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teal-fiend · 3 months ago

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The Feast

Content: multiple prey, similar size, fatal vore, unwilling prey

Summary: A villainous predator hosts an exclusive gathering wherein they eat prey in front of their subjects.

Stark candlelight flickered through the dining hall, casting shadows on many sullen faces. A deep, rhythmic gurgling came from the head of the table. There, slouched yet commanding, sat the predator. Their belly—rounded, swollen, naked flesh exposed—dominated the room with its fitful movements, half-digested prey stirring inside. Under the dim lighting, the predator’s eyes, dark and hungry, swept across the room with a feral intensity that quieted every soul present.

A low, wet groan came from their stomach—the slow grind of digestion. The sound caused the predator to smile. It spread slowly across their face, sharp and unfriendly, teeth bared and glinting in the low light.

"More," they said, voice steady but laced with menace. The underlings at the table flinched. They’d seen enough to know the consequences of hesitation.

"Yes—right away," one of them stammered, almost knocking over a glass of wine as they scrambled to follow orders.

It was a scene the predator relished. Seated before their subjects, holding court. Their gaze lingered on a server who dared to meet their eye for a second too long. A dangerous glint flashed in their eyes, one that promised an easy addition to the meal sloshing within their gut.

The server averted their gaze, visibly paling, but the damage had been done. The predator beckoned them over; their unlucky victim had no choice but to obey. There would be no escape from this unlucky fate. After a few loud gulps, the server disappeared. A fresh round of wriggling ensued as the most recent prey struggled to find purchase in their new environment.

The predator, with an almost theatrical sigh, patted their belly. Squelch. The sound of meat churning was audible enough to make everyone stiffen in their seats.

"You know..." the predator's voice dropped to a near purr, "I do enjoy live meat... There's something so satisfying about feeling them struggle inside my stomach." They savored the moment, looking around at the increasingly tense faces of their underlings, eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement.

They belched—loud, unrestrained—a noise that was heard by the gathering like a eulogy. Some of the weaker-willed diners winced, but they all stayed frozen in place. The predator leaned forward, resting one heavy arm on the table. Their distended stomach pressed against the wood, and the gurgling grew louder, followed by a smug, content smile.

As the evening wore on, the servants brought the predator more prey, each one adding to the overstuffed, groaning gut. With each new body swallowed whole, the predator's belly grew more immense, distorting their form and protruding outwards with obscene fullness. The taut, rounded shape jiggled as they moved, heavy and burdened with people in varying states of digestion. Nevertheless, their eyes remained fixed on the room, watching for any sign of uncertainty or defiance.

"More," they growled, a voice now rough with hunger. "I can take more."

By the end of the night, their belly was colossal, heaving, and hard to the touch. It groaned and churned relentlessly, overworked but undeterred, skin stretched so tight it shone in the dim light. Their breathing had become labored, shallow from the sheer pressure within, but their smile remained.

"I suppose that’s enough for tonight," the predator mused, rubbing their bloated stomach with slow, indulgent circles. The fullness was intoxicating. Like a natural, primal drug that was only available to predators. The pain, the strain��it was all delicious. They shifted with effort, the chair creaking beneath their massive quivering weight.

They surveyed the mass in their lap, eyes half-lidded and far too greedy to want comfort.

With that, they leaned back, letting their bloated, upset belly take up the space it craved. The room was silent, save for the unrelenting churn of their stomach, the organ pushed to its absolute limit, embarking wearily on the massive task it had to complete.

They felt drunk on prey. And suddenly the predator wished to be alone to digest.

Dinner was finally over. Amidst the guests, a subdued wash of relief filtered through. As they each filed out of the room, they tried not to seem so eager to leave as to not trigger their host’s appetite.

–

The predator sprawled across the lounge chair, a low groan escaping their mouth as they wriggled under their prey, trying to get comfortable, trying to accommodate the sheer size of their belly. It was impossible to ignore—rock-hard, swollen to its absolute limit, and packed impossibly tight. The firm, undigested prey inside stretched them thin. Their skin was tight and paled, veins faintly visible beneath the surface, and the bellybutton became a shallow dip on the vast, stretched surface.

Their shirt had long since ridden up, with no hope of covering the bulging, overstuffed mass that rested on top of their thighs. It rose and fell with each shallow breath, but the weight and the pressure of it made even breathing a difficult task.

They let out a low, guttural burp, the sound filling the quiet room like an announcement; the predator had enjoyed a full meal.

Though it did nothing to ease the tightness in their gut. Their stomach was stone-hard and immovable, groaning and gurgling with strained intensity as it worked through the mass of people inside. The weight of it pressed heavily on their hips, making it impossible to sit fully upright. So they lounged, legs spread, utterly spent. Yet still savoring the afterglow of the feast.

Their hand lazily drifted to the apex of their belly, fingertips tracing the taut surface with slow, gratified circles. The skin felt stretched almost beyond its limit, firm with the unmistakable fullness of a meal far too large for comfort. But there was a grim satisfaction in that discomfort, a pride in the sheer size of the swollen gut they had to contend with now.

The predator gave a lazy, prideful smile. Their eyes near-closed, they pressed down on their stomach, the meal beneath shifting imperceptibly, as there was no room left for even an inch of give. The pressure deep inside sent another wave of discomfort, but they relished it. Each painful cramp or spasm reminded them of the sheer amount they'd consumed—the writhing bodies now packed inside, stacked on top of each other, being relentlessly ground down.

Another burp, this one wetter, more forceful, escaped their lips, and they leaned back with a satisfied, if not pained, groan. Their belly trembled slightly with the effort, the firm dome shuddering as the over-stressed gut fought to keep up with the amount of prey that had been stuffed inside it.

"Ah..." they breathed out, eyes half-lidded in blissful exhaustion. Their hand still rested on their bloated belly, feeling every squirm and every movement within. It was a sensation they savored, even as their body protested the sheer volume inside. It had been too much, even for them, but there was a certain pleasure in pushing limits—testing just how far they could stretch that demanding, stomach.

"Not... bad," they muttered to themselves, their voice low and thick with satisfaction. A rumble echoed through the room, coming from deep within their overworked stomach, followed by another, sharper gurgle as it tried to make sense of the immense load.

They sighed, fingers trailing along the firm curve one last time, before letting their hand fall limp by their side. "Ah, I ate too much," they whispered with a strained laugh, half-awake.

The predator would never admit that to anyone, though. With their stomach crammed to the brim, stuffed impossibly full, their eyes slowly closed.

#v.ore #tw vore #soft vore #v/ore #fatal vore #digestion #vore fic

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sakkiichi · 1 year ago

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AUGUST.

Glimpses of the departed month go by as you reminisce by the sea.

ft. Kaedehara Kazuha x gn! reader.

cw/genre: fluff, romance.

I honestly don’t know how to feel about this piece… definitely not my best work, but I wrote it, so I’m posting it. I hope someone still likes it.

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

Blue.

Said alone, the word might have had a tendency for melancholy, cold, turbulence.

However, if anyone were to ask you right now, you’d deny every negative connotation the color might have ever been related to.

Because to you, blue was dusks by the sea; moments right after the last coppery rays had hidden behind the expanse of an ocean you could only wish to unveil all secrets of.

And perhaps, you liked this moment of day because the infinity of blue before you mirrored the feelings in your heart at ease.

Feelings of unbridled affection, boundless love.

For him.

Fair hair falls over his shoulders, like silk weaved out of stars, its tips illusory rose with the fading daylight. His eyes are closed against the marine breeze, flecks of moondust clinging to his lids, casting enchanting shadows over his cheeks. His shirt has been discarded, droplets sliding down his bare torso, as if he had bathed in a pool of starlight. A black leather cord rests against his tempting collarbones, a vibrant scarlet maple leaf charm dangling tantalizingly over his chest.

A dreamy sigh escapes your lips, mingling with the sounds of foamy waves lapping at the white sand.

Kazuha.

He was always nothing short of ethereal, but something about him in the dimming light of a late summer’s nightfall, felt inherently magical.

“I’m going to miss this, Kazuha.” You finally say, resting your chin on your boyfriend’s shoulder.

He gently leaves a kiss to your forehead, his hand finding yours over the towel you’re sitting on. Scars jut like jagged rocks against which waves break, in the same way lightning snuffed out a life dear to him all that time ago.

And yet, the smile on his lips is almost palpable when he says:

“We’ll be able to come back, my dove.” His thumb runs soothing circles over the back of your hand. “Before we realize, summer will greet us again.”

You chuckle. Kazuha had such a poetic way of approaching things; even when the sun went pitch black, he would forever remain a beacon of hope to you.

“I know, I know…” You clarify. “It’s just… I wish I had more free time to spend with you like this during the year…”

As much as autumn brought found memories and your beloved’s birthday, September always had a tendency to leave you yearning for the long days of summer.

Echoes of August replayed behind your eyelids every time you closed them, reminiscent of stolen instances held in the brief minutes in which the sky was dyed in shades of neither day or night.

Those eyes that held the suns of a million dawns focus on you. Starlight from constellations that will sleep soon seem to frame them, those long lashes fluttering in tune with your heart.

“I know, my angel…” Your lover utters, as he delicately tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’d like to stay with you like this, for all eternity…” His stare of gentle embers takes you in.

His muse, his perfect love, his forever.

The samurai’s free hand reaches to cup your cheek, his touch, a dove’s first flight in its tenderness.

Beneath the darkening skies, you were the brightest star. Every lash, every pore and freckle, the everglow that fueled his verses.

“But we’ll always have the weekends,” He reassures, those fingers that penned the most romantic eulogies tracing your jawline, the column of your neck, your exposed collarbones.

Dilated pupils stare at his lips, images of kisses coated in ice cream and cocktails flashing through your dazed mind.

“And every summer after that.” The poet adds, noses mere millimeters away now, separated only by salt air and dying sunlight’s rust.

“Every summer.” You repeat.

Then, the magnetic force of both your desire-ridden lips reigns over, his kiss, an intoxicating collision.

Your hands lock behind Kazuha’s neck, pulling him closer. The droplets of sea water on him feel cool, flecks of stardust tattooing your skin in every place your bodies touch.

The wandering samurai’s lips are an expanding sunrise, and you, the tsunami that desperately reaches for his light-tinted heavens.

One of his hands sets on the soft sand, keeping him upright, while his scarred one tenderly cups your cheek. Your lean against him is soothing, healing, clear August skies, birdsong written in between retreating clouds.

Behind the undulating horizon, gold dyes silver.

Constellations begin to waltz far above, the lovers by the sea, their directing lyrics.

It’s a symphony about a season that will never die, its score inscribed in indelible blue ink in the heat of yours and Kazuha’s fervent kisses.

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eiiskonigin · 2 years ago

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Felt like leaving a door open. Hm. Winter knows there is no point in prying into that remark: if May did not wish to tell her something, then she wouldn't. They weren't close enough to have outright earned honestly.

[ SMS » MARIGOLD, MAY ] I suppose we can agree, on that.

She didn't exactly have the luxury of choice when it came to her allies, and Robyn and her huntresses were among the most capable she could think of. Somehow, it still felt like a trap.

[ SMS » MARIGOLD, MAY ] I'm sure you can understand my hesitation. [ SMS » MARIGOLD, MAY ] But I have to trust that we have the same interests at heart.

[ SMS » Ice Queen ] I guess I just felt like leaving a door open. [ SMS » Ice Queen ] I don't think it would be a bad idea to meet and talk. Like it or not, we're all in this mess together now. [ SMS » Ice Queen ] It'd be better if we all had a working relationship instead of pretending the other side doesn't exist, don't you think?

Inwardly, she wants to punch Robyn for whatever she must've said to torque Winter off that badly, but she knows it'd be hypocritical. She's not exactly been supportive of the Atlas Military either. But now's not the time for that. She just hopes that both sides can bury the hatchet for the sake of the people.

Of course, she's entirely oblivious to what Robyn is actually doing.

#( redacted muses / may marigold ) / ✦ the old me is dead someone write a fucking eulogy .#( verse.04 ) / ✦ with ice in her veins .#/ robyn had good intentions but failed to account for two factors:#/ one: may's ignorance #/ two: winter's idiocy

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utilitycaster · 8 months ago

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there's like a particular genre of post about Orym that's like "o sing muse a eulogy for the tiny sad man...when will he learn he has so much to live for...it is so tragic that he signed his life away and only lives for revenge now...the darkness of war shall consume him" and Liam O'Brien is out here like Jesse what the fuck are you talking about

#queue #the concern trolling from people about orym is SO funny it's like oh huh you're sort of stupid aren't you #cr tag

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lavenderrpages · 1 year ago

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@eulogier asked: ❛ i'm sorry for saying that you have no friends really loud in front of all of your friends. ❜ ( caroline 2 elspeth. )

the quote of dialogue streamed from caroline's mouth into the open air singed embarrassment. elspeth deluded the entire subject with a quick, ❛ aren't we all friendless in the end ? i never really cared for such daft personalities. most of them just feed off attention. caring for attention is a bootless errand. to be the center of it. i just float to the center naturally. i suppose that's why i was so successful in modeling, the camera would just follow. i couldn't care less. ❜ elspeth's voice trailed faintly. aloofness hung over her like a voluptuous cloud. caroline had made such a mockery, and in of all places, ❛ was a lovely party. didn't you think so ? ❜ redirecting, the woman waved that moment away like lint in the air.

#( muse. // elspeth catton. )#( elspeth. x caroline. )#shared a kiss in the long gallery in front of sir james old teddy bear. surely #( answered. )#eulogier

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rjthirsty · 11 days ago

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Kintsugi

Kintsugi is an ancient Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold. The gold creates visible seams where the cracks once were. This celebrates the imperfections of the pottery rather than hiding it.

I received this fanfic from @wistfulwanderingone as a Secret Santa gift, and when I tell you that I teared up several times, I'm not joking. She has given me permission to post and name the fic, and Kintsugi was what I thought of at the end of the story. That's how this fic makes me feel. Like Clavis is piecing me back together with gold to celebrate everything I try to hide.

I'm chronically ill, as some of you might know. Wist knows. She is also aware that I'm bed bound often. Sometimes for days at a time. It's hard to be seen as more than my disability, especially when my illness controls so much of my life. But, while it is part of me, it is not all I am. It has been hard to accept that this year, but I'm working on it. And I know Clavis (and Wist, and all my friends) are behind me to remind me that I'm still wonderful even with my imperfections.

Thank you, Wist, for the beautiful gift. It was so personal and thoughtful and I was literally just complaining about how hard it is being sick during the holidays. And then you gave me this. And it's perfect.

The room is quiet except for the faint crackle of the fireplace, casting warm shadows on the walls. Snow blankets the palace grounds outside, muffling the world in a soft hush. You sit nestled in a pile of blankets, your body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that refuses to lift. Your gaze lingers on the window, where frost has painted delicate patterns on the glass, and you wonder what it would feel like to be part of the life outside those frosted windows—free, light, unburdened.

It’s been days since you left this room, the weight of your chronic illness pinning you down like a cage. The days have blurred together into a slow, muted haze, a rhythm of stillness you’ve almost grown used to. Almost. A sigh escapes your lips, soft and wistful, filling the quiet. You’re so lost in thought that you barely notice the door creak open—until his unmistakable voice breaks the stillness.

“Ah, my poor, suffering muse,” Clavis exclaims, sweeping into the room with all the flair of a traveling performer. “Still sulking in here, I see. I was starting to fear you’d been devoured by this cocoon of blankets. Shall I prepare a eulogy?”

The tension in your chest loosens, almost imperceptibly, as you glance over at him. A faint smile tugs at your lips, unbidden but welcome. “I’m not sulking. I’m just…tired.”

Clavis crosses the room in a few long strides, his golden eyes soften as they sweep over you, taking in the weariness you can never quite hide from him. It’s a look that makes you feel seen—truly seen—in a way that isn’t suffocating or pitying. “Sulking, tragically fatigued—semantics. Worry not, for your savior has arrived.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow, already fighting the pull of a smile. “Clavis, I don’t need saving. I just need rest.”

“Rest?” He clutches his chest as though your words have mortally wounded him. “Oh no, no, no. Rest is for mere mortals, and you, my dear, are anything but mortal. You’re practically divine.”

The corners of your mouth quirk up despite yourself. You roll your eyes, pretending to dismiss him, but already you feel something shift in the room—the heaviness inside you loosening, just a little. “What are you even doing here?”

“I’ve come with a mission,” he declares, dragging a chair to your bedside and plopping into it with far more drama than necessary. “I’m going to make you laugh.”

You blink at him, caught off guard. No one else bothers with this—this effort to distract you from the heaviness that fills the room. “Clavis, I’m fine. You don’t have to—”

“Oh, but I do,” he interrupts, his tone shifting to something more serious beneath the playful lilt. “You see, your laughter is my favorite sound in the world. And the fact that I haven’t heard it in a whole day? Why, that’s a travesty. A true tragedy of epic proportions.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself. “As if that’s a travesty. Do I need to buy you a proper dictionary?”

“As if I’d read something that boring.” Clavis shakes his head, tutting like a disappointed teacher. “And let’s not deflect, my love. Full disclosure: I’m not here for a polite chuckle. No, I demand the real thing—the uncontrollable kind of laughter that leaves you gasping for air. The kind that makes you wonder if you’ll survive the sheer joy of it.”

Your heart warms, despite your exhaustion. He’s ridiculous—insufferably so—but there’s something in the way he speaks, in the light in his eyes, that makes you feel like you’re more than this room, more than this illness. Like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

True to his word, Clavis dives into his antics with the enthusiasm of a man on a mission. He recounts exaggerated tales of palace mishaps, complete with elaborate gestures and voices for every person in the palace. His impersonation of Chevalier—smirking and sly, his voice an octave too high—nearly makes you choke on a giggle.

“And then,” he continues, launching into a pantomimed escape, “I, ever the hero, evaded Chev’s villainous clutches with unparalleled grace and daring!” He stumbles over the rug, nearly losing his balance, then bows with a flourish. “Ah-ha! And thus, a legend was born.”

You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to stifle the laugh threatening to escape. It doesn’t work. The sound bursts free, light and unrestrained, and you feel the smallest weight lift from your chest.

“Ah-ha!” he exclaims, pointing at you as though you’ve just confessed a great secret. “But no, that won’t do. A giggle? My dearest darling, I demand full-blown, uncontrollable laughter. The kind that could summon Chevalier himself, just to tell us to keep it down.”

You roll your eyes, though your smile widens. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re radiant,” he replies smoothly, leaning in closer. His words send warmth blooming across your cheeks. “But I digress. Back to the mission at hand.”

He pulls a small, poorly wrapped package from his coat pocket, holding it out to you with a flourish. “A gift for my one and only.”

You hesitate, your brow furrowing. “You brought me a present?”

Of course,” he says, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “But beware—it’s no ordinary gift. This one is…revolutionary.”

Curious, you unwrap it to reveal a snow globe. Inside, a miniature replica of the palace gardens sits encased in glass, complete with tiny skaters gliding on a frozen pond. You shake it gently, and glittering snow swirls inside. It’s beautiful—breathtaking, even—but before you can say as much, Clavis leans closer.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, touched.

“Ah, but you haven’t discovered its true charm,” he states, his voice low with mock suspense. “Turn the little lever at the bottom.”

You do, and the melody that follows is anything but elegant. The tinny, off-key tune crescendos into a jumbled cacophony of squeaks and clangs, pure absurdity. Your eyes widen, and before you can stop yourself, laughter spills from your lips. It’s loud and genuine, the kind of laughter you haven’t felt in weeks.

“There it is!” Clavis exclaims triumphantly, pointing at you like he’s just won a grand prize. “The fortress is breached!”

“It’s awful!” you gasp, shaking the globe again as the absurd tune restarts. “Who thought this was a good idea?”

“Clearly a genius,” Clavis replies, looking utterly pleased with himself. “I made it specifically for you. A one-of-a-kind masterpiece, for my one-of-a-kind love.”

You laugh again, your body lighter than it’s felt in days. His antics are absurd, yes, but they’re more than that. They’re a reminder that you’re still here, still capable of joy. And when he looks at you—his golden eyes warm and bright—you feel seen in a way you haven’t in a long time. Not as someone to pity, but as someone worth every ounce of his energy.

“Clavis, this is—”

“Brilliant?” he interrupts, tilting his head like a smug cat. “Oh, I agree. But don’t let me sway your opinion. Go ahead, laugh some more. It’s my favorite part.”

The hours slip by, each moment brimming with more of Clavis’s relentless antics. He begins with an over-the-top reenactment of how he supposedly triumphed over Leon in an epic snowball fight, claiming victory not just with skill but with the “tactical brilliance of a true general.” His makeshift cape—a blanket he pilfered from your bed—is tied dramatically around his shoulders, fluttering with every exaggerated gesture. In his hand, a sugar cube serves as his noble weapon.

“And then,” Clavis declares, leaping atop the nearest chair with the grace of a performer on stage, “when all seemed lost, when the forces of nature turned against me, I made a daring move! A single, decisive strike!” He hurls the sugar cube onto the bedside table, where it lands with an unimpressive plink. “And just like that, Leon fell before me. And I? A hero crowned by destiny!”

This time when the laughter bubbles over, it doesn’t feel so foreign anymore. Each laugh feels more natural than the last, weaving itself into the fabric of the evening, no longer leaving room for the shadows that usually cling to you. Your cheeks ache from smiling, and you revel in the feeling. “I don’t think Leon would agree with your version of events,” you manage, your voice tinged with amusement.

“Ah, but history belongs to the storytellers, my dear,” Clavis replies with a wink, his grin sharper than the frost on the windowpane. “And fortunately for the world, I have an exceptional gift for embellishment. It’s a heavy burden, being this remarkable, but someone must bear it.”

As if to punctuate his words, he picks up another sugar cube, examining it with mock seriousness. “But wait,” he says, his golden eyes narrowing conspiratorially. “This is no ordinary cube of sweetness. This, fancy fiancée, is a weapon of unparalleled power, forged in the icy winds of battle. A true artifact of destruction.”

You shake your head, still smiling. The weight on your chest feels a little lighter, the tight grip of exhaustion momentarily loosening. “You’re impossible,” you say, though your tone holds no real rebuke—just warmth.

Clavis gasps, clutching the edge of his blanket-cape as though you’ve mortally wounded him. “Impossible? My dear, I am legendary.” He straightens with a dramatic flair, his makeshift cape sweeping the floor as he strikes a pose. “A true visionary never limits himself to what is merely possible. Why settle for reality when imagination is so much more thrilling?”

The absurdity of his words pulls another laugh from you, one that shakes the remnants of the fog you’ve been drowning in. For a moment, you’re not the sickly figure confined to a room—you’re just you, laughing at his ridiculous antics.

But Clavis isn’t finished. In an unexpected move, he drags a chair toward the window and flings it open, letting in a gust of icy air that sends the curtains billowing. You shiver instinctively, clutching your blankets closer as the cold nips at your skin.

“Behold!” Clavis exclaims, pointing dramatically to the snow-covered gardens below. His golden eyes glitter with excitement as he straightens his posture, looking every bit the theatrical knight he imagines himself to be. “The battlefield of legends! Where courage is tested and heroes are made! But fear not, my love—I shall defend your honor!”

Before you can stop him, he flicks a sugar cube out the window. You track its arc through the air, and to your horror (and slight amusement), it lands squarely on Prince Gilbert’s shoulder as he strolls below.

“Clavis!” you gasp, caught between laughter and panic.

Gilbert pauses mid-step, slowly brushing the sugar dust from his shoulder. Even from this distance, the chill of his predatory smile sends a shiver down your spine.

Clavis freezes for half a heartbeat before shutting the window with a flourish, leaning casually against the sill as if nothing happened. “Well, that was unfortunate,” he remarks, the slightest twitch of his lips betraying his amusement.

“Unfortunate?” you hiss. “You just sugar-bombed Prince Gilbert! Do you have a death wish?”

Clavis turns to you with a grin that’s far too relaxed for the gravity of the situation. “Darling, life without a little danger is simply dull. Besides,” he adds, with a conspiratorial wink, “I’ve always been curious about his sweet tooth. Consider it an experiment in diplomacy. I’m practically doing Chevalier a favor.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands, but even then, you can’t stop the laughter that spills out, bright and uncontainable. It fills the room, a sound that feels out of place after so many days of silence. The world outside your window is still heavy and cold, but in this room, warmth floods in.

“You’re going to get us both killed,” you manage between breaths, your voice tinged with exasperation.

Clavis wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth. The gesture feels grounding, safe. “Don’t worry, my love. If it comes to that, I’ll charm my way out of it. Or…” He pauses, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ll say it was your idea.”

You swat at him, your laughter spilling over again, but this time it’s not just his words that fuel it. It’s the way he looks at you, like you’re the center of his universe. The way he knows exactly how to lift the crushing weight you carry without making you feel small. His devotion cuts through the haze of your illness in a way nothing else has.

Clavis watches you, a look of unguarded affection softening his features, and you realize his joy isn’t just in hearing your laughter—it’s in knowing he’s helped you reclaim it.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now. “That’s the sound I love most.”

Your laughter fades into something softer, more fragile. “Clavis…”

“Do you know what your laughter does to me?” he asks, leaning closer. His golden eyes are warm, searching yours. “It’s the most perfect sound in the world. Joyful, bright, and just a little bit mischievous—just like you. It makes me believe there’s magic in this world after all. And trust me, I don’t say that lightly.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with exhaustion. Your cheeks flush, and you glance down at the blankets covering your lap. “You’re being dramatic again.”

“No,” he says firmly, his voice gentler than you’ve ever heard it. “Not about this.” He sits beside you, placing a gloved hand over his heart.

For a moment, the world feels impossibly quiet. Clavis reaches out, brushing his gloved fingers against your cheek in a rare gesture of tenderness.

“You’ve been through so much,” he says softly, his grin fading into something more serious. “And yet, you still laugh. You still shine. That’s what I love about you. And I swear, I’ll keep giving you reasons to laugh as long as I’m breathing.”

The weight on your chest doesn’t feel quite as heavy anymore. The room feels lighter, brighter, infused with his warmth and presence. You lean into his touch, letting the moment wrap around you like a balm.

The day fades into evening, the golden light of the fireplace softening the edges of the room. The warmth flickers across Clavis’s features, painting him in shades of amber that seem almost otherworldly. You’re tired—bone-tired in a way that feels insurmountable—but your heart feels lighter, buoyed by the warmth of his presence. The ache in your limbs is still there, the heaviness of your illness lingering like a shadow, but for the first time in days, it feels bearable.

Clavis lingers by your bedside, his golden eyes scanning your face with an intensity that makes you feel exposed, but not in a way that stings. It’s a gentle kind of scrutiny, one that doesn’t search for flaws but treasures. No one has ever looked at you like that before, as if you’re more than just the sum of your weakness and weariness. His gaze sees you—not the fragile shell you feel like most days, but the person you’ve almost forgotten you are.

“Rest, my lovely lover,” he says softly, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his lips lingers like a promise, grounding you in the moment. His voice is low, coaxing, as if he’s whispering a secret meant only for you. “And when you wake, I’ll be here to make you laugh all over again.”

The corners of your mouth lift into a faint smile, and for once, it doesn’t feel like a strain. Clavis’s devotion is a strange thing—intense, unwavering, and entirely consuming. He doesn’t just want to ease your pain; he wants to rewrite it entirely, to fill the cracks in your world with light and laughter until there’s no room for the darkness to creep back in.

As your eyelids grow heavy, you feel the edges of your mind soften, the weight of your body giving way to the pull of sleep. The warmth of the blankets surrounds you, but it’s his words that linger, wrapping around your heart like the coziest of comforts.

You realize, in that hazy space between waking and dreaming, that you believe him. You believe in his promise to stay, to bring you laughter when you feel like you’ll never smile again. You believe in the joy he carries, the way it spills into your life like sunlight breaking through clouds.

With Clavis, there will always be laughter—unpredictable, unrelenting, and healing. There will always be joy in the smallest moments, like the off-key melody of a snow globe or the glint in his eye when he’s plotting his next ridiculous scheme. And, most importantly, there will always be love—the kind that sees every broken part of you and holds it close, never letting go.

You drift into sleep with that certainty nestled deep in your chest. The world outside is still cold and quiet, but here, with him, there’s warmth that promises to last.

#ikepri fanfic #ikepri clavis #clavis lelouch #ikemen prince #chronic illness #comfort #wist's writing #secret santa gift

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tieronecrush · 2 years ago

Text

the lakes

joel miller x reader

rating: M

word count: 1.9k

summary:

take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die / i don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you / those windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry / i'm setting off, but not without my muse

warnings: nudity, skinny dipping, talk about grief, death, family tension, self-doubt, self-deprecation, idk man it’s just sad

a/n: my first song for the folklore anthology!! can’t wait to share others & read all the other great works from my pals <3

The sounds of birds chirping surround you in echoes across the valley, mountainous hills convexing in front of you and dotted with evergreens. Underneath you is sun-warmed sand, interspersed with smoothed rocks from rushing water shaping them over hundreds or thousands of years. The fresh, gentle waves of the lake lick against your bare feet, knees bent up as you sit at the shore, eyes trained ahead on the glassy surface reflecting the late summer sky above. Joel is sitting next to you in the same position, his hands joined together in a circle and forearms resting on his kneecaps.

It’d been a quiet hike to the spot you discovered while on patrol. Lately, Joel has been his own worst enemy — closed off to you, stewing in his thoughts about his strained relationship with Ellie and continuing to adjust to life in Jackson, a world so slow and still that he can’t seem to find a place he fits in after moving for so long. His inertia hasn’t caught up to his lifestyle change; he is constantly picking up patrol shifts, and volunteering to oversee new construction and renovations across the town, but even through his go go go, he can’t find a place to land.

This place was the perfect spot to take him; to abate the anxious energy that vibrates throughout him every day with the halcyon elements of nature. Animals that live their lives with no concept of time, a lesson in living in the present, trees that have been around for hundreds of years, solid and strong like the man himself, and the lake. The lake that provides for everything growing around it, that reflects beauty in sunrises and sunsets, that finds itself full no matter any barriers built in its feeding river, replenished by other means from rain to groundwater.

The silence between the two of you breaks for the first time in hours.

“You know what I first thought of you when I met you?” you question him, eyes trained forward on the view. Joel offers a soft grunt in response, hinting for you to continue.

“I thought: Wow, this guy is an asshole,” he scoffs with the hint of a smirk, shaking his head while your own grin plays at your lips, “But then, I got to know you. Forced proximity really tells you a lot about a person. And I very quickly learned how much you care. This world should have jaded you, should have broken you to the bone with what you have been through, but yet, you still find means to nurture. You protect, and you provide. You love so deeply, so incredibly much. Every day I wake up next to you, I thank the lucky stars that I have Joel Miller in my corner. By my side. Watching my back.”

“I know you are feeling something, thinking about something in that head of yours all the time. And I want you to know that I love you as deeply, that I care as much for you as you do for everyone in your life. You can share with me, whatever you feel like sharing.”

Joel is quiet, squinting in the sun as he tosses a round pebble from the sand between his legs into the shallow waters. The ripple appears and dissipates before he speaks.

“That sounded like a eulogy, darlin’.”

You scoff now, that same type of soft smirk that he held minutes before pulling the corners of your mouth up.

“Is that all you took from all of what I said?”

“No, ‘course not. Just, I don’t know, felt like I was listening to what you would say about me after I’m gone.” At that you turn towards him, hand wrapping around his nearest forearm and squeezing with even, steady pressure that says ‘We are not talking about that, I can’t talk about that.’

“I do wanna share with you, I just—I don’t know how. I’ve kept all this inside, locked down in my chest. Anger, temper, violence, even, as armor to keep me alive. Don’t ever think I’ve been very nurturing since, well, since…” His throat chokes up, head drops to stare at the ground. Another squeeze to his arm, this time to say ‘It’s okay. I know. You don’t have to say if you don’t want to.’

Something that he said sticks out in your head, a means to attempt to combat his walls going up again now that they have crumbled slightly. You stand, glancing around out of habit before you pull your shirt over your head, your jeans following with your undergarments in their wake. Joel looks up, expression puzzled as he watches your naked form wade into the water. You hiss as the still-icy water engulfs you from the shoulders down, treading and turning back to your man on the shore. A gentle smile covers your face, beckoning him in with one nod of your head.

He follows suit with stripping down, clothes mixing in a pile with yours as they do on the floor of your bedroom. His own pained expression from the cold lake makes you giggle quietly, a scolding stare aimed your way. He paddles over to you smoothly, the water hitting his chest where he can continue to touch with his feet at the bottom. Your arms slither around his neck, wet fingers carding through the hair at the back of his head. The leverage against him is used to tug you closer, his large palms settling at your waist under the surface while the two of you bathe in the fresh Adam’s ale of these cliffside pools. Two pairs of eyes communicate without words, the soundtrack of the birds and rustling trees occupying the dead air until you speak again, hushed despite the fact that you are the only humans for miles.

“You can take your armor off around me.”

Joel’s eyes flutter closed, a long sigh exhaled as his hands grip your curves tighter. When his burnt chestnut and amber irises are revealed again, he speaks in the same reserved volume that you had.

“I don’t belong there. In Jackson.”

Silence gently urges him to carry on.

“What I’ve done, to strangers, to myself, to Tess, to you, to Tommy, to Ellie…I don’t deserve any chance at life. With what I have taken from others, I don’t deserve to be given anything. Kindness, respect, care, love. From anyone.”

“I’ve been selfish this whole twenty years. I almost left Tommy alone. I dragged us up north to Boston. I got Tess into smuggling. I kept Ellie at a distance for so long because I couldn’t bear to feel that kind of responsibility, that familial tie. And then I chose for her, in that hospital. I couldn’t lose another kid.”

“It—it feels like I should be over the past, over what I have done now that I have a chance at a fresh start, or as close to a fresh start as I could possibly have here in Jackson. I have a shot to build a life with you, to work for Ellie’s forgiveness, to be an uncle to Maria and Tommy’s baby. But what has been chasing me — what has been over — it feels like it’s burrowed under my skin. And all I can feel when I start to forget is these—these heartstopping waves of hurt.”

“And I don’t know how to move on. I don’t know how to forget when my body, my mind, my soul won’t let me.”

Across his cheeks, salty tears have carved rivers, the dampness still in his eyes shining in the midday sunlight. The water sounds as if it’s rushing in your ear, your pulse racing as you attempt to process his confession. His head has bowed in a prayer position, awaiting your means to reconciliation or absolution.

Hands settled on his broad shoulders, another communicative squeeze, this one to say ‘I don’t know either. But I know how to try.’

“You let your people heal you,” Joel’s eyes meet yours, drops cascading from the damp bits of hair hanging over his forehead, attention completely and utterly on you, “Time can’t fix everything. The past can hold us in its grip even with all the time in the world. But people can help you forget. They can help to lessen the pain in your body until it’s merely a pinch. Their love can pull you up when you fall. Their care can nurture your soul to grow resilient again. Their reassurance can teach your mind to hear those sordid thoughts you have but pay them no attention.”

“I want to do this for you, Joel. I want to help you. To care for you. To love you, completely. Your people want to do it for you. And if you can learn from experience, you can do it for Ellie…” Your hands move from his shoulder, skating across his glistening skin and wrapping around the sides of his neck, thumbs resting against his jaw.

“You made choices you had to. Including for Ellie. She was — she is a child. Your kid, if not by blood. She may not understand now, but I know she will find a means to forgive you, or at least understand you.”

“Maybe when she’s older, if she has a kid of her own, she’ll understand.”

Joel’s mouth quips to one side with a faint smile, tears drying on his cheeks as he thinks of the image.

“Reckon we’d be pretty fun, well, sorta grandparents.”

“I think so, too,” you speak with a grin stretched and thumbs brushing back and forth at his jaw, “I can’t wait to grow old with you. To sit on the porch and watch you still yell across the street to your brother for full conversations instead of the two getting off of your asses —”

“Watch it, darlin’,” he warns playfully.

“Hey, it’s true. I listen to it nearly every day. Now, back to what I was imagining, cowboy.”

He nods for you to continue, a full-blown smile on his face.

“We’ll have Ellie over weekly dinners, and whoever else makes up her family. You’ll play me guitar and sing whenever I ask ‘cause you love me so much. I’ll help to heal you, and we will be happy together. We will take our second chance. And you will enjoy your time with your family. And me, hopefully.”

“Definitely with you. My beautiful girl,” his own hand leaves the water, wetting your hair as he brushes it out of your face with tender eyes, “You’re like—like a red rose that’s grown out of my ice-frozen ground. I am so lucky to have you. That you chose me, and continue to choose me every damn day. My grief sometimes feels insurmountable; like I am going to be stuck here forever with no way out of that feeling. But if I get stuck here, with you in my arms and all my people around me, I’d be fine if I simply grow old and wither away back into the earth.”

“I love you, darlin’. So much it might just end in tragedy, that my heart might just explode from lookin’ at you one day. But I do love you.”

A gentle kiss is shared between the two of you, the bitter water combined with your torrid love stirring up a tornado of tingling nerves.

You pull away, only enough to get the words out that you have told him, Joel, your man, every day and will continue to tell him every day you have him, “I love you.”

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#joel #writing #folklore anthology #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader

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