your boundaries and you his. He refuses to change that simply because he feels as if he’s done something wrong and is in desperate need of fixing it. He worries too much. Rhys said so. Azriel agrees these thoughts are irrational. He’ll await your return in anticipation. Dreaded anticipation that eats him up from the inside. It is maddening.

Afternoon comes and goes. The sun begins it’s descend. Azriel had taken to doing anything and everything that prevented him from leaving the House of Wind. Cass had declared him insane when he voluntarily offered to go to Illyria. Declared insane and denied. Not even a good sparring match could fix him. Kicking his brother’s ass over and over had grown old fast when Cassian kicked his again and again instead. Azriel was not on his a-game. Any implication something was up with the latter lead to a well directed punch every once in a while but most often just a grumble to lay off. Between training, sparring, working on reports, reporting back to Rhys and those on a need to know basis, he’d be running out of things to keep busy. Several times had he been told to take a break, to head home and relax, rest even but he is ever restless. He’s about to tell Rhys he is going to check in with some of his spies across the continent when his shadows dart out and in his distraction he can only barely halt them and keep them contained.

You sit in one of the open studies with a view across Velaris though the sight is the furthest from your mind as you overview a trade agreement over and over and over again. It’s ridiculous. Autumn really thinks you’re this stupid? To just agree to something like this blindly? Did they think you’d not read this or that their simple implications everything is fine and only covers what was discussed? Did they think you’d simply take their word for it and enter a legally binding contract? A bit of revenge is in order is it not? So you decided to fan the flames, rework the deal, with new terms and conditions, with a ton of loopholes in the Night Court’s favour and shackles for Autumn heavier than the precious metals in their own vaults. You were kind and generous before. You would not be again. See how they like it. You might have gone a bit overboard. Surrounded by books, ledgers, historical records, reports and records of nobility, stewards and farmers alike all down to the lands they reside over, you’re letting pettiness drive this masterpiece of yours.

You’re absolutely exhausted. Your clothes are crinkled, your hair still styled the way it had been when you left the day before. Ink stains your hands and the muscles cramp but you couldn’t care less. You hold the back of a silver fountain pen between your teeth as you unfold a map of farm lands and cross reference the districts and copies of deeds of ownership. Don’t ask how you procured these. That’s information not even Azriel must be privy to. Surely it would have been far easier to get him to help you but after the distance of the last few weeks, you did not feel right asking. Even the mere thought of his lack of communication makes your blood boil a little but you quell it. Sometimes things are this way. You will not fault him for it, or so you tell yourself but you cannot help an unhealthy bitterness rising within you so you choose to channel it into something productive now, and settle those feelings when you have a moment to breathe, and preferably speak with him. Mother knows when. You wish this had been the first time you’d thought about him today. It is not.

The smell of chilled mist and cedar fills your senses. You did not hear him approach. Of course you didn’t, not when that dark silence surrounds him in a cloud of shadowy tendrils. They’re more restless than usual. You notice when he stands in the opened doorway deciding between leaving and doing literally anything else. You knock over a vial of ink spilling some of it’s contents but luckily manage to prevent the worst of damages and save the important papers. You curse to yourself. Your clothes are ruined and you fear your skin might stain too. You try to contain the spill, with what fabric of your already stained sleeve you can and crumpled paper you’d already deemed waste. Azriel is torn between helping you and staying on that threshold but you don’t say anything to push him either direction.

“Hello, Azriel.” That came out colder than you intended and you’re unsure if that roots from your conflicted feelings, or the fact you might just have permanently stained one of Rhys’ precious antiques and you’ll never hear the end of it. You’re lying to yourself if you settle for the latter.

He clenches and unclenches his fists at his side and finally pushes into the room, lifting some of your documents while you dab up the spilled ink best you can. He cannot help it. He catches a glimpse of your work and as a spymaster a glimpse is all that he needs. He sees the Autumn crest, and the crests of several of their nobility. While you’re distracted he gets a second glimpse and it only makes matters worse.

“Where did you get these?” He speaks caught in thought and entertaining the texts. Azriel does not want to know the answer to the how. He fears the worst. These are not just things anyone casually gets their hands on, especially not someone from another court. You must either have struck a bargain, stolen them, or resorted to questionable means to acquire them and each avenue is stupider and more reckless than the last.

“Nothing you should worry about.” You pull the papers from his grasp and collect their counterparts from the desk too holding them close to your chest.

“I am worried.” He insists and that cold cutting darkness fills his voice. Many opposite of that voice might have cowered. Your eyes just narrow as you bite your tongue.

“So have I. For the past weeks but you don’t hear me complaining, do you?” There is many things you want to say, but you keep those close to your heart, let them form a shield that keeps at bay that heartache and instead fuels the bitterness. You don’t want to be angry, or upset. You don’t want to be bitter or cruel but you are, so is he. You will not apologise. It was him who told you to stop apologising for things beyond your control. He’s beyond your control and perhaps beyond your consideration too.

“That’s unfair.” You have not even unleashed an ounce of the grievances you’ve pent up over the last weeks.

“What’s unfair is you avoiding me yet sneaking back into our house; into our bed when you think I’m a sleep and leaving before dawn.” Azriel moves for the papers, but you retreat with a look that promises fury. He simmers and steps back throwing his hands up in defeat and retreats.

“What did you do to get those papers?” You expected a response, anything really to your previous statement but here he tries to turn back the subject. You don’t want to bite. You don’t want to feel the burning mark at the centre of your ink-stained palm but you do. Your fury while not gone, is drenched in a bath of ice.

“What I had to do.” You begin gathering your things. Azriel notes the particular tension in your left hand.

“What did you do?” He asks again but you just shake your head. When you reach for that map, a tendril of shadow wraps around your wrist and turns over your empty palm. At the centre of it lie swirls akin to leaves blowing in the wind. You quickly close your palm and say nothing.

“What did you bargain?” The anger fades and the worry washes over him. The shadow’s grip loosens and you pull your and free, cradling it to your chest. You don’t know wether it’s anger or sadness, regret or the pent up emotions of the past few weeks, but your eyes burn. Never once do you spill a tear. You refuse to even when you take a shaky breath and have the urge to sob, to scream and cry and let it all out. You don’t. You’re barely holding together. Azriel sees it now. You’re hanging on by a silken thread. To know that he is the cause of most if not all of it, it hurts more than a knife through the heart. You take another shaken breath and your expression hardens again.

“Our lives are not as different as you think, Azriel. I did what I had to do.”

“You made a deal.” He states as if it wasn’t clear before. You let out a dry laugh and decide to humour the insistence for an elaboration.

“A favour. To be called in at his discretion.” He just thinks about the thousands of ways this could have been avoided. “I didn’t think I could rely on you.” Strike, twist and pull back. You might as well have carved the beating organ from his chest.

For weeks Azriel has been trying to save you the worst of horrors. For months have you been dancing this dance of different lives. It is only now he comes to realise your statement is true. ‘Our lives are not as different as you think.’ While he dances in the shadows, exploiting every opportunity, listening to the whispers in the dark, and following the call of those who would think themselves in the light. Azriel lies and cheats and steals and kills to protect those he cares about. It’s taken him this long to realise you do no different but you do not operate from the shadows. You do not hide in the nooks and crevices where no one dares linger. You dance in the light, but that light is a blinding one that warps the truth, that demands decorum and darkness of its own. He’s accepted his life in the shadows. He relishes among them. You walk on a tightrope every time you leave while he flies. Azriel does not think he has a good heart but you do. You have a good heart, or at least you believed you did but how much of it is left since you started playing this game? How much is left ever since you felt you’ve been doing this all on your own? It’s been eating away at you and he’s let it. He allowed this to happen.

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know what else to say, not when his head drops and he no longer feels anger. He still feels concern but he feels guilt most. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be in this situation. He should have been there for you. He shouldn’t have ran away from his problems. In his stupid thoughts of protecting you he actually condemned you and he is entirely to blame for it.

“It’s too late now.” Mournful. Your words are mournful. You look away. You look over that city beyond these windows. That’s why you’re doing this. That’s who you’re doing this for. For your people. For your friends. For your family. For Azriel… For Azriel. You thought giving him space would help. You thought keeping your lives separate would work. You thought having a good heart would protect you from the horrors of the world. You thought having a good heart, would help alleviate the burden on his but it didn’t in the end. You don’t know all the details nor might you ever but you don’t need to. Your lives are not so different so why keep them separate until they intersect? Why unite only when the sun sets and the stars come out? Why pretend you both live normal lives when you enter your safe space? Why pretend you can leave your baggage at the doorstep of your home? Because it was a beautiful illusion, to have some sense of normalcy sometimes. Instead you’re just pretending. That’s no way to live.

“We can’t have both.” Azriel simply states and while he might not show it, he knows the heavy meaning behind that statement. He feels it weighing down on him too. He follows your gaze to the window, to the magnificent city beyond that he’s come to call home. Each step hesitant, he steps closer until he is next to you. In the reflection of the glass he sees your mournful eyes, rimmed with crystal in the reflection of the sun. You quickly wipe away the tear threatening to spill.

“I want you, Azriel but I don’t know if I can if you can’t trust me.” The lump in your throat does not make this any easier.

“I trust you.” He nods to himself. “I trust you more than anyone in this world. You are all that’s good in my world and I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you but please don’t make me choose.” You cry a sob in response and you shake your head.

“We can’t have both but who says we have to choose? We’ll never have a normal life. Let’s not pretend we ever will. We’ll just have to make it work.” He feels the back of your palm brush against his, your pinky link around his. The sun is setting and you bask in it’s glow, eyes closed. You’re beautiful. Even when the single tear spills down your cheek. He turns and wipes it away tenderly. With a deep sigh you lace your fingers with his and hold on tight.

“No secrets between us.” That’s something you can agree with.

“No secrets between us.” You repeat leaning into his side and squeezing his hand. It’s a small step in the direction of progress. There’s still plenty of steps to go but it’s a beginning.

“You have a good heart, Azriel. I don’t care what you might say or think. I know it’s true.” He opens his mouth to say something and protest but the words fall silent at the back of his throat. He cannot cross them into reality, not because he disagrees, but because this is not a fact. This is opinion and he considers he might just be wrong after all. You’ll have to teach him it’s not actions that make one good or bad. It’s the reasons why. You’ll just have to get him to see it too one day. For now you’ll work on this. You’ll get through this.

#azriel x reader #acotar x reader #azriel x you #acotar azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses #sjm fic #sjm fanfic

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asteria7fics · 23 days

Text

I’m feeling uncharacteristically sentimental right now, so I’m gonna capitalize on it and make my personal RANT girl appreciation post! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)

As I’m sure many of you have seen, I’ve found myself with the incredible fortune of befriending three of the coolest girlies that allow me to be utterly INSANE in chat. They are THE hype masters, and honestly I don’t think I would have even considered posting RSB had they not all boosted my confidence with their encouragement.

If you’re somehow unaware of my wonderful RANT Park girlies, then let me introduce you while I muse about how talented and wonderful they all are!!!

@1moreoffkeyanthem

Riley, the first letter and for me, the person that started it all. I don’t think I would have ever met the other girls had she not been so lovely in the comments of TSOB in its earliest chapters. Just knowing that someone out there was finding something to enjoy in my silly, self-indulgent fic really kept me going, both with continuing to post TSOB and during the drafting process of EWILY.

There’s a reason I’m constantly screaming at you guys to read Riley’s work. Every fic hits. Every. Single. One, and the queen has MANY to choose from. I have yet to find a PCE fic that I didn’t thoroughly enjoy. Between the beautiful prose, the perfect character dynamics and the level of creativity required to not only create deeply engrossing AUs, but to make so many of them bite-sized and easily digestible. I frequently marvel at her ability to pull me into her worlds in just a few sentences, every single time.

Don’t even get me started on the quality of whump. I’m not even a whump girl, or at least I never thought I was but man, I really am not joking when I say I think I’ve been converted. Riley helped me see the light you guys, and she can help you see it, too.

I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it a million times more. IF YOU AREN’T READING PCE WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING???

And you can read Riley’s work right here!

@alwaysinstyle

Ana, the sickfic queen herself. Walking hand in hand through the hurt/comfort tag with Riley and absolutely carrying the fandom on their backs while they do it. The day Ana joined Tumblr was the day everything truly came together, and we literally would not shut up about missing her for the week that she was away from us!!!

Though I’ve only been able to scratch the surface of Ana’s writing, I am already consistently blown away by her works. She may very well be the smartest person I have ever met, and my god does she bring that incredible intelligence to everything she writes. Always the perfect word, always the most beautiful flow and poignant moments that have made me frequently and audibly gasp. I mean it when I say my greatest shame is that I hadn’t started reading her work sooner.

When I tell you guys that you need to bring tissues to the function when Ana is there, I MEAN IT!! Do not take this warning lightly!!! You WILL cry, and you’ll be better for it. The catharsis I feel after every chapter of Hourglass is simply unmatched.

Which you can read here, along with Ana’s other works, of which there are also a great many!

@boxwinebaddie

Nina, the baddest bitch on the block who has undoubtedly been subjected to the most insanity from me. I still laugh when I think about how wild it is that our first conversation was us bonding over fucking Saltburn, but I also fear it says a whole lot about why we get along so well. NASTY! GIRLS!!!

One does not simply read Nina’s work. Her works are an experience, the likes of which I don’t think this fandom has ever seen before, or may ever see again. I don’t believe anyone will ever be able to replicate the biting wit and emotionally devastating prose that she has given us, nor has any other fic made me cackle the way hers do. I’m serious you guys, she is HILARIOUS when she isn’t literally ripping my heart out with her dangerously powerful angst.

Despite being someone who loves the challenge of sticking as close to canon as possible, I am an absolute sucker for the ways that Nina pushes every single character in new and fascinating directions. Non-canon compliant done SO right, and I think that anyone that’s feeling worn down by derivative angst in the fandom needs to give her fics a shot.

I will die on Ravesey hill, and if you’d like to join me you can read Nina’s works here!

It sounds silly to say as someone who writes as a hobby, but I really don’t think I have the words to express my gratitude for these women. Their creativity, humor and unending resilience inspires me every fucking day, and I really don’t know how I managed to get THIS lucky.

Ladies, I love you endlessly. Thank you for accepting me as your Cartman-coded friend, for being my biggest cheerleaders, and for creating such incredible works for everyone to enjoy. This fandom, and my time within it, has been greatly improved by every single one of you ♡

#South Park #I’m rambling about the girls #You guys don’t understand though #As a chronic no-friend haver this is insane to me #Like it’s embarrassing how hard it is to accept that these amazing people do actually like me #but trust and believe I’m working on it #ANYWAY if you guys aren’t reading their stuff????#get it together istg #this is your final warning #rant park #ily girls pls never stop being insane with me #Style nation shit

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futureplayboibunnie · 2 years

Text

‘Jealousy’

Dr Strange x fem! reader!

I LOVE THIS ONE but its super long <3

SMUT 18+

‘’Where the fuck is it?’’ You groaned into the air surrounding your room, the reality of your diary going missing hitting you like a speeding truck at a red light. You weren't even out of your dress yet.

Your mind was running rampant with the sly idea of someone in the Compound taking it and scanning over your inner most thoughts dwelling in the deep dark lagoonless cave of your mind. You left it at the Compound a few weeks ago but you specifically remembered bringing it home to your apartment. But there was no sign of it anywhere. As you toppled over your cabinets and drawers, you attempted to soothe your nerves with the idea that you had just misplaced it somewhere around here and it made you look at the clock. It was 1:43 am. You had been rummaging around for two hours. Life was starting to blur into something pointless. You accepted your fate with a sigh, the fact that you couldn't journal tonight made you uneasy. You just had so much to say, tonight was so... eventful.

—

Believe it or not, you were actually excited for this night. Stark always threw the most extravagant of parties and now you were regretting it all. Shame and embarrassment was brewing on your face, the red flushing against your cheeks illiciting a cold sweat appear upon your brow.

Everyone was gathering and conversing aand it only added to your nerves. Stephen Strange had absolutely nothing to do with it. At all. Your toes curled into your heels as you glanced at Stephen, it was impossible not to rip your eyes away from him as he was literally standing across from you. He was intensely handsome and was oozing with sex appeal.

However, you couldn't really look at him the same as you accidentally overheard something that you shouldn't have. It was Stephen on the phone- on the phone with a woman. He had scurried away from the party as if no one would ever notice if he was gone- you always noticed.

‘’I just want to see you right now, but I can't. I'm stuck at am Stark party.’’ He huffed against his phone. You raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his disheartening response. Stephen wanted to leave? Leave you? You heard the woman giggle across the line and it made a certain sort of jealousy bubble inside of your gut. You couldn't hear what she said in response though.

‘’You gonna fuck yourself and pretend it's me?’’ Stephen rasped huskily against the phone and it made you scramble to stop listening and go back downstairs. You were blushing like a flustered idiot; you hated admitting that you were jealous of whatever young, bouncy, brainless woman he was fucking next- you were everything that they didn't have.

As you made your way down the hall, carrying your blush with you, your body was met with Sam's broad torso and your nerves were anything but pacified- this was it, you were caught in the act.

‘’Y/N? What are you doing up here?’’ Sam questioned.

‘’Oh, nothing...Just went to the bathroom.’’ You gave him a sweet, awkward smile hoping he wouldn't interrogate you and would let you off the hook instead.

‘’Oh, so you weren't chasing Strange down?’’ It was obvious he saw right through you and your instant psyche mechanism was to be defensive.

‘’What? Hell no. I just needed a piss Sam. Are you seriously questioning my piss right now?’’ You laughed condescendingly.

‘’No I'm questioning how much 'you want Stephen to defile you' but I don't know I think I might just be pulling that out of my ass.’’ Sam chuckled at you knowingly as he took his laugh with him as he walkedaway from you. What the fuck? He knew your secret. Fuck this.

‘’What?’’

‘’I'm actually kind of jealous of him, the guy gets so much pussy. I wonder how he does it.’’ His voice trailed off as he finally left your view.

He just had to rub salt into the wound

What made you worry was you remember writing something extremely similar in your diary about Stephen defiling you. Wait. Has Sam read your diary?

No. Impossible. No one has seen your diary, no one has read your dirty and dark desires which mostly included Stephen. You were just reading into things and being paranoid.

No one knows anything. Everything is fine.

—

Your paranoia was poisoning you. You couldn't find it anywhere and now all your thoughts were on Stephen. Just him and your impossible jealousy for the women that have had the luxury of being bedded by him. You still haven't made it out of your dress and it was making you increasingly uncomfortable.

You grovelled to your bathroom to get ready for bed and put this ugly night behind you. You winced at the sight of yourself in the mirror. You thought your mind was playing a sick trick on you when you felt a shadow to the right of you, you glanced up again into the reflection and jumped when you saw Stephen behind you; stood with a crooked smile on his face. You jumped and gasped as you registered the fact that he was here.

He was right here. In your house. In your fucking bathroom. You whipped yourself around to fully face him, you regained your usual cynical defensive composure.

‘’You're so...jumpy.’’He remarked and it made you all the more self conscious. He was still in his tux.

‘’What's your issue? What are you doing here?’’ You responded, too tired by your jealousy.

‘’What, so I can't see you?’’

‘’I just don't appreciate you portalling into my shitter.’’ You smiled sarcastically. ‘’And besides, don't you have another bimbo you need to fuck?’’ You walked out of the bathroom and Stephen couldn't help but follow you like a lost puppy.

‘’No I've actually spent most of my nights reading this.’’ You turned around and you observed that he was holding up your fucking diary.

Your whole world was tipping on its side.

‘’Sam stole it for me. He was also on the phone with me tonight as one of my said ‘bimbos.’’’ He explained with a stupid cocky smirk on his face. It was a fucking ploy?

‘’What are you guys, 12!? Give it back now!’’ You tumbled your way to him and tried prying it from his skilled marred hands, but he was edging it away from you as a means of torturing you. As if you needed any more of that. Stephen thought you were adorable.

‘’Relax, you're fine.’’ He said way too casually as if he hasn't read your innermost thoughts.

‘’You know what, I give up. Fuck it and fuck you.’’ You raised your hands up as a means of surrender, your seething tongue piercing through the shame and embarrassment. You sat yourself at the edge of your bed and crossed your arms and legs in a huff, your whole body was tense.

‘’I want Stephen to fuck and ruin me into a different dimension, I don't like wanting someone this bad but he just makes me lose my mind. I hate him though, hate the way all he notices are one trick fucks. I think that's my favourite.’’ He bit his lip and stared right at you reading it and you have never felt so seen, his gaze darked with every utterance.

Stephen had been obsessing over you for a while now, it didn't take him long to understand how jealous you get. Quite frankly it was all thanks to Sam doing the morally devious thing of stealing your diary. But Stephen couldn't help himself, he wanted you to make the first move so that he knew fully that you wanted him back. Stephen was rarely ever nervous when it came to women but you. God, you were his dream. All those other women were to fill the void of you, he pretended that it was you he was fucking but it was all just in his head. He saw you through all of them. You were becoming difficult to supress and extremely hard to read, he just had to make sure is all.

‘’You don't own the name Stephen. Maybe I was talking about another Stephen. Preferably a Stephen who doesn't fuck half the women he sees.’’ Your smile was venomous, you rolled your eyes at him as he made his way over to you.

‘’You are really specific in what you want, aren't you?’ He stared down at you and you felt very challenged under his gaze. You were entirely pissed off. His ego was soaring.

'’And I think you're compensating for something.'’ Your eyes darted to his dick and that made his face harden.

‘’Why is it always you that has to be in denial?’’ It wasn't really a question or a statement and it made confusion plague your features.

Stephen leaned down and pressed his lips to yours as he softly cradled your chin. The action made you shake at the sheer reality of it all, as he pulled himself away to make sure all of this was okay, he gazed into your stunning eyes and found that they were wild and brazen, and also quite surprised. He didn't understand why, he thought he made it excessively clear. The only way to tease it out of you was to make you jealous.

‘’Do it again.’’ You breathed against his lips sensually and he did exactly what you said. Stephen kissed you again, but you were against his lips harder. Opening your mouth to allow his tongue to taste at you, Stephen thought you were immensely sweet. You pulled him in by his tie to get his body heat closer to yours.

You yanked him as you layed down on the bed so he could position himself ontop of you. He shook his blazer off as your hands tugged at his hair. Beautiful bastard. Your mouths were glued together, the scratch of his beard only added to the sensation. You moaned as your tongues intertwined and were perpetually locked in an endless battle.

‘’May I?’’ He asked after ripping his lips away from yours, his fingers toyed with the straps of your dress. Stephen's politeness was another form of torture for you: you just wanted him to destroy you.

‘’Get me naked Stephen. Please.’’ You whispered against his lips and he had never heard anything as erotic as that. His lips tugged into a seductive smile.

He peeled it off you instantly, skin bare and soft and eyes impossibly wide in anticipation. Your tits were drawing his attention first, he paused before he could sink his teeth into them.

Stephen just gawked at you, dumbfouded by the reality of how someone could be that effortlessly beautiful, smart and funny. It was driving him mad.

‘’What?’’ You giggled bashfully as you began undoing his buttons on his dress shirt before ultimately discarding of it on your bedroom floor.

‘’I know you want me to fuck and ruin you into another dimension but...’’ Stephen cut himself off as you began suckling and biting at his neck and ruffling his hair with your hands.

'I want to savour every bit of you, I don't care how long it takes.' Stephen confessed breathlessly and it made you halt in your tracks and blink up at him in his lust clouded eyes.

You guided his hands to toy with the thin string of your underwear and it made Stephen's eyes widen.

‘’Feel how much I want you, feel how wet I am for you. Take whatever you want from me, stretch it out for me. Please.’’ Your kiss was intoxicating and as honeyed as your voice. His fingers ripped away at your panties before he shimmied them down your legs and kicked his pants off.

‘’You're such a good girl. My good girl.’’ Stephen pushed his hard aching cock into you at such an impossible depth. You were so tight it was like you were vacuum sealed to his dick. The use of the pet name made you screw your eyes shut in pure pleasure.

As he began setting a slow yet deep rhythm, his fingers were playing with your already swollen clit. It was all so stimulating- his hands and teeth were taking turns on your tits and it made you throw your head back in pleasure. Your body melted into his perfectly as your back arched off the bed and into him.

‘’Mine. You're mine. Understand?’’ Stephen growled, his eyes locked onto yours as he was making such slow, deep and intimate love to you. Sex has never felt this personal and hot before and it was all his fault and doing.

"Yours.’’ You sighed as he kissed at your neck tenderly. He kept repeating his ministrations were becoming impossible to bear. You felt like you were about to explode.

You found your undoing at that. Being his? Fucking hell. You came hard onto him as his fingers intertwined with your and he held them firmly. Eyes gazing desperately into eyes, he let himself lose it at how you bore your entire soul through them.

That silence when he was just holding you was his favourite part. Stephen finally felt the warmth of you in his arms, tracing little shapes on the soft suppleness of your skin.

Everything just felt so personal tonight, you let him in and he wanted to stay there until he had nothing left to lose but you.

——

wait now that i’m re-reading its hella short fml

#dr stephen strange #dr strange angst #dr strange fluff #dr strange x fem!reader #dr strange x y/n #stephen strange smut #dr strange smut #stephen strange

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bakvrue · 2 years

Text

let loose

izuku x reader (bakugou x reader)

cw: cheating and the fallout, fighting (violence but its hot), complicated relationships, ~1.8k

part 3 to mine and mimi's (@izvmimi) cheating scandal. part 1 | part 2

Izuku flexes his hands trying to quell the rage inside of him as the elevator dinging whittles away at his sanity.

His girlfriend and his childhood best friend... just thinking about it makes his blood boil, but for some reason, he can't stop. Questions and blurry images of the two of them race through his head. How did she let him fuck her? Was she on her back opening her legs for him? Did she let him breed her? Beg for his cum to fill her up? Or did she beg for his kiss, swearing that she couldn't finish without it?

Izuku’s stomach turns as he imagines her hands threading through his hair in pleasure. Even though Izuku got his revenge, sleeping with Bakugou’s fiancee did nothing to quell the sea raging inside him. If anything it made it worse.

He digs his fingernails into the flesh of his palm but he barely feels the sting. He doesn't know what is going to happen once these elevator doors open, but he knows it's not going to be pretty.

The final ding of the elevators alerts him that they have arrived at the floor, and he looks over at you. Your eyes are set straight ahead and clouded with the same red haze he saw the night you told him of their affair, but there’s something different about you. Something almost incorporeal.

Izuku follows you out of the elevator, looking around at the office that has housed betrayal. The desks and cubicles are almost identical to the ones back home, did that make it easier or harder to fuck him on?

The pair of you turn a corner and that's when you see them. Izuku’s girlfriend steps out of the room, her clothes just slightly out of place. Izuku can feel his lip twitch in disgust when her smile doesn't reach her eyes.

And then Bakugou steps out of the room, some of his spiky blond hair still sticking to his forehead.

The second Izuku sees the asshole who ruined his life, his fingers twitch. All of his wrath courses through his body, and every ounce of him feels like it's on fire as he struggles to keep One for All at bay.

“You fucking…” his legs moving on their own, carrying him faster and faster towards the source of all his problems “You fucking Bastard!”

Izuku fists Bakugou’s shirt, slamming him against the wall of his office.

“I know you fucked her.” Izuku’s voice is a low growl as he stares into the red eyes of a traitor.

Bakugou’s eyes are wide, he looks at Izuku and then at his fiancee, his eyes searching for some hidden answer that would solve his problem.

Izuku’s eyebrows furrow and his grip on Bakugou’s shirt tightens before he slams him to the wall again, the drywall cracking from the force.

Deku feels a tug on his arm, his girlfriend looks up at him with tears in her eyes, begging and pleading, but for what Izuku can't fathom, “Izuku, please!”

He wishes that he had time to focus on her tears or to even show her one ounce of the kindness that he used to have for her. But right now he feels nothing but betrayal and fury.

He shakes off her hold on his arm, “You know, staying quiet is just as bad as saying no.” Izuku’s voice is something darker, playfully toxic as he laughs in the face of these two cheaters.

Izuku can't stand to be next to Bakugou as the man's mouth opens and closes, still trying to answer. He uses his grip on the blond's shirt and throws him down the hallway, watching as his friend crashes into a cubicle.

Turning to his girlfriend, Izuku reaches into his back pocket, pulling out the beautiful diamond ring he had bought six months ago, back when things were right. Back before any of his friends' dicks had been inside you. The diamond sparkles in the dull office lights. What a shame.

“This should have been yours, you fucking…” he snarls before stopping himself. Even after all this, he can't bring himself to call her a whore, or a bitch, or any of the other words that should describe her in this situation.

He looks at the ring and then at the finger that it was supposed to go on and bile rises in his throat when he thinks about what that hand has touched.

He closes a fist around the dainty piece of metal and channels all of his emotions into his fist. The diamond stays strong while the metal around it bends and warps as he crushes, and crushes, and crushes. And when he opens his palm the beautiful ring is nothing but a piece of metal and a gem no longer sparkling. He lets it slip from his palm and fall onto the floor.

He looks at his girl with a lip curled in disdain, “I can't believe you. Wasn’t it you who was always scared of me leaving? Wasn't it you who always thought that I would screw up! And then look at you! You're here! With him! Just know that it wasn’t me who ruined us.” Every word gets louder and louder as he scratches her right where he knows it will hurt.

She clutches her chest and her bottom lip trembles, “Izuku, please it was a mistake. I never meant—”

“HA! You never meant what? Never meant to have sex with him? How does that work?”

She takes a step towards him, her hands reaching for stability he can no longer offer, “I don't —”

“You don't know how your legs opened and his cock started fucking you? Is that what you're going to say?”

Izuku takes a few steps back from her and turns his attention to you. Your eyes are on Bakugou as he struggles to stand.

You hold your head up as you speak venom loud enough for both of them to hear you. “It's a good thing that I had Izuku to comfort me. You know what they say, nothing like the arms of a friend to keep you warm at night, right?”

You let your words sink in for a second before you take off your own ring.

All the years of love, everything this ring meant to you, all of it is useless now. This stupid diamond is as ugly to you now as the coal it was made from.

“Take your ring back, Katsuki. You cheating fuck.”

Bakugou’s face is unreadable, like he's feeling every emotion all at once, but he chose this, he let it happen. You throw your ring at him, throwing away the future you had planned with him too.

It lands on the ground right in front of him, and he picks up the tiny band of his love, cradling it in his hands before bawling them into fists.

Bakugou stands, his head and shoulders slumped forward “Izuku, are you telling me that you slept with my fiancee?”

Izuku scoffs, he can read Bakugou's movements from a mile away, and he knows exactly what's about to happen. He will let him get one hit in before breaking him.

“Yeah, Kaachan. I did.”

Bakugou starts moving even before Midoriya finishes his answer, running towards him and jumping into a punch that lands square across Izuku’s face.

Izuku’s head whips to the side with the force of the blast but his body remains unmoved. Just as he expected from his explosive friend.

“How does it feel?” Izuku asks, leveling his gaze on Bakugou, “How does it feel to know that someone else has fucked your girl?”

Bakugou pulls back to punch again, his face contorting in anger, but Deku sees this coming too. Izuku is faster, and stronger, punching him with enough force to crack bones and send him flying backward through a wall.

Bakugou drags himself out of the rubble, looking like a feral dog. There's blood streaming down his face that he swipes away with the back of his arm.

Midoriya has hardly broken a sweat and Bakugou is already winded and bloodied.

“I'll kill you!” Bakugou screams, stepping over the broken pieces of desks and chairs with a small limp.

Izuku laughs. Bakugou is going to kill him? Him?

Bakugou is the one that started this! Izuku didn't ask for this, he didn't go out of his way to sleep with someone else's girlfriend. What he did was him getting even with the man who’s had an edge over him his whole life. They fought together, almost died together, and then this is what happens in just a few months? No, no, no. Bakugou has no right to kill him, he's going to be the one to die by Izuku's hands instead.

One for All crackles as Izuku runs at Bakugou. Bakugou tries to dodge but the extra strength building in his legs makes him run faster. Izuku lands a kick right to Bakugou in the chest, flinging him into another wall.

Bakugou falls to the floor for only a second before igniting his quirk, maneuvering in the tight space of broken walls and office furniture to get behind Izuku. An explosive hand right at the back of Izuku’s neck sends Izuku flying forward.

Midoriya’s head hits the ground, his ears ringing from the blast, and his skin is burned. That blast took him by surprise but the familiarity of the situation suddenly dawns on him: they're both using this fight to push down the feelings they can’t bear to process, just like all those years ago at UA.

But this time is different, this time it’s different. This time there are no words that can fix this level of betrayal.

Bakugou is about to set off another blast to Midoriya’s head, and Izuku feels like his body is moving in slow motion as he twists in the air.

Images of his girlfriend roll in his mind like the film of an old projector: every smile, every laugh, the first time he held her hand, the sparkle in her eyes when he first said ‘I love you.’ His heart clenches in his chest as he yells, powering up the force of his own body.

Izuku swipes through the air with his foot, creating a concentrated air blast, and sends it directly at bakugou. Rubble and broken pieces of furniture break through the exterior wall of the building, and Bakugou is thrown out with them.

The crash of debris hitting the ground below is almost drowned out by the sound of Bakugou saving himself with his quirk, blasts scorching the side of the building as he prepares for an aerial assault.Izuku grins maniacally, wiping the blood dripping from his nose off with the back of his thumb, ‘Finally, I can let loose, he thinks as he activates float and jumps out of the window aiming a punch directly at Bakugou.

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

part 4 <33

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #deku x reader #cheating cw

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my-mt-heart · 1 year

Text

Caryl Callbacks

There weren’t nearly enough of them in the show’s final season, but maybe there’s room in whatever’s still in store for Caryl’s story. If so, these are the ones at the top of my list....

1. Cherokee Rose

Don’t get me wrong, the flower Daryl left on Carol’s tray in 10x04 counts for a lot, mirroring the first time he offered her hope in the wake of losing a child. But for fans, the Cherokee rose symbolizes more than that. It stands for Caryl’s entire relationship, which was meant to be the heart of the show going into the last season, so it isn’t unreasonable to expect it to crop up again somewhere before the end.

2. The Prison Bus

The shoulder massage. Screw around? I’ll go down first. So much good material to refer back to should Daryl and Carol start to explore physical intimacy with each other again. I can’t be the only one who misses Carol’s raunchy side...

3. Sophia

There were plenty of opportunities for Daryl and Carol to talk about her in an impactful way, so it’s really a shame S11 chose the one anecdote in 11x18 that barely scratched the surface. The character might be long gone, but she was the catalyst for the most iconic relationship on the show. Daryl and Carol suffered her loss together, like co-parents, and miraculously found hope in each other.

4. A friend thinks you’re perfect when everyone else thinks you’re broken

Jerry planted that in my head, and I haven’t been able to get it out ever since. Imagine hearing Daryl tell Carol she’s perfect, effectively putting her insecurities to rest. I don’t even care that it’s on the nose.

5. Bracelets and Acorns

I’ve already talked about this at length, so I’ll keep it brief. Where is Carol’s friendship bracelet? Where is Daryl’s double capper? Seems like they’d make pretty strong visual cues now that Daryl and Carol have to spend more time apart -_-

6. The Grove

This is arguably the darkest memory Carol’s been forced to carry with her throughout her journey, doing enough damage to her self image to prevent hers and Daryl’s relationship from taking its natural course into romance. A confession seems like the most logical way to get back on track. Daryl could serve as her long, hard look in the mirror, letting her know--with words-- he sees her for who she really is, not who she thinks she is.

7. Man of Honor

Back in S2, Daryl asked Carol what she wanted and she made it explicitly clear. A man of honor. How is it that the series is now over, and she still hasn’t gotten what she wants?

8. I know where I’m supposed to be

The subtext seemed pretty clear. Not a doubt to be had. But then S11 happened, and now we’re stuck with the sexy clown spinoff no one asked for. To pour salt on the wound, Daryl floundering around in France is supposed to stir feelings of uncertainty about where he belongs...again. Maybe though, just maybe, the tenth time will be the charm and he’ll realize he needs to be wherever Carol is. Forever. All the time.

9. The “No Sanctuary” Reunion

How to top one of the most iconic scenes of the whole series: Step one, needlessly separate Daryl and Carol for an extended period of time. Check -_- Step two, put Daryl in danger. I mean, that’s probably going to happen. Step 3, send Carol on a rescue mission. The woman knows how to sail. Step 4, have her blow something up. Step 5, let Caryl run into each other’s arms and kiss.

10. Start Over

Daryl has told Carol multiple times that they can start over, meaning they can start over together, and we know what that’s supposed to look like. It’s the two of them on the bike, exploring parts unknown whether it’s New Mexico or somewhere else. Not France though. You can’t cross the ocean on a bike -_-

#caryl #caryl callbacks #carol peletier #darylneedscarol

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daftpunk-delorean · 4 months

Note

prompt for science boyfriends:

Post-battle reunion

Lazy mornings

(Whichever you may vibe more with 💚❤️)

Yay! I wrote you a very Avengers circa 2012 post-battle reunion ficlet. Thanks for the prompt!

“Okay, SHIELD is on site, containment is underway. Everyone back at the Quinjet- ow, Hulk!” Steve yelped, falling hard on his ass as Hulk poked him in the chest. His earpiece fell out, and he scowled, scrambling to put it back in, only to hear Clint laughing both over the comm line and in real life as he approached the Quinjet.

“All right Big Guy, quit beating up on Cap,” Clint said, swatting Hulk’s arm lightly. Hulk huffed.

“Where’s Tinman?” he rumbled, and Clint sat heavily on the ground beside Steve, wiping at the sweat and grime on his arms uselessly.

“I’m sure he’s on his way,” Clint said, and Steve sighed, tapping the earpiece.

“Iron Man, report in, please. Your greener half is impatient,” Steve said with a weary sigh. This was an increasingly common post-battle conversation, with Hulk pacing until Tony arrived back safe. Usually, Tony had a quip or a laugh, and would talk to Steve over the comms as he flew back, so Hulk could hear and not freak out.

This time there was silence.

“Iron Man, report,” Steve said again, catching Clint’s gaze with some worry. No response again, and Hulk now knew something was wrong. “Black Widow, report,” Steve said.

“Haven’t seen him since he flew behind the line,” Natasha said, even as she jogged toward the Quinjet. Just then, Thor landed heavily beside Hulk, his hammer slowing its spin.

“Aye, he has been unusually quiet,” Thor said, spinning Mjolnir again as though to go in search of Tony, but he paused when they all heard the characteristic whine of a repulsor charging, then blasting through some rubble up the street.

“Tinman!” Hulk shouted, and then Tony walked gracelessly through a pile of concrete, his armor unwieldly and more suited for flying than walking over rough terrain.

“Hey there, Green Bean,” Tony said, coughing as the facemask lifted. “My boot jets are offline, I can’t fly.” Tony’s mouth was curved into a mischievous sort of smile that was enough reassure the others that all was well, despite the fact that Tony usually hid his pain better than a cat.

Hulk closed the distance between Tony and him in a leap, and picked Tony up into a hug, carrying him back to the Quinjet like an unruly child. Tony laughed, pushing at his broad green chest.

“All right, put me down, this is ridiculous,” he said, but Hulk didn’t. In fact, the smile on his face matched Tony’s, and he didn’t set Tony down until they were back at the Quinjet and Bruce was beginning to take over for Hulk.

Tony held both of Hulk’s hands as they shifted back to Bruce’s small hands, dwarfed by Tony’s gauntlets.

“There you are,” Tony said softly, looking at Bruce as though no one else in the world existed.

“You didn’t answer your comms,” Bruce said, but his tone was equally soft, as he laced his fingers with Tony’s.

“Got fried in a blast. I’m fine, just had to walk back,” Tony said reassuringly. “Sorry to worry you, Green Bean.”

Bruce smiled fully then, closing his eyes and touching his forehead to Tony’s.

“Now now, you know worrying is my favorite pastime,” Bruce murmured, getting a soft laugh out of Tony. Then they both jumped as a pair of pants flew through the air and hit them both in the head.

“I know you have no shame, Bruce, but this is the third time this week we’ve all seen your ass. I think you could try a little harder at saving that privilege for Tony,” Clint said, rolling his eyes. Tony just winked at him.

“I could show my ass too if you want to even it out a little,” Tony suggested, and Bruce laughed, wrapping his arms around Tony’s neck and kissing him, a soft, warm press of lips that carried a thousand silent “I love you’s” in it, then pulled away and put on the pants. Tony sighed dramatically when Bruce’s ass was finally hidden from view.

“Imagine seeing an ass like that and insisting it be covered up. Unbelievable,” Tony muttered, and Bruce’s cheeks went pink.

“Tony,” he said, clearly a little flustered, and Tony just took his hand again, squeezing it.

“I know, you love me, I love you, let’s go have victory sex in the Quinjet,” he said.

“Tony!” said everyone else.

#tony stark #bruce banner #science boyfriends #my fic #daftpunkdelorean replies

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myxtiny · 2 years

Text

Out on the Town

This fic is part of the “Enchanter’s Emporium” series

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Glynn was midway through wrapping the fish pie in cheesecloth when a knock rang out through the apartment. He wiped his hands on a dishtowel and hurried to answer the door.

Elijah, who was wrapped in furs and frosted with bits of snow, beamed at him as soon as the old wood had swung open on its hinges. He made a sound deep in his chest, and moved to greet Glynn with open arms.

“Elijah! It’s so good to see you!” Glynn chuckled and leaned into his friend’s warm bulk as they embraced. “Come in, come in! Put down your things and warm yourself by the hearth.”

Elijah squeezed him tightly, then straightened up with another low sound, before, “It’s good to see you too.” He was carrying a pack on his shoulders, which he let slide to the floor just inside the doorway with a grateful nod. He moved towards the fire, snow melting in his hair, and looked to Glynn with friendly eyes above his smile. “I'm glad to have made it into the city before too late in the day. I think luck was with me since I arrived alongside a merchant’s cart. Sometimes it seems the Solitude guard could give the Emperor himself a lesson in paranoia.”

“Ha! Kai would certainly agree with that sentiment.” Glynn held out an arm to take Elijah’s fur cloak. “The poor man has got another double shift today, so he won’t be home until tonight. But he told me to give you his warmest greetings when you arrived.”

“Mmm,” Elijah rumbled, “That’s a shame. Though I’ll look forward to seeing him this evening.”

“In the meantime, I thought we could go on a little tour of Solitude, if you’re interested. Kai doesn’t mind missing out; he sees enough of the streets as it is. And I’ve got a little list of places I’d love to show you.”

Elijah’s brow quirked, and he smiled again. “I wouldn’t mind an outing. To be honest, I haven’t seen much of the inside of the city other than where I’ve gone to trade and sell wares in the past. I’d almost certainly get lost if I tried to navigate the streets myself.”

“Excellent!” Glynn felt a little prickle of excitement. He would’ve been shy to admit it, but he’d been looking forward to this ever since Elijah had written to say that he’d be in the area for a few days. “Solitude is a marvelous city – so much to see! We can go as soon as you’re warmed up. All I have to do is put this pie in the icebox.”

“Mm.” Elijah hummed his agreement, but as Glynn moved to do as he said, he gave a curious tilt of his head. “You’ve already cooked something?”

“Not me.” Glynn grinned as he picked up the pie and carried it over to the enchanted icebox, where it would stay fresh until that evening. “I have a friend down at the marketplace who’s a fishmonger. When I was out shopping yesterday, I mentioned to her that I would soon have a visitor who’s partial to seafood and asked if she had any recommendations. She told me that she knew just the thing and that I should come back the next day. This morning, I dropped by her stall and she handed me the most beautiful fish pie. It’ll make a lovely supper later, I think.”

Elijah chuckled deeply. “I’m a bit honored. Supper seems very far away now, though.”

“If you’re hungry, we certainly don’t have to wait until supper to solve that,” said Glynn with a smile. “We’ll make a snack the first stop on our tour.”

It wasn’t long before the two of them were leaving the shop behind for the afternoon and making their way into the busy city streets outside of the emporium. Elijah had assured Glynn he was plenty warm after only a short while by the fire, and he’d donned his furs again as Glynn had gone to fetch his own cloak. The cobbled roads were loud with the noise of crowds and horses, and Elijah seemed to want to stick close to Glynn, but they made it easily to the section of the market where the food stalls were located as Glynn happily detailed all the sights he intended to show his friend that day.

“...we have to stop by the Blue Palace, of course. I’m sure it’ll be packed with sightseers, but it’s still worth a visit. There are some more out-of-the-way places I can show you in the Blue Quarter, too. The architecture is quite spectacular! But all that’s for later.” Glynn came to a stop, gesturing to a stall with a large painted sign depicting a lofty round pastry. “I thought this would be the perfect place for a snack.”

Elijah read the carefully crafted sign with a small smile on his face. “Sweet rolls?”

“Not just sweet rolls. The proprietor, Marianne, was once a merchant on an Imperial trading ship. She makes rolls with spices and flavorings from all over the world, as well as some more exotic ingredients from right here in Skyrim. The cinnamon one is my favorite, but there’s also jazbay and juniper, spiced trama root, Cyrodiil citrus, lavender and fire apple… oh, the date and honey is incredible as well! Plenty to choose from.”

Elijah blinked, looking faintly awed. Given all Glynn’s endorsements of the city’s cosmopolitan perks, ones he repeated often to Elijah as a sort of running joke between them, he couldn’t help feeling just a tiny tug of satisfaction.

“I suppose I would like to try the cinnamon roll.” Elijah said after a moment, fishing in his pocket for a few septims. “I have always been a bit curious as to what it might taste like.”

“Good choice! You’re in for a real treat.” Glynn led the way up to the stall’s proprietor. “Good morning, Marianne! The biggest and stickiest cinnamon roll you have for my friend Elijah, please.”

Marianne laughed when she saw who it was. “A cinnamon roll for your friend and none for yourself, Glynn? Are you sure?”

“Hmm… alright, you’re very persuasive.” Glynn took a few coins out of a pouch on this belt. “Two of your biggest and stickiest cinnamon rolls, then.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Glynn manage to walk by my stall without stopping for one of these.” Marianne winked at Elijah as she took his payment and handed him a warm bun, wrapped in a small scrap of waxed parchment paper for ease of eating. “I hope you’ll find them just as irresistible. Elijah, is it? Are you new to Solitude, or just passing through?”

“Just passing through,” Elijah replied conversationally with a twinkle in his eyes. “Glynn and Kai are good friends of mine, and I come by for occasional visits. I haven’t yet spent much time inside the walls however.”

“I’m showing him around,” Glynn added proudly. “Trying to convince him that the big city has its charms.”

As Glynn chatted, Elijah dug into his treat, and the first bite was evidently so delightful that Elijah’s appreciative hum was enough to draw a proud smile from Marianne.

“Good?” Glynn couldn’t help but grin too. “It’s a very unique flavor, isn’t it?”

“It is delicious.” Elijah agreed, licking sweet frosting from the corner of his mouth. “I never imagined a spice could taste so pleasantly warm.”

“The perfect thing for a cold day.” Glynn took his own cinnamon roll from Marianne, his mouth watering as he caught a whiff of the invigorating cinnamon. “Well, we’d better keep moving. Thank you, Marianne! Until next time.”

Elijah nodded amiably at the woman and followed Glynn onto the cobbled path, clearly enjoying the treat in his hands. They joined the throngs of people crowding the streets, moving deeper into the heart of Solitude. “I was thinking we could head down to the docks first,” Glynn explained as he led the way down a street packed with slow-moving merchant carts. “I think a tradesman like you might find them interesting. The size of the ships that come into port here is like nothing you’d have seen before, I imagine.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Elijah paused to swallow another bite of pastry. “I have seen the ships in Windhelm, though much less trade passes through there now with the war in progress.”

“Ah. Yes, that makes sense.” Glynn felt troubled for a moment, so troubled that the cinnamon lingering on his tongue briefly tasted like ash. “Solitude certainly hasn’t been untouched by the war, but it hasn’t stifled our trade. If anything, more ships come in – ships bearing Imperial soldiers and sometimes Thalmor. I suppose it’s for the best. If the Stormcloaks were to assault us, the city guard would not be able to hold them off for long alone.” He pushed the thought resolutely away – no sense tainting a nice visit from a friend with such dark thoughts! – and took another bite of his cinnamon roll. “You’ve got a boat yourself, don’t you? Would you ever sail it up this way?”

Elijah abruptly looked a touch uncomfortable, and reached up to dust a streak of sugar from his beard. “Probably not. The East Empire Trading Company does not welcome competition, even from individual tradesmen.” He glanced at Glynn, and his expression brightened as he smiled reassuringly. “That doesn’t mean however that I would not be interested in seeing their ships. I can certainly appreciate good craftsmanship, even in the service of those I might otherwise steer clear of.”

As it turned out, there were plenty of ships at port for Elijah to admire. Glynn didn’t know enough about seafaring to have anything knowledgeable to say about them, and instead wound up listening fondly as Elijah pointed out a few different types of sails and explained their purposes, from the cutter sails made for long cruises to the catsails made for small, swift craft. Glynn did, however, know a few of the docks’ hidden secrets.

“See that little ramshackle stand on the end of the pier?” he said, pointing. “They serve up fresh fish for the sailors and dockworkers. It doesn’t look like much, but there’s no better seafood in town. We can stop if you want.”

As hoped, Elijah’s expression took on an immediate interest, and with a chuckle, he nodded. “I am not one to judge a freshly cooked fish by the shine of the pot.”

They made their way over to the stand, where a small crowd of laborers had already gathered for lunch. Some of them nursed bowls of fish stew, while others traded coins for the house special – chunks of fresh salmon skewered on a wooden stick, lightly battered and fried golden in a pot of boiling oil.

Glynn still had a few bites of his cinnamon roll left to finish, so he hung back while Elijah went up to make a purchase. He was delighted when his friend came back with a big grin and a piping hot salmon skewer. “Oh, good choice.”

“Mhmm.” Elijah was already digging in, the cut of fish flaking away from the skewer as he bit into it. He swallowed the mouthful and paused to admire the tender pink meat underneath the golden crispy outside. “I cannot count how many times I have had salmon, but there always seems to be new ways to try it no matter where I go.” He took another bite, then pulled off a shred of meat from the other side of the skewer, offering it to Glynn.

“Oh, thank you!” Glynn popped the chunk of hot, juicy fish into his mouth, savoring the way the flavor burst across his tongue. “Mmm! Delicious as always. But not quite as good as the fish pie we’ve got for later.”

Elijah was smiling as he continued enjoying his salmon. “You seem very sure of this fish pie,” he teased gently.

“Of course I am! Only the finest fish pie in the land for my friends. Just wait til you taste it, I’m sure you’ll agree.” Glynn shivered and drew his cloak more tightly as a chill wind blew in across the slate-gray Sea of Ghosts. “Speaking of the finest in the land – shall we head up to the Blue Palace? It shouldn’t be too busy this time of day, and it’ll be warmer within the city walls.”

A light snow started up as they made their way back into the shelter of the streets. The weather didn’t do anything to dampen the crowds that moved in the streets of Solitude’s wealthiest neighborhood. Well-dressed nobles mixed with clamoring sightseers as they neared the palace, and soon, the first glimpse of a blue-tiled spire appeared above the rooftops.

Elijah, despite the fact that Glynn was sure he was used to seeing many great sights in his travels, gazed upon the blue and gold turrets of the palace with an almost childlike wonder as they drew closer. Once they had crossed the threshold into the garden out front, Elijah hung back with Glynn from the other tourists and listened with interest as Glynn talked about the traditions of the royal family and the generations that had lived within the castle’s hallowed halls.

“In the past, visitors have been allowed inside to see the grandeur of the entrance hall. But of course, security has tightened since the war began.” Glynn allowed himself a small sigh, but brightened as he caught the sound of a loud voice cutting through the sounds of the crowd. “There are benefits to staying out in the garden though! It sounds like a snack vendor is coming around.”

The man with the booming voice came into view moments later. His brightly-colored cloak swirled around him as he rolled his cart over the slushy cobblestones, shouting, “Apple fritters and mulled mead! Hot and fresh! Warm your belly with apple fritters and mulled mead!”

Elijah made a little sound of curiosity and then murmured to Glynn, “What is an apple fritter?”

“Oh, they’re wonderful little things! Bits of fried dough with a filling of apples and cinnamon, and covered with a sweet, sticky glaze. The perfect treat for a cold autumn day.”

“Mmm.” Elijah hummed in response. And when the vendor came close, he bought a cup of mead when Glynn did, and then after a moment of hesitation, picked out a gooey apple fritter as well. He took a big bite, and a pleased look crossed his face, and he licked cinnamon from his lips before taking another.

“Perhaps some day in the future,” Elijah said softly, pausing to dust crumbs from his mouth, “when the war is over, I can make a visit when the weather is good and we can come again to see the entrance hall.”

Glynn tried to keep the sadness from his smile, despite his private fears as to whether the entrance hall would still be there to see if the war ended on Ulfric Stormcloak’s terms. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

By the time the two of them had finished their mead, the palace courtyard was becoming overburdened with foot traffic, and so Glynn beckoned Elijah out of the gate and back to the exquisitely beautiful paths of the Blue Quarter. Their walk was slow and leisurely, as Glynn paused every so often to point out a particularly beautiful bit of stonework here or a garden overflowing with flowers there and Elijah responded with warm sounds of appreciation and awe.

“Oh my.” Glynn paused at one corner and Elijah nearly bumped into him. “I was very much hoping to show you the Bard’s College – they are excellent conversationalists and the building is jam-packed with history – but well, it seems they are having a bit of a festival.”

Indeed, it was hard to miss. The stone yard outside of the College was filled with milling visitors, performing acts of many kinds, and a few different vendors selling food and trinkets. Glynn had wondered what the music was for a few blocks away, but hadn’t realized there was a festival at the other end of it. He must have missed the memo on the town square’s noticeboard.

Glynn shook his head and looked up to Elijah. “The College will be closed for the festivities today. We could always come back tomorrow though, if you don’t think you’ll be leaving town too early.”

“I should have time tomorrow for more visiting.” Elijah’s twinkling smile appeared again, and he teased gently, “I don’t suppose you know many people here at the College? They seem your type.”

“My type?” Glynn’s mock offense was somewhat ruined by the fact that he couldn’t keep himself from laughing. “I’ll have you know that I don’t stand for bards. If I’m not the biggest personality in the room at all times, I become highly uncomfortable.” He paused mid-jest as he spotted a white-aproned cook carrying a loaded platter towards the refreshment table. “Oh Divines, would you look at those boiled cream treats! The College itself may be closed, but maybe we should stop by the festival just long enough for a snack?”

And so the two of them listened to a nearby bard-in-training sing a riveting ballad of a battle long past while they indulged in a pair of richly garnished boiled cream treats; thick custard dusted with a hint of ginger and crystalized honey. After he’d finished his treat, Elijah admitted to Glynn that he’d not had so many sweets so close together in quite a while, which led to Glynn seeking out a savory snack for him, a beautifully cooked meat pie in the shape of a large dumpling that Elijah clearly thoroughly enjoyed.

They sat in the College yard for a short while after finishing their snacks, listening to the mingled sounds of lutes, harps, drums, and voices raised in both shout and song. Glynn could’ve stayed longer, but he noticed Elijah’s big frame had begun to hunch up a little, and mused that so much noise and commotion had to be quite a change from the peace and solitude of Skyrim’s roads.

He reached over and put a hand on his friend’s knee. “Ready to press on? I was thinking we could swing by Castle Dour next. Watching the Imperial army train can be quite a sight. And then after that, we’d have just enough time to pop into the Winking Skeever for a drink before heading home for dinner.”

Elijah slid him a grateful smile. “I would be interested in seeing the fort, certainly. And it might be nice to see the soldiers doing something other than crowding taverns and pestering villagers.” He gave a little chuckle, half amused, half rueful.

He wasn’t disappointed; the soldiers outside the castle walls were undergoing a rigorous training exercise that involved flaming arrows and flammable targets. Bright bursts of fire danced around the courtyard, and it seemed there were even a couple of frost mages in attendance to control any wayward sparks.

“What do you think?” Glynn asked with a little grin. “Good enough to roast a few Stormcloaks?”

“I should think so.” Elijah wore a smile as well, the air about him undeniably impressed. A soldier just ahead of them hit a bullseye and the target went up in a blaze. Elijah let out an appreciative whistle.

“It’s quite a bustling place, isn’t it?” Glynn glanced around at the whirlwind of activity happening on the fringes of the training session – smiths hammering away at their anvils, cart drivers maneuvering their wagonloads of goods up to the castle, messengers scampering to and fro. “And it’s not just the Legion that uses this area. The city guards have their barracks here as well. I come down here fairly regularly to see Kai.”

Elijah perked up a little and glanced Glynn’s way. “I don’t suppose there would be any chance of running into him here?”

“He’s manning one of the guard stations on the city wall today, so unfortunately not. But I can show you one of his local secrets.” Glynn motioned for Elijah to follow him. He led the way around the edge of the training yard and through a narrow archway, beyond which there were fewer soldiers and more craftspeople. At a ramshackle stand, squeezed between a fletcher’s stall and a man mending boots, a heavyset woman stirred an enormous stew pot with a ponderous wooden spoon.

“They say that Hildur has been tending that very same pot for as long as anyone can remember,” Glynn said. “That every morning, she throws in new ingredients to replace what she ladled out the day before, and every night, she banks the fire so that the leftovers can simmer and become even more delicious. Now, I don’t know if that’s true, but I do know that her stew has got the tenderest meat and the softest vegetables you’ll ever taste. All the guards love it. It’s hot, cheap, and fills your belly right up.”

“Mmm.” Elijah shifted a little next to Glynn. “I have to agree that the best stew is often cooked long and slow by a familiar hand.”

“Would you like to try some?” Glynn reached for the purse on his belt. “I had some just yesterday when I came to meet Kai for lunch, so I’ll refrain myself, but I’d be happy to treat you.”

Elijah shook his head with a smile. “No need to spend your gold on me, I certainly have a few septims to spare.” And he fished in his pocket for a couple gold pieces, making his way to the stall and coming back with a warm bowl that smelled heavenly.

“I think I would believe that story.” Elijah said to Glynn after he’d taken his first richly steaming bite. He made a sound of deep appreciation and scooped up another, the thick broth dripping from his spoon. “This is incredible.”

“Hildur says she’d rather die than tell anyone her secret ingredient. I don’t think there’s a soul in the city who doesn’t believe her.” Glynn chuckled at the way Elijah was clearly savoring each bite. It was a quality that he deeply appreciated in Elijah – the man liked good food just as much as Glynn did. “Here, there are some benches over this way where we can sit while you eat. And then to the inn, perhaps. It’s certainly getting chilly now that the sun is going down.”

“Stars above. Is it that late already?” Elijah glanced up at the twilight sky. Glynn guessed that with the thick furs draped around his shoulders, he might not have noticed the drop in the air. He turned and followed Glynn’s lead after a moment, giving a nod. “To the inn it is, then.”

Elijah ate his stew at a steady pace; still enjoying each bite but keeping the growing evening shadows in the corner of his eye. By the time he was scraping dregs from the bottom of his bowl, the sky was mostly dark and the torches around town were being lit. Elijah left his bowl and spoon in a provided trough at the edge of the courtyard and trailed after Glynn as they ducked into the alleyway that led down the hill and back towards the main square.

With the workday over, all the cart drivers and day laborers and other folks who preferred drinking environments a little rowdier than the average inn had begun to gather in Solitude’s nooks and crannies. A large group of them had already congregated in the alley between Castle Dour and the inn – and already gotten well into their bottles, by the sounds of it. They whooped and shouted from the glow of their unsanctioned fires as Glynn and Elijah passed.

“Evening, boys!” Glynn called to a little knot of them that seemed particularly enthusiastic. He’d grown up around this kind of thing, and knew that these folks were loud but harmless, so he was only mildly alarmed when one of the men peeled away from the fire and staggered over to grip his arm.

“Evening, my fine good sir!” he cried, his words a bit slurred, as his buddies roared with laughter. “S’a beautiful evening to be here in the finest city in Skyrim, eh?”

“It certainly is.” Glynn patted the man on the back, gently easing him back over his own feet. “I hope you and friends enjoy it thoroughly.”

“You’re too kind, sir, too kind! Here, have a drink on me.” He thrust a bottle of mead into Glynn’s hands, and then turned to Elijah and held out another. “Your big friend, too! All of Skyrim ought to be drunk on a night as fine as this one.”

“Well, I won’t refuse hospitality.” Elijah’s huge demeanor held a bit of his quiet shyness that Glynn was sure only he noticed, but he clearly didn’t want to spoil the fun. He gave a nod and a smile of thanks as a bottle was pushed into his hand as well, then took a big swig that seemed to please the revelers around them.

“Get them some grub too!” someone by the fire yelled, and a moment later, another drunken man came stumbling up with a pair of small bread loaves in his hand.

“Something to sate your bellies,” the man said with a gap-toothed grin, thrusting the loaves out invitingly. “Made ‘em myself.”

Glynn took the bread, grinning as he saw that it had been sliced open lengthways and filled with shreds of roasted meat and grilled leek. “A little local custom,” he explained quietly in response to Elijah’s quizzical look. “They put their meat and vegetables inside bread, so that it’s easier to hold around a fire. No plates or forks necessary.”

Elijah’s brow raised with interest and he brought the loaf to his mouth, taking a curious bite and chewing thoughtfully. He swallowed and smiled, “It’s good,” then he parted the halves of his bread to peer at the roasted ingredients inside. The sheen of juices in the meat caught the firelight and a waft of steam rose from the vegetables. “Immensely clever, I must admit.” Then he pressed the loaf back together and continued to enjoy it.

It took them a few minutes to extricate themselves from the other men and nod their farewells, but by the time their loaves were finished and their bottles were empty, they were headed down the road to the inn’s warm, welcoming hearth.

The Winking Skeever had drawn the quieter but still lively crowd of Solitude’s merchant class; the front door was propped open for guests and the entryway was golden with candlelight and filled with the melody of the bard’s lute. A roaring fire kept out the chill of the outdoors and chatter swirled around them from residents and visitors alike.

Wonderful smells swirled around them too, no doubt from the kitchens, and Glynn felt water gather in his mouth. That boiled cream treat at the Bard’s College felt like a distant memory, and the revelers’ meat and bread had only served to whet his appetite. There was the fish pie waiting for them at home, of course, but that would take at least an hour to bake.

He flagged down the first barmaid he saw and ordered two tankards of ale. Then he asked about the dinner specials.

“We’re in luck!” he said, turning towards Elijah so he could hear him over the noise. “They’re serving roast pheasant tonight! The Winking Skeever is known city-wide for the way they do their roast pheasant – it’s served with a sauce that’s both tart and sweet! Made of snowberries, I believe. I don’t think you can find it anywhere else. I think I’ll get myself a plate – would you like one?”

Elijah made a sound – an oddly amused one. But before Glynn could ask what was so funny, his friend added, “Well, snowberries are a favorite of mine. I’m certain I would be remiss to miss out.”

So Glynn turned back to the barmaid and asked for two plates. Minutes later, they were sitting together at an old wooden table by the fire, ale in their cups and pheasant breasts smothered in thick red sauce on tin plates before them.

“So, what did you think of Solitude?” Glynn asked. “Did it live up to your imaginings?”

Elijah was leaning back in his chair, his gaze roaming over the cheerfully crowded inn. He smiled at Glynn’s question and said, “Surpassed them, in fact. I suppose I have always thought Solitude must be a city of imposing stone and majestic roads, and that much is true, but I was surprised and happy to find that many community charms are tucked away here, just as many as any other city in Skyrim.” He paused to lift his pheasant roast to his mouth to take a bite, licking snowberry sauce from his lips a moment later.

“I’m delighted you think so.” Glynn paused for a moment to tuck into his own pheasant. It was so good that he had to close his eyes and savor it for a moment – the meat tender and juicy and savory, a perfect complement to the tang of the snowberry sauce. “You know, for all I talk of Solitude’s unparalleled splendors… I’ve spent my whole life inside its walls. Never ventured further than Katla’s farm, and only that far once or twice. So it’s good to hear that perhaps all my raving has some actual merit.”

Elijah chuckled and drank from his mug of ale before adding, “One of these days I will have to take you on a trip – somewhere you can see the beauty of the wilds of Skyrim. I’m quite sure I could find somewhere calm and pleasant enough that the journey would not be a burden to you. Perhaps we could follow the shore east, to Dawnstar, and I could even sail you along the bay’s waters.”

“I would like that very much! I’ve never been on a boat before. I can only imagine how it must feel, with the salt spray on your face and the wind at your back…. Oh, and you know what else I would love to see? A barrow. Not the inside, of course – I’m not adventurous enough for that! Just the structure. It must be fascinating to see carvings done by ancient hands.”

“Well, there are at least a couple of less-impressive barrows on the way there.” Elijah’s eyes twinkled. “But if you were up for a carriage ride and an afternoon’s hike another time, we could travel to Whiterun, and from there, to Riverwood. One of the most well-preserved barrow sites in all of Skyrim overlooks the village of Riverwood. It is striking to lay eyes on it for the first time.”

“Really?” Glynn sipped at his ale thoughtfully. “You know, I think I could handle a carriage ride. I’m sure Whiterun itself is also a sight to see.”

“Absolutely. In fact, Micah and I might be able to give you a tour of our own around Whiterun. The locals there are very familiar with us as he often visits the apothecary there, and it is a common stop for me when trading and traveling.” Elijah pulled the last bite of meat from his pheasant breast and set the plate down for a barmaid to collect. After he’d savored the mouthful he leaned back in his chair once more, mug in hand, and blinked at the firelight contentedly. “Thank you, for showing me your home. I truly enjoyed getting to see the city through your eyes.”

A warm feeling settled in Glynn’s chest. “Thank you for humoring me,” he said with a chuckle. “I really enjoyed getting to show it off to you.” He scraped the last morsels from his plate and washed them down with his final sip of ale. “Mmm, that really hit the spot. Would you care for another round of drinks before we head home? Or maybe dessert? The sweet rolls they serve here can’t hold a candle to Marianne’s, but they aren’t half bad either.”

“Glynn,” Elijah started, and then broke off with a slight laugh.

Glynn turned to look at Elijah, curious, just as his friend groaned softly and slid a hand over the crest of his belly, which Glynn noticed for the first time was much rounder than usual.

“Glynn, I am so full. I don’t believe you can expect me to keep eating and still partake in fish pie this evening.” Elijah hiccupped and rubbed his palm over the curve of his middle. It was barely audible over the din of the tavern, but a moment later, a low gurgling found its way to Glynn’s ears.

Glynn clapped a hand to his forehead, laughing. “Oh Divines! I suppose you have been sampling things all day, haven’t you?” Since they hadn’t left each other’s sides, Glynn had been operating under the assumption that Elijah would be as hungry and as full as he himself was. But now that he was thinking about it, they’d made plenty of stops where Elijah had eaten and he hadn’t. The fish down at the docks, the apple fritter at the palace, the meat dumpling at the Bard’s College, the stew at Castle Dour…. “I’m so sorry, Elijah, I didn’t even realize! I hope you’re not uncomfortable?”

“No no, I’m alright.” Elijah was quick to reassure, offering a warm smile. “But I do think I will need a bit of a break to digest before supper.”

“Well, the pie will need a good while to bake anyway.” Glynn reached over the table and patted the hand that Elijah didn’t have resting on his belly. “Let’s get home so you can rest. Are you feeling up for a short walk? My shop is practically across the street.”

“Crossing the street shouldn’t be too difficult,” Elijah agreed with another chuckle, then braced his hands on the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet. Once there, the barest crease tugged at his brow, but vanished a moment later as he lifted his hand again to support his heavy middle. He rubbed soothingly at the tightest part of the swell as they made their way from the inn to the chilly marketplace outside, and then on to the front door of the Enchanter’s Emporium.

“Sorry about the stairs,” said Glynn as they wound their way up the tight coil of steps that led from the shop to the apartment. “I know they’re not easy on a very full stomach.”

Elijah groaned quietly in response, sounding more amused than uncomfortable. “Indeed not. But I suppose stairs may simply be an inevitability when sleeping indoors most places.”

Once they reached the living quarters, Glynn led Elijah over to the tower room, where a big round table and cushioned benches awaited. “You sit and relax,” he said as he made a circuit of the room, lighting torches with little spurts of fire magic. “I’m going to go stoke up the hearth. Would you like some tea?”

“Hmm… tea would be quite nice, yes. Thank you.”

“Coming right up. I’ll also get the pie started – that is, if you still want to have supper at all?” Glynn smiled wryly as he took in the way Elijah was reclining on the bench, both hands on the crest of his round belly. “There’s no pressure. I can always get some bread and cheese if you’ve had enough for the evening.”

Elijah tilted his head, considering. He hummed softly again, then said, “I think I would still like to have supper. I’ve been quite eager for the taste of fish pie just about all evening.”

Glynn beamed. He hadn’t wanted Elijah to feel obligated to eat more, but privately he was quite pleased, because he was certain his friend was going to love this pie. “Wonderful! I’ll be right back.”

He ducked into the kitchen and built the fire up to a merry crackle. Within ten minutes, he had the kettle whistling and the pie sitting on a bed of hot coals to bake. He poured some steaming water into two mugs full of mountain flowers and carried them back over to the table.

Elijah thanked him for the mug and brought the tea to his lips, letting out a sigh of relaxation after he’d taken his first swallow. He made a pleased sound when Glynn sat close to his side, cuddly as ever, and spent the next several minutes taking slow sips of tea and working the other hand over the front of his belly, rubbing little circles over places Glynn knew from experience would encourage digestion and perhaps free up a little room.

“You know,” Glynn said warmly as he sipped his own tea, “it’s nice to have a friend who appreciates the pleasure of eating well. I love Kai with all my heart, but the man drives me up the wall with his insistence that a slice of dry bread counts as a meal. Sometimes it feels so good to just eat delicious things until you’re heavy and sleepy, you know?”

“I very much agree.” Elijah replied with a big smile. “Making a living from the wilds is hard work, and the reward for doing so is often the simple pleasures of a warm fire and a good meal. Getting the chance to truly indulge is a luxury, and even more so in the safety and company of friends.”

Glynn chuckled. “Well, good meals, warm fires, and safe walls are in abundance here, and you’re always welcome.”

Elijah’s gaze rested fondly on him. “For which I am very grateful.”

They sat companionably together on the bench for the rest of the hour that the pie was baking, nursing their mugs of tea and occasionally talking about what they’d been up to recently, what life had brought their way, and other quiet, easy things. Elijah was starting to look rather sleepy by the time mouth-watering smells began wafting from the direction of the hearth, but perked up considerably after Glynn had gone to check on it and poked his head back in the dining room with a, “Pie’s ready!”

The pie had been made for Glynn in a long, deep dish, with a layered filling and a sheet of dough tucked down and crimped over the edges. Once he’d pulled the pie from the coals, its crust had bubbled up with gravy and the top of it was browned to perfection. It looked rich and hearty and delicious.

Glynn brought the pie to the table along with a couple of plates and chuckled when he saw Elijah’s eager expression. “My original plan was to cut this three ways and serve it up – I know Kai wouldn’t eat a whole third, but I figured you and I might. But you just let me know how much of it you want – no need to push yourself if you want to take it easy.”

Elijah contemplated the pie for a long moment, took a deep breath, and made a sound of appreciation for the rich scent of the pie. “I could eat a third.”

Glynn tried to be discreet as he glanced at Elijah’s middle, which was still visibly rounded out beneath his shirt. “You’re sure?” he asked, careful to make sure his tone didn’t hold the slightest shred of judgment.

Elijah nodded with another smile. “I think I’ve had long enough to digest.”

“Very good.” Glynn let his knife drop through the golden crust. He eased the resultant large rectangle of pie out onto a plate and passed it Elijah’s way. Then he cut a big piece for himself and poured out two mugs of ale before sliding back into the bench to sit next to Elijah with their plates and mugs.

Elijah dug his fork into the flaky golden crust and scooped up a bite of tender fish, cushioned with potato and gravy and dotted with small, tender greens. He made a sound of absolute decadence once it was past his lips, chewed and swallowed, then cut another.

“This is incredible.” He mumbled after his second bite, already digging for a third and mopping up sauce from his plate with his fork. “Quite honestly one of the best dishes I have ever had.”

“I hoped you might say that!” Glynn said, beaming. “Truly, the first thing I thought when you told me that you’re partial to fish was that I had to get you one of these pies. A lot of fish pies wind up masking the seafood with potatoes and gravy, but this one really celebrates the flavor of fish.”

“Mmhm.” Elijah agreed emphatically, without pausing his indulgence to say more than that, spending a few moments longer chewing the next bite he took. He paused for a drink of ale, then dug back in, carefully selecting each forkful for big bites of fish.

The pie truly was incredible, so delicious that Glynn suspected his fishmonger friend might have been showing off a little. Each bite was packed with flavor – rich potato, bright greens, salty fish – all wrapped in a perfect buttery crust. Even with the edge of his own appetite dulled by the roast pheasant, Glynn was so drawn into the meal that for the first dozen bites or so, he was scarcely aware of what was going on around him.

It was a soft sound at his side that drew him out of the haze of indulgence. He glanced over to see Elijah squirming a little in his seat, one hand pressing gently into his bulging stomach. As Glynn watched, he raised his other hand to cover a little burp and then sighed with relief.

“How are you doing over there?” Glynn asked with a little laugh.

“Mmgh…” Elijah took a moment to lean back a little and pressed his other hand to the swell of his belly. “I’m not ready to admit defeat yet, but I’m certain I must have more room than this.”

“I know the feeling.” Unthinkingly, Glynn reached over and put a hand against the rounded side of Elijah’s stomach. It grumbled laboriously as he did, and the sensation of something so visceral happening under his fingertips filled Glynn with a brief pulse of self-consciousness. Elijah was a good friend, but they had not known each other all that long, really. Maybe that was too personal a touch?

His doubts vanished as quickly as they’d come. Elijah groaned softly with relief and arched into the touch just slightly, settling a little closer to Glynn’s side.

Glynn smiled and swept his hand from the side of Elijah’s belly to its crest, pressing in gently against the tightness. “How do you feel about belly rubs? Perhaps I can help you find some more of that room you’re looking for.”

“Mmmgh…” Elijah’s hand held at the tightest part of the curve on his other side and he nodded warmly. “Yes please. Mmm… feels good.”

A wave of fondness swept over Glynn. It was so endearing, the way that Elijah clearly felt no shyness around him. With an affectionate chuckle, he began to rub, resolving to try out a few different motions to see what would feel best to his friend. Smoothing long strokes down the front of Elijah’s belly prompted some contented sighs, but didn’t seem to provide much relief. So Glynn switched to firm circles, moving slowly from the firm swell where Elijah’s stomach was tight with pie down to where the heaviness of overindulgence had been building up all day.

That seemed to do the trick, because Elijah was soon murmuring softly in relief, going slack under Glynn’s ministrations even as his belly began grumbling in earnest; quite a bit more loudly than it had before. The tight places Glynn could feel as he rubbed eased up, and the more of them he felt out and soothed, the less often he felt his friend squirm beside him on the bench.

Once it seemed his overburdened stomach was more relaxed, Elijah blinked sleepily and patted Glynn’s hand warmly. “Thank you. That’s so much better.”

“I’m so glad.” Glynn grinned as he gave Elijah’s belly one last little stroke before returning to his own plate. “You just let me know if you need any more help, alright? Wouldn’t want any discomfort getting in the way of a good meal.”

“Mmm. I will.” Elijah’s reply was full of affection, and he leaned over his pie once more and took another big bite.

The meal continued quietly but comfortably, as Elijah was clearly on a mission to get as much of his serving into his belly as he could, and Glynn was enjoying his own pie enough that it didn’t seem necessary to stop and think of things to talk about. They both paused once when Glynn noticed that a light snow had begun to fall outside and pointed it out to Elijah, who looked towards the window, smiled broadly, and made a remark about how nice it was to be indoors with a warm fire, good food, and a good friend. Glynn couldn’t have agreed more.

Before long, Glynn was scraping the final morsels of gravy-sodden pie crust from his plate. He had saved a nice tender chunk of fish for his very last bite, and he spent a few extra moments chewing it, savoring the flavor and the comfortable, satisfying weight of his full stomach. As he swallowed the last of his meal, he glanced over to see that Elijah was still working on the last fourth or so of his piece. As he watched however, his friend lifted another bite on his fork, paused halfway to his mouth, then lowered his fork to his plate again. A moment later, a deeply strained gurgle worked its way through Elijah’s very swollen belly and his brow knitted just a little.

“Divines,” Glynn said with a warm laugh, “you look absolutely stuffed! How are you feeling?”

“Mmghh…” Elijah rubbed one hand over the front of his stomach and leaned back in his seat, as if to take some of the pressure off his middle. His insides grumbled sharply at the movement and he gave another little groan. “Rather stuffed, I suppose.”

“Need a little more help, perhaps?” Without waiting for an answer, Glynn scooted in closer and pressed a hand just above where Elijah was holding. Elijah’s stomach pressed back, round and full, and Glynn felt its contents rumble yet again as he rubbed a gentle yet firm circle. “Is there any particular spot that would feel especially nice?”

“Mmmhh…” Elijah leaned into Glynn’s hand and seemed to consider for a moment. He took a deep breath and winced as if the pressure of his lungs was a bit too much for his straining belly. “Mmm… my sides, I think.”

Glynn obligingly shifted his attention to his friend’s sides. As soon as he moved his hands, it was clear to him why Elijah needed attention there – his sides were bowed out with fullness and clearly carrying a lot of tension from the bloat of his belly. There was barely any give when Glynn pressed in. He used a gentle firmness at first, not wanting to cause any pain, but when Elijah let out a deep groan of relief and squirmed into the touch, he deepened the pressure. Elijah’s response – a shiver of pure pleasure – convinced him to keep going the same way.

“You’ve really eaten so much,” Glynn remarked as he worked. Deep affection was creeping over him again, and his voice came out low and warm. “I’m quite impressed.”

A rather delighted smile touched the corner of Elijah’s mouth and he hummed, clearly feeling complimented. “Well,” he started, then huffed breathlessly after a hiccup squeezed his belly, “I’ve been enjoying myself. Sampling the local culture through local dishes is not something I have ever thought to do before, but I found it immensely worthwhile. A bit of brilliance on your part, you know.”

“I don’t know if I could claim brilliance so much as instinct,” Glynn chuckled. “I’ve been eating my way around Solitude my whole life. Honestly, it’s so nice to have someone to enjoy it with.” He pressed his thumb more firmly into a particularly tight spot in Elijah’s side, smiling at the little catch of breath it prompted. “I’m very glad we’re friends.”

Elijah made a sound of deep fondness and slipped an arm around Glynn’s shoulders, giving him a warm squeeze. His cheek came to rest for just a moment over Glynn’s hair and he said, “I’m very glad we are, too.”

His stomach gurgled again, but this time, it sounded less like a complaint and more like an industrious sound, and Glynn realized that Elijah’s sides had loosened up quite a bit. Somehow, Elijah looked even rounder than he had before, but he seemed much more comfortable. “What do you think?” he asked, his voice just a touch teasing as he patted just above Elijah’s navel. “Do you have enough room left in here for the rest of that pie?”

“I believe I can give it my best effort.” Elijah said with another amused smile, and started to sit up, only to hiccup laboriously as the contents of his swollen stomach sloshed and burbled in response. He grunted faintly and pressed one hand to the rounded curve to steady it, and searched for his fork with his other hand.

It was clear that Elijah’s best effort wasn’t going to get him far without some help. Glynn cuddled in even closer, tucking one arm behind Elijah’s back and moving his other hand back up to the top of his belly. He focused his attention just below Elijah’s ribs as his friend dug back into his pie, rubbing broad, steady circles to keep his stomach settled and relaxed enough to stretch.

Despite everything that Elijah had crammed into his belly over the course of the day, and despite how much effort it seemed for him to put each new forkful past his lips, it was clear his appreciation for the fish on his plate hadn’t lessened in the slightest. Even with his stomach gurgling slightly with every swallow, and an occasional groan slipping out as Glynn’s fingers pressed over the swell of his middle, he hummed with enjoyment after every other bite, and paused frequently to scrape sauce from his plate.

As he neared the last few crumbles of pie, Elijah hummed softly and shifted in his seat, reaching for his mug of ale and taking a few tentative sips. He picked up his fork again and chuckled as he explained, “As much as I like the saltiness of fish, I’m realizing it’s catching up to me a bit.”

“Shall I get you some water?” Glynn offered. At Elijah’s grateful nod, he patted his friend’s belly before slipping out of the bench to fetch him a tankard of fresh water. He placed it beside Elijah’s plate, within easy reach.

Elijah seemed to have had the same idea as Glynn. The last bits of food on his plate were mostly chunks of tender fish, and he was selecting each one with slow deliberateness and chewing long and slow to savor them. He groaned in appreciation when Glynn slid his hand back over the crest of his stomach, and pressed into the touch, squinting in relief under the rub, then forked up another bite, chewed, and swallowed it down.

Elijah paused again with about two bites of his pie left, breathing shallowly and rubbing the side of his belly that Glynn couldn’t reach with his other hand. “M’so full.” He murmured after a moment, smiling faintly, which meant it wasn’t a complaint, necessarily. “Need a minute.”

“Take your time.” Glynn mirrored Elijah’s motion, so that both of his taut sides were being rubbed at once, and smiled softly as his friend hiccuped and groaned. “There’s only a little left. Two swallows, that’s all.”

A whining gurgle squeezed through Elijah’s belly, as though to remind Glynn that two more swallows were not nothing when it was already packed so full. He smoothed his hand soothingly over it, pausing to massage helpfully into any strained digestive rumblings he felt beneath his fingers. Then he swept upwards to rub the sharp curve just beneath the ribs, where he could feel Elijah’s stomach cramping a little from how much it was holding. He pressed the palm of his hand over the tightest part of the swell, working his thumb encouragingly into the tight line of tension he could feel there.

Elijah shivered and stretched out a little more, giving himself as much room as he possibly could. After a few more gentle presses over the tightest part of his stomach, he scooped up another bite, chewed and swallowed. The last bite went down much the same way, then Elijah put down his fork and reached for his water.

He raised the tankard as if to only take a brief sip, but seemed to realize his thirst more intensely once the water hit his tongue. Without pausing, he drank down several big, urgent swallows, each one swelling and tightening his stomach, filling any remaining crevices of room. As soon as he lowered his cup, it seemed to hit him all at once, and it was clearly very uncomfortable.

Elijah groaned softly, then winced deeply and groaned again, more sharply and with an edge of pain to the sound. He squirmed and shifted in his seat, gripping his stomach with both hands. He tried to take a breath but it came up short; his belly was so round and taut and stuffed that there was no give anywhere where Glynn could feel.

“Oh dear,” Glynn murmured sympathetically, circling over the obviously aching swell with light, soothing strokes. “Poor thing. That was a little too much, wasn’t it? It’s alright, you’ll feel better in just a moment… here, maybe this will help.” He summoned the tiniest trickle of fire magic into his palm, just enough to create a little warmth, and rested his hand at the top of Elijah’s distended stomach.

Elijah moaned softly with faint relief, turning his stomach up into the touch to feel as much of the warmth as possible. A moment later, a tight hiccup jolted through him and his belly quivered with an angry, creaking gurgle. No slight shift in position as he squirmed around seemed to ease any discomfort, and he rubbed over and over his own stomach with one hand, clutching at the folds of his tunic as if desperate to relieve some kind of pressure in his belly.

Oh Divines, Glynn thought with deep concern, he looks like he’s about to explode. Worriedly, he moved his hand a little lower, to where he thought that gurgle had come from. Yes, there it was again – a slight rumbling, caught in the crevices between all that heavy pie. He positioned the heel of his hand over it and pressed, inwards and up.

A sharp sound of pain left Elijah’s lips, only to deepen into a rumbling belch, which he muffled into the back of one hand just in time. Once it was out, two more burps followed, then he was slumping back against the bench in utter relief. He gave a deep sigh, groaned again, and mumbled, “Mmghh… thank you.”

“I’ll bet that feels better, doesn’t it?” Glynn rubbed broad, comforting strokes over Elijah’s belly as it gave a few quiet, pacified rumbles. Elijah was still unbelievably round, his stomach swollen out in front of him to the point that his usually-loose tunic was fitting quite snugly. “Are you feeling alright? Everything starting to settle?”

“Mmhmm…” Elijah pressed up into Glynn’s hands a little, wordlessly asking for more pressure over his stuffed stomach. “S’heavy… but good. Mmgh…” Something half-sigh, half-groan slipped from him as Glynn kneaded more deeply over the roundness of his belly. “That feels so good.” His insides echoed the sentiment a moment later with a squeeze of grumbling, the sounds moving under Glynn’s hands in the direction of his touch.

“I’m so glad it feels good.” Glynn felt the spot he was rubbing loosen under his fingers, prompting another breathy groan from Elijah, and he let his hands move a little, searching for the next tense spot. It wasn’t hard to find one – Elijah’s belly was full from top to bottom, so absolutely stuffed that every touch provided relief. “It would’ve been such a shame if your enjoyment of that pie had been marred by a stomachache. Obviously, tasting the delicious food is the best part of a good meal, but….” He hesitated, wondering if he was going to sound a little silly. But the shyness evaporated as quickly as it had come, because he was pressed right up against his friend, who was groaning and breathless with overindulgence, and everything felt so safe and warm that there was simply no room for self-consciousness. “...Sometimes it’s almost as good, just lying back and feeling your belly digest.”

“I agree.” Elijah sighed out the words and squirmed a little again – luxuriously this time, instead of in pain. The mound of his stomach gave a low gurgle with every tiny movement, and he hummed happily when Glynn pressed another warming spell over his rounded sides. “Mmghh… think there’s… something nice about… being so full that it leads you to think about your body in ways you might not typically notice.”

“There’s something grounding about it,” Glynn agreed as he kept up his slow, rhythmic strokes. “Like… a little bit of reassurance that we are still creatures of flesh. No matter what petty conflicts of man the world throws our way, we are still as animal as a wolf or a sabre cat when it comes to a full stomach.”

Elijah was going utterly slack under the rubs Glynn was still smoothing over his belly, occasionally lifting his own hand and stroking over the swell above his navel. At one point he started to shift, then paused at a pointed grumbling from his insides. He made a little incredulous sound, then tried again, and his belly rebelled more harshly, tightening under both their hands with an agitated gurgle that trickled from top to bottom, starting with a whine and ending with a rather fearsome growl. “Nghh… I don’t think I can move...mmghh.”

“Then don’t!” Glynn laughed and tucked one of the cushions on the bench behind him, trying to help prop him up so that he could stay comfortably slumped. “Your stomach has got quite a lot to handle there, let the poor thing rest!” He began rubbing some quick, firm circles over the top of the swell, trying to help it relax again. “Divines, you’re very rumbly when you’re full, aren’t you?”

“Mmhm. Only when I’ve eaten too much, usually.” Elijah sounded amused, even as he sank back into the cushion gratefully and took the pressure off his protesting stomach. “Micah teases me often for it. Mmghh…”

“Does it feel like too much?” Glynn asked with empathetic concern. “The amount in your stomach, I mean? I’m sure I have a potion to aid digestion somewhere, if you need it.”

Elijah let out a breath, and smiled, blinking sleepily. “No, I’m alright. Especially–” He groaned happily when Glynn pressed another circle over the tightest part of his belly. “Mmm. Especially when you’re doing that.” He arched into the rub a little more, his stomach tight under Glynn’s hands and a flush of happiness to his cheeks. “Hmm… maybe it does feel like too much… but oddly, in a good way. The same way a good day’s work might leave you a little sore before sundown.”

“I think I understand what you mean,” Glynn said, even though he couldn’t say he himself had ever felt the same way about aches in his muscles. He gave Elijah’s belly an affectionate little pat. “I’m glad the rubs feel good. I’ll keep going with them, shall I?”

Elijah made a low, pleased sound of assent, which tapered off into a sighing groan as Glynn resumed the steady circles he had been rubbing over the tight swell beneath Elijah’s ribs. His upper belly was still extremely heavy, but the more Glynn rubbed, pressing away cramps and working out strenuous grumbles, the more he began to feel just a little bit of give there. Eventually, a particularly firm stroke caused a wave of gurgling to loosen beneath Glynn’s fingers. Elijah groaned with sharp relief and Glynn’s instincts told him that it was time to move on. He let his focus shift a little lower, rubbing over the firm places around Elijah’s navel. There was less grumbling here, but each circle of his hand prompted happy, breathy sighs, as well as deep hums of appreciation whenever Glynn took a longer sweep over his friend’s bloated sides. Finally, Glynn moved to Elijah’s lower belly, working away all the tension that had built up in the day’s settled indulgences and chuckling to himself at the way Elijah’s groans were growing sleepier.

Eventually, Elijah seemed to drop off into a light doze, and Glynn slowed his hands to rhythmic strokes back and forth over the crest of his friend’s swollen stomach until his breaths became deeper and even. Glynn turned to hunt for the blanket he usually kept folded up at the end of the dining bench, when he heard the door to the shop downstairs open and close, then a pair of boots climbing the steps to the apartment.

Glynn considered getting up and meeting Kai at the door to give him some forewarning of the situation. But in his dozing, Elijah had let his arm drape across Glynn’s lap, and Glynn was worried that moving it would disturb Elijah’s slumber (or even worse, his tummy.) So he stayed put, even when he heard the door open and Kai’s cheerful voice say, “Hello? Anyone home?”

“We’re in here,” Glynn called softly. Moments later, Kai appeared in the doorway, snow-frosted and tired-looking but wearing a warm smile.

“Oh, is he tired from the journey?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper as he spotted Elijah. “In this cold, I bet it was–” He broke off, his eyes widening as he took in the full scene. “Shor’s bones! What did you do to him?”

Glynn raised his hands helplessly. “I took him around town, that’s all! And then we, um, had dinner.”

“Yeah? How much dinner?” Kai came into the room, taking a moment to thoroughly brush the frost from himself before sitting down on Elijah’s other side. He rubbed his hands together to warm them before placing one against the curve of Elijah’s belly, as though to check if it were really that big. “Divines, his stomach is massive.”

Elijah made a soft sound in his sleep at Kai’s touch, and began to stir, blinking groggily a moment later as if it was hard to get his bearings. When his eyes locked onto Kai’s face however, he made another sound, a delighted one, a smile tugging at his lips as he began to struggle to sit up. As soon as his abdominal muscles engaged, there was the sound of his stomach sloshing, followed by a long and laborious gurgle.

“Whoa there,” Kai laughed as he quickly leaned in to give Elijah his hug. “Take it easy, take it easy. I’m really happy to see you too.”

“S’been a while.” Elijah squeezed him warmly and slumped back onto the bench a moment later, his brow knitting faintly just before his heavy belly squeezed with a strained hiccup. “How’ve you been?” His hand cradled over the swell of his middle to steady the newly unsettled gurgles under his palm.

“Not bad. The guardhouse has been keeping me busy.” Kai smoothed his hand down Elijah’s rounded side, and then added with obvious affection, “I’d ask how you’ve been, but I’m not sure you’re in a fit state for a long conversation.” He rubbed over the top of Elijah’s belly, working his fingers into the tense places where ribs and distended stomach met. “What in Oblivion did my boyfriend feed you?”

“I told you, I didn’t do anything,” said Glynn with exaggerated affront. He resumed his rubs as well, focusing on the lower part of the swell, where he thought he could feel heaviness accumulating as Elijah digested. “During our tour of the city, Elijah may have picked up a few choice snacks, that’s all.”

Elijah was beginning to squirm again, somewhere between relief and bliss as both their hands worked circles over his engorged stomach and soothed the grumbly pressure of overburdened digestion. His breathing hitched and he appeared to muffle a sound of pleasure, but as he leaned into the attention, he didn’t try as hard to hide his groans.

“Mmghh… I did.” Elijah huffed plaintively when a press of Kai’s hand eased up another strained burp. “But, I– mmghh –picked up these choice snacks– nnghh –on Glynn’s recommendations.”

Kai shot Glynn an accusatory yet amused look. “Kinda thought that might be the case,” he said dryly. “Seriously, what did you get him?”

“Well, first thing after he arrived this afternoon was a sweet roll. Then there was a salmon skewer at the docks, and an apple fritter and some mead at the Blue Palace. Then we stopped by the Bard’s College for boiled cream treats – oh, and I suppose he had a meat pie while we were there, too.”

“Divines, all that before dinner?”

“That’s not even everything.” Glynn paused to give Elijah’s overburdened stomach an apologetic pat, prompting a little burp and a relieved groan. “He also ate a bowl of Hildur’s stew. And one of those meat-in-bread concoctions that the folks who gather in alleys like to eat, along with another ale. And then a roast pheasant breast and some ale at the Winking Skeever. And then dinner, which was one third of a fish pie.”

Kai’s jaw was hanging open. He turned to scrutinize Elijah, who seemed to be sinking deeper into an overindulged stupor with each circle rubbed into his belly, this time with considerable concern. “You can’t be serious. Nobody could eat all that in one day! Even a guy as big as Elijah only has so much room in his belly.”

“Mmmhh…” Elijah seemed at least vaguely aware he was being discussed on incredulous terms, and he began to open his mouth a couple of times, but obviously couldn’t get enough of a breath to speak with his groans and sighs catching in his chest after every stroke and press of Glynn’s and Kai’s hands. He gave up after a moment and simply arched up again into their tending, pressing his swollen stomach against their palms.

Glynn chuckled weakly as he obligingly kneaded into a particularly tight spot. “Well, I think he’s filled up every bit of room he has. He was fit to burst after squeezing in the last of the pie. I think the rubbing has helped loosen things up a bit since then.”

Elijah agreed with merely a grunt, a sound that they both understood perfectly. Then a gurgling started at the top of his belly and swelled through the bulge of his dinner, leaving him groaning as Glynn and Kai rubbed and massaged over the indulgence his stomach was stuffed with. Under their hands, the sound twisted deep in his middle and tapered off into bubbling behind his navel until finally settling with a whining grumble. Elijah groaned again and tried to stretch, exposing as much of the bloated curve of his belly for rubs as he possibly could. His swollen sides heaved with his short breaths and his slight squirming was tugging through every choice treat he’d crammed in.

Kai seemed to take what Glynn had said about rubs to heart. While Glynn kept things settled, he worked his strong hands into the tensest parts of Elijah’s belly, leaving trails of eased digestion and loosened muscle in his wake. Soon, the strained sounds of Elijah’s stomach had settled to a low, productive rumble. With the most intense feelings of overindulgence relieved, Elijah began to slip back into a doze.

“Maybe we should move him upstairs?” Kai asked in a low murmur as Elijah’s soft groans began to give way to sleepy sighs. “Get him in bed?”

“He’s not going to be able to get up into the loft,” Glynn murmured back. “I mean, look at him. He’s completely helpless.”

As if to illustrate his point, at that moment Elijah roused just a little bit to adjust his position on the bench. He tried to scoot backwards, apparently to get more support for his back, but even this small movement was beyond him – he gave up almost immediately with a little groan, one arm curling towards his heavy belly. Kai acknowledged Glynn’s point with a little tip of his head as he rubbed broad circles to help any disturbed digestion settle, while Glynn grabbed a spare cushion and pressed it behind Elijah’s back.

As the minutes passed, Glynn felt the rise and fall of his belly under his hand grow slower and steadier, until at last Elijah seemed to be completely asleep.

Kai seemed to notice too. He leaned forward to look across their snoozing friend, catching Glynn’s eye. “What now?” he whispered. “Does he just stay here?”

“Well, we certainly can’t move him,” Glynn whispered back. “So I suppose he’ll have to, until his belly goes down a little.” He gave Elijah’s stomach one last gentle pat before carefully extricating himself from the cuddle. “I’ll get a blanket.”

Kai, apparently quite content up against Elijah’s side, snuggled in closer as Glynn draped a blanket over the both of them. “You know,” he mused, “we should push the two beds together when we go upstairs to sleep.”

“And share all three of them?” Glynn asked as he gathered up his and Elijah’s crumb-covered plates. “You’re in a cuddly mood tonight, hmm?”

“Definitely.” Kai’s lips quirked as he glanced fondly from Glynn to his sleeping friend. “Plus, the guest bed is going to be way too small for him.”

“Good point,” said Glynn with a chuckle. “And he’s going to need a good night’s sleep, I imagine. He’s got a lot of digesting to do.”

“I still can’t believe how much you’re saying he ate while the two of you walked around town.” Kai’s eyes flicked down to Elijah’s extremely round belly. “And then he still had pie afterwards!”

“Well, he really enjoyed the pie.” Glynn picked up the stack of dishes. “Speaking of which – I’m going to take these dishes to the kitchen, and then I’m going to bring you a mug of hot tea and your own supper. We saved a third of the pie for you. How much do you want?”

Kai grinned impishly. “You know what? Bring me all of it. I didn’t have time for lunch today, I’m hungry. And besides….” He patted Elijah’s shoulder, gently enough not to wake him. “If this guy’s gonna be sleeping off a heavy meal, I might as well too.”

“Suit yourself,” Glynn chuckled as he headed off to the kitchen. “But you know, even if you finish every last bite of pie, I don’t think you’ll be quite in competition with him.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I would never try to be.”

When Glynn returned to the dining room with a plate of pie in one hand and a mug of tea in the other, it was just in time to catch a briefly-roused Elijah murmuring something in Kai’s ear, planting a kiss on his head, and immediately slipping back into sleep. He’d wound an arm around Kai and was dozing soundly once more as Glynn placed the food in front of his boyfriend and smiled curiously.

“What did he say?”

“Just that he’d been looking forward to seeing me and he hopes I enjoy the pie.” Kai chuckled as he tugged the plate over to himself and dug his fork in. “I do think I’m gonna finish every last bite.” He grinned. “Think it’d be fun to be able to tell him in the morning that I did.”

“Well, I’m sure he’ll be very proud of you, and I’m certainly not going to complain about it either.” Glynn laughed and sank onto the bench next to Kai to get a few of his own cuddles in. As his boyfriend started working his way through his meal, he couldn’t help reaching over and giving Kai’s stomach a little pat. “And I suppose if you need any help, I’ve gotten a lot of practice in tonight.”

Kai just gave him a wry little look before taking another bite.

#fic #stuffing #stomachache #belly rubs #caretaking #cuddling #tummy noises #EE

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