#but right now ... not enough to keep the gears churning
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the-physicality · 11 days ago
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i am actually so thrilled that we have the order as of right now down.. i've said it before i'll say it again, i. need. coaches. but people are yapping about how dallas sucks, but she is the player that will make it not suck.
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tenjikufag · 6 months ago
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Shut Up.
Denji x Male!Reader
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-fluff, comfort, smut, bottom denji, top reader, closeted(?) denji, established relationship , mentions of slight jealousy, yoshida mentions
-this was requested by @tsukikor quite some time ago, thank you for the req!
Denji didn’t really know what to do with these emotions, yeah it was well known by everyone that he liked women but he also liked men- in particular you- his boyfriend.
He didn’t mean to keep it a secret, he really didn’t mean anything by not coming out it just.. wasn’t something he ever thought of and couldn’t ever really find a moment to think about if he really needed to tell anyone?
That’s what’s brought him to this, the feeling of ugly envy and jealousy watching you interact with Yoshida… now, it’s not like he disliked Yoshida but he didn’t particularly find himself fond of him either. Watching you laugh and joke with him worried him.. Yoshida was kind of openly gay or maybe he just acted like that, he wasn’t all too sure if he was honest.
That aside, the thought of Yoshida taking you away from him made him nauseous.
The two of you of course never disclosed the relationship but they should know that you’re off the market! At least!
“You wanna get out of here? It’s getting a bit stuffy, don’t ya think?”
Yoshida chuckled across the room, you scratched the back of your neck and said something that denji couldn’t quite hear because of the distance but he was quick to follow the two of you out of the room.
“Are you doing anything after this?”
“No, I’m probably gonna walk Denji home afterwards.”
You stretched your arms, raising your brow as you saw Yoshida turn his gaze to the entrance of the building.
“What are you guys doin out here?”
Smiling, you lowered your arms and greeted Denji.
“Just came out to get some air, what’s up?”
“Why didn’t you get me?”
Denji pouted, making the two of you laugh lightly
“Jeez, he’s acting like your boyfriend huh?”
Yoshida smirked, he knew that there was obviously something going on between the two of you but would wait for one of you to admit..
Denji opened his mouth to speak, only to close his mouth when you spoke
“We all have one member of the group who is like that, it’s nice, if only someone liked you enough for that.”
You smiled brightly at your friend, he sighed and laughed- used to your usual jabs at him and his distant relationships with everyone. He just wasn’t one to exert himself.
“I want to go home, Y/n.”
Raising your brow, you looked at a deflated Denji. You nodded, quickly checking your pockets to make sure you had everything.
“Alright, well my ‘boyfriend’ will like to go home. I’ll text ya later.”
Yoshida nodded, watching the two of you go off with a wide smirk on his lips.
“You’re awfully quiet..”
“Shut up.”
You were just as shocked as Denji was when he realized what left his mouth, frowning at your boyfriend you created a slight distance infront of him.
“Alright, we’ll discuss that when we get to your place..”
Denji felt his stomach churn in guilt. He’d never been outwardly rude to you since you started your relationship.
Joking quips were typical but never once had he ever told you to ‘shut up’, and neither had you. He cringed, he was in for a long conversation with you so he brainstormed how to apologize..
The two of you entered his apartment, he silently watched as you took off your coat and shoes, watching you enter his bedroom. He bit his lip, nervously following you into the bedroom.
“So what was that? Telling me to shut up now?”
You weren’t mad, more so disappointed and worried about what would make him do that.
“I.. it’s just! What if he takes you away?”
The gears were turning in your boyfriends head, you sighed and opened your arms for him to go in for a hug. He happily dove into your arms and rubbed his face into your neck.
“Yoshida? You’re kidding right?”
He tensed, lip quivering slightly as he buried himself further into you
“No! I’m not! I’ve never done any of this before I don’t know what to do when I’m jealous!”
That was true, the fact he could vocalize that he was actually jealous was a testament to how much he’s grown, how much he’s learned in this relationship. He was an unpredictable partner, and you had to be patient with him in these moments.
“And.. and when you acted like you weren’t my boyfriend in-front of him, I don’t know! It feels wrong! It is wrong!”
You couldn’t help but laugh lightly, it was true. Under any other circumstance, with anyone else, it would be ‘normal’ to say he was actually your boyfriend but this wasn’t a normal relationship as much as you wanted to make it seem so.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have indulged in that joke. But, if you want them to know it’s gonna be from you, you know that right?”
Rubbing your hand up and down his back, he only sighed and mumbled ‘yeah’, it wasn’t a formal agreement but it wasn’t exactly something that he had discussed.. wanting everyone to know. He quickly sat up, moving to sit in your lap and look down at you. His hands rested on your abdomen, a determined look in his eyes.
“I’m ready to tell them! We’ve already had sex, they should know you’re mine!”
You blushed, but laughed and nodded
“Okay, that’s one way to choose. We’ll tell them next time we see them.”
He grinned widely, showcasing all of his teeth before he leaned down and caught your lips. You returned the kiss, biting his bottom lip and making him moan- taking advantage of it to explore the familiar warm space. Denji started to grind his hips against yours, you felt his hands start to trail up your chest and moving to tangle his fingers in your hair.
You felt his bulge brushing against your stomach, pulling away to catch your breathe you gazed up at him- his face flushed bright red and he still bucked his hips.
“That little bit of jealousy got you all worked up, Hm?”
He nodded, leaning down you leave wet kisses on your neck
“I’m all yours Denji, no need to worry about anyone else. I love you.”
He whimpered, feeling his own precum leaking from him and becoming desperate for more contact
“ ‘am sorry, I love you too- ugh- please..”
You switched positions with him, flipping him on his back and climbing to hover just above him. Leaning down to return the wet kisses to his neck, marking his collar bone before slipping his shirt up and over his head. He pushed himself up to chase your lips, fumbling with your shirt to try and start to undress you. Smiling into the kiss, you briefly pulled away to toss your own shirt across the room. Denji continued to keep your mouthes connected, his kisses felt like he was trying to eat you out of desperation. You pulled away and returned to lapping at his neck, the soft skin becoming pink and red with the new marks and suction.
He began fidgeting with his belt, eager to kick off his pants that only slid down to his knees because of the position.
“Calm down, we have all the time in the world..”
Forcing your hand onto his chest, you pushed him down gently and watched as he panted. Denji was always one to rush things, always wanting to get from point a to point b as quick as possible.
You wanted to teach him that patience can be gratifying, he’d never really been given the chance to learn that not everything is running away from him, not everything is going to leave him hanging, especially not you.
He nodded, catching his breathe and getting comfortable like you’d shown him before. It made you smile softly, he reciprocated and smiled up at you. Gently, you pulled down his pants like he’d wanted, and took off your own.
“We’re gonna go slow today, you’re worked up and I don’t want to hurt you.”
Denji felt loved, and for once it wasn’t just a familial or obligated love. It was a tender, caring, intimate love. Love that made his heart beat fast, his brain fuzzy, and always catches his breathe in his throat.
He always a had a choice with you.
He had a choice in if he wanted to love you, if he wanted you to love him.
And he did, wholeheartedly. For once in his life, he felt like he had control in a relationship.. he wasn’t being used, he wasn’t being gawked at, he was being looked at with pure adoration and love.
The boy felt like crying, out of joy from the intimate moments he shared with you.
You had no ulterior motives, you just wanted him.
Denji.
Not the chainsaw man, not a stupid guy with nothing, not a naive no morals guy.
You kissed his shoulder, taking him out of his reflection.
“Can you lay down?”
Leaving a ghostly kiss on his cheek, you obliged and laid down. Holding his hands as he sat atop of you. Despite the arousal from both of you, he still took his time running his fingers across your skin and investigating every curve and dip on your body.
Laughing lightly at the faint tickling sensation, you let him continue his little journey.
“When you’re ready, it’s in the drawer.”
Nudging your head, he momentarily gazed at the bedside drawer. Denji laid down on you, bare skin warm to the touch and he felt your heart beat against his as he kept his chin up to look at you. Wrapping your arms around him, he sighed in content feeling your hands against his bare skin.
While he laid there, his arm stretched to the drawer and struggled getting the lube and condoms out. Gazing at him, you let him control what to do. He kissed your jaw before sitting up again, smirking when he saw your dick spring up at the release from being pressed between the two of you. Slipping a condom out of the box, he ripped the package and slowly unrolled it over your head and secured it down your shaft. Denji kissed you again, passing you the lubricant- squirting some in his own hands before he let you.
Denji liked to help himself out before he let you properly prep him, it was more of a mental thing for him so you let him do it. Your boyfriend groaned, wiggling around on top of you.
It took him a few minutes but when he laid down on your chest, he saddled his ass up in the air for you. You kissed his forehead and praised him, making him blush and smile stupidly against your chest.
Taking a generous amount of lube in your hand, you warmed it between your fingers before letting the excess drip onto his ass.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes..”
Gently, you circled his rim and took note of how it puckered on contact. Sliding in a finger, Denji sighed out and closed his eyes. Putting in a second finger, you started to stretch out his tight, gummy walls. His ass tensed and released with every thrust your fingers made, and he softly moaned into your skin while he adjusted.
You prepped him thoroughly, never wanting to hurt him or make him feel rushed. Only when he became warm and comfortably loose did you lower his hips.
“Do you think you can handle this? We can stop if you’d like.”
Nuzzling into his blonde hair, he nodded and moved himself to where his ass would meet your dick. You took in a deep breathe, sliding yourself into his prepped but still taught ass.. he grimaced slightly but sighed in relief at the quick adjustment.
Despite the lazy position and non-caring attitude, Denji felt himself in ecstasy, being filled by you was one of the few pleasures he could never get enough of- one of the only indulgences that he craves.
You thrusted up into him, relishing in the soft sounds he made- he reached up to catch your lips and with that you sat up with him still in your lap. Sitting against the headboard of the bed, he began rolling his hips in tune with your thrusts.
He moaned in your mouth, lazily kissing you in between his moans. Moving your hand, you wrapped it around his dick and softly pumped it in your hand. Denji pulled away and moved to bite down on your shoulder, his breathe heavy and hot against your skin.
Denji felt fulfilled, he was safe in your embrace and you were taking full care of him in such a vulnerable state.
Your boyfriend was quick to let out a whimpering groan, feeling his dick tense before he came. The cum pumping out in strings onto your hand.
“Do you still want to continue?”
“I want you to finish.”
He sighed, nuzzling into your neck and wrapping his arms around you. You picked up the pace, not too much, but just enough to chase your own orgasm so your boyfriend could rest and not get too overstimulated.
He moaned, clutching you tighter and letting his nails prick at your skin.
“I’m almost done.. just a few more minutes..”
Quickly, you finished yourself and pulled out of him slowly. Taking off the condom and tying it off before throwing it away in the bin beside the bed.
“You okay now? Know that I love you and won’t take anyone else?”
Teasing him, you pecked his nose and he pouted.
“You better not.. just.. don’t talk to Yoshida too much until I tell everyone.. okay?”
He couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit embarrassed, but he got over it when you agreed and didn’t make him feel bad about it.
You were helping him explore these complex emotions, not teaching because he didn’t need to be taught how to have them, but to be shown how to work with them. To cope.
You both knew that he would never tell you to shut up again, even if there were no actual repercussions from you it just.. wasn’t something to be said to your boyfriend. He didn’t want to be mean to you, and you wanted to understand him.
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aezuria · 8 months ago
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Could you maybe do jason grace x jealous fem!reader? We know that Jason is canonically VERY attractive. He's legit all American boy fr, so obv he'd have so many ppl crushing on him in camp. So reader thinks she's not pretty enough for him or something and jason finds out abt it, and reassures her that's she's perfect :( ahh just some fluffiness maybe?
*ੈ✎ golden boy, can i be your golden girl?
content: jason grace x reader; oneshot
╰┈▸ back cover: part I | part II
warnings: bit of angst BUT it ends in fluff dw
librarian's annotations: IM SO SORRY ANON mitski started playing and i forgot u said "just some fluffiness" 😔😔
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sometimes, you could hardly believe that you were dating the jason grace. "the jason grace," as if he was some world-famous football player, which he'll probably turn out to be. every single student knew his name like it was stamped into their brain as soon as they started attending this school. it made you both proud and uneasy, especially when more popular, pretty girls went up to him. you didn't doubt his loyalty, of course, but you often felt that he could have done so much better. any girl would gladly date him as soon as he requested. but he chose a no-name like you, instead. you couldn't count the amount of times your own classmates said "who?" when jason mentioned you.
it wasn't fair, you knew. you could tell he very obviously loved you by the way he handled you with such gentleness it made your heart hurt. his air alone seemed to shine like the sun, illuminating you and everyone around him. but akin to the sun, it hurt to look at him for too long.
and yet, you couldn’t bear to leave his side and offer a better, more suitable partner for him— for you were too selfish. he was all you ever wanted, was it so wrong to hold onto that dream for a few moments more?
(yes, it was)
"you'll be at my next game, right?" jason pressed a kiss to your temple as he cradled you in his arms, your back to his chest. "you're my good luck charm after all."
it was stupid. so stupid, because you knew he wanted you there— he just asked you at that. but it didn't stop the churning in your stomach about how you felt that you didn't belong on the bleachers.
"yeah. i'll be there for sure." you smiled. troubling jason would hurt you more than keeping your thoughts to yourself. you wouldn't let his sunshine dim if you could help it. and that, you could.
your heart was too heavy for you to fall asleep. it weighed you down, filling your lungs so you couldn't breathe. your rampant tossing and turning led you to the moon, shining timidly behind the curtain. you reached out to part it to the side, the moon sneaking into your room and drowning your sheets in a soft glow. it tickled your skin and did away with the uneasiness in your heart, scaring it away into tomorrow. rest easy, now.
but the moon was gone with the night, the sun in its place as it tugged at your heartstrings to wake you up. it's brightness was warm yet harsh, urging you to get ready and see your own golden boy. you heaved a sigh and obeyed, swinging your feet off the side of your bed and getting up. as you picked out your clothes, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror and paused. was this really what he wants? it was hard to believe. you didn't have to look close to see the imperfections etched on your face, your body. put next to jason, it'd only make you seem worse.
"y/n!" jason scooped you into a hug, already dressed in his gear, save for his helmet. the sun does have its quirks after all. his touch burned the most of your thoughts away, leaving only amusement behind.
"you're squeezing too tight!" you croaked out through a fit of giggles only he could make.
he loosened almost immediately, pulling away to look at you with a bright smile, the tips of his ears turning red in embarrassment. "sorry."
you only grinned and pulled him down for a quick good-luck kiss. "play hard, sunshine."
jason's nose wrinkled at the nickname. "sunshine?" he laughed. "whatever you say, beautiful."
his coach blew the whistle for the team to gather 'round, jason waving goodbye before you could answer. beautiful? how was it that he always knew the right thing to say at the right time?
you made your way to the bleachers, sitting near the front where the team's close friends (girlfriends) and family sat. the tendrils of your mind crept up your back once again as you sat near the edge. you couldn't help but feel out of place— many of them were already talking with each other, having been together for the previous years. whenever they'd lean in to giggle at something, you couldn't help but think that they were talking about you. was it because you did your makeup bad today? was your outfit wrinkled? did the wind mess up your hair? the feeling in your gut returned, more persistent than last time.
you forced a bright smile as jason ran up to you once again, a triumphant grin splitting his face. "i won for you!" as he always did. you were happy, truly, and you hoped it showed instead of the emotions you just couldn't seem to get rid of.
"i saw! you did so good, jason!"
okay... something was definitely up. usually, you'd give him a kiss as soon as he came here— where was his kiss? and why didn't your sweet smile reach your eyes? but he knew you wouldn't tell him, especially not with this many people around.
"all for you," he repeated softly, his arm wrapping around your waist as he led you out of the field. "can you come over? i feel i'm in need of your therapeutic cuddles." he looked at you out of the corner of his eye, knowing the only way him to get you in a place he was able to comfort you was by making it seem as if he needed it. because for some reason, helping came so easily to you for the sake of anyone but yourself.
"..alright." you agreed after a brief pause. "is something wrong? or are you just tired?"
ever the angel, your immediate concern was heartwarming. jason gave you a reassuring smile. "just tired."
you came out of his bathroom, changed into one of his shirts. it smelled like him, touched with sunburnt kisses. he was already in bed, half of the blanket folded open for you to slip in.
and that you did, curling up beside him as his arms wrapped you up like a gift. he buried his face into your neck, breathing deeply before he whispered, "you wanna tell me what's going on?"
you froze. how did he know? were you that obvious? you should’ve hid it better! it’s not even a big deal, he shouldn’t have to-
“you know i love you, right?” jason spoke up, interrupting your thoughts. he said it so earnestly there was no other answer but yes. so, you nodded against him.
“only you. did you know you’re my first real girlfriend?” he pulled away, a soft light dancing in his eyes.
“really?” it was a hard thing to believe. with all the girls throwing themselves at him, it would be odd for him to not like any of them. “but, you’re so.. you. you’re kind and smart and talented.. tall and handsome too..”
“well.. i wouldn’t say that…” he chuckled nervously, not expecting to be hit with the side barrage of compliments. “but look at you— you’re smart and sweet, thoughtful and considerate..” he trailed off, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek. “and so, so, beautiful.” before you had a chance to doubt yourself, he leaned in and kissed your cheek, before moving his hand and doing the same with the other. soft lips moved to the tip of your nose, then up to your forehead, ending with one to your lips.
“the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.” he looked at you with such fondness, all your thoughts disappeared, whisked away into the air.
you met his eyes, a smile starting to show. oh, how he missed it.
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The Motorcyle Mishap (or, Our First and Second Six-Way Fight)
~ set in a modern Vesuvia and not-so-subtly based off my accident last week, have a fic with my self-insert "Drue" and his motley friend group! xD written for @vesuviaweekly ~
My hands are shaking in the damp, misty air as I type out my next message to the group chat, my right fingers already swelling as a car drives by and shatters one of my lost taillights behind me.
Drue: hey, can somebody come pick me up? i'm okay i promise
I sigh and look down at my discarded helmet on the sidewalk, right next to my crumpled gloves and the absolute beauty that was my motorcycle currently laid out on the pavement. A well-meaning stranger pauses and calls out from the other side of the street.
"Hey, you okay? Can I get you anything?"
I smile and wave, hoping they can't see the shake in my arm or the grimace I'm fighting back. "I'm good, thanks though!"
"You sure?"
They look ready to cross the street. I don't have it in me to talk to strangers right now - "Yep! I've already got friends on the way!"
At least, I think I do. Judging by the incessant buzzing of texts flooding my phone, I'm almost certain I do.
Asra: omw, where r u
Portia: what happened??
Julian: Are you okay? What do you need? Are you hurt? Where are you?
Lucio: he said he's okay guys wtf
Nadia: Drue saying "I'm okay I promise" is precisely why I know he's probably not. Does anyone have his location yet? I expect to finish this early morning meeting in another ten minutes.
Drue: i'm at the corner of -
My keyboard is cut off by a new call screen, which quickly splits into two and then three incoming calls. I pick up on the one that I haven't heard from yet.
"Heyyy, Muriel, what's up?"
"Where are you?"
"I'm at the intersection of Gladiator Ave and Market St, just past the canal. You know, where the cobblestones have the old tram tracks in them?"
"Good. That's close. What happened?"
"Uhm - okay - so, I'm okay ..."
"You bold liar ~"
I pause at the second, considerably airier voice on the line. "Muriel is - is Asra with you?"
"Yep!" I can hear the engine of his hippie van hitch as he shifts gears. There's a moment of eerie silence broken by nothing but the clinking of their mirror hangings and their quiet hum of turning right here until Muriel pipes up again.
"I asked him to drive me. Keep talking."
"Oh - yeah - right, so I - I think I crashed my bike."
I hear a sharp inhale and the engine protesting as Asra slams on the gas. Muriel grunts out a quiet "don't speed" before turning back to the speakerphone.
"Continue."
I try to replay the events of ten minutes ago, taking a deep, calming breath and ordering my thoughts. "I was taking a sharp turn uphill from a standstill, and the roads are pretty slippery right now, and I think I rushed myself trying not to hold up any cars. My back wheel slid out from under me -"
The gears churn on the other end of the line again and I swear I can feel Asra's tense attempt at not coming across too concerned. "Did you hit anything?"
I rub my throbbing shoulder. "Just a lamppost. Thankfully I was able to stay upright long enough to get out of the intersection."
Two slow exhales on the other end of the line. And then there's Asra's classic relieved chuckle, mixed with the near-silent scrape of Muriel rubbing his hand over his stubble in anxious thought.
"Well, it sounds like you handled that really well! Faust would be proud."
"Where are you hurt?"
"I'm not seriously -"
"Hmph. Better hope you're right."
Sure enough, I glance up in time to see the yellow beams of Asra's headlights in the early morning fog. The next thing I know they're pulling up next to me and hopping out of the van. I'm ambushed in a flurry of white curls and a warm, relieved hug before Muriel gets close enough to lay a cautious hand on my shoulder.
"You're wearing armored leather. Good."
"You don't look hurt either, but - oh Drue, your hands are shaking."
I nod, suddenly tempted to choke up now that I'm not the only one facing the problem. "My fingers got mashed between the handlebar and the lamppost, but otherwise I think I'm okay. I'm more worried about Bonnie."
"Muriel will help with it," Asra interjects, earning a grudging don't volunteer me like that but also you're right look from him before turning back to me, "and Ilya should be here any minute now."
"Thanks." I sit down on the nearest curb and give my friends a once-over. Muriel's already hefting the 500-pound machine back onto its wheels, not minding the smudges of grease that wind up on his hiking boots and trousers. Asra, on the other hand, is proudly standing in the middle of the sidewalk in rainbow crocs, fluffy leopard print socks, paisley-printed boxers, a shredded second-hand sex pistols band tee with old paint splatters on it, and a starry purple bathrobe. They turn back to me quizzically as if they can feel my stare.
"Hm?"
"Did you just wake up?"
Muriel grunts as he finishes maneuvering my battered motorcycle into a proper parking spot. "Do you ever see him awake this early?"
"Only when it's because he hasn't fallen asleep yet ..."
"Exactly."
"Oh, speaking of sleep deprivation -" I point with my right hand out of habit and immediately wince and grimace at the pain that shoots up my arm. "It looks like Julian's -"
"I'm here! Where is he?"
Two car doors slam shut a little ways up the street and the Devorak siblings come running down the sidewalk with their characteristic enthusiasm. Julian looks about as disheveled as usual, with his younger sister already dressed and done up for the day and carrying several large bags on her shoulders. He drops to a crouch in front of me and reaches straight for my eyebrows.
"No immediate signs of a concussion, that's a promising start - where does it hurt?"
I squirm at the focused attention as he checks my pupils for a good response, suddenly aware of all the parts of me that really want to lie down, and seized with the need to seem like I've got it all together.
"It doesn't hurt anywhe -"
One stern look from Portia over his shoulder and my mouth clicks shut. "Drue I swear to all that is good and holy if you dare to keep us from helping you I will make you regret it."
I nod and turn back to the doctor gently tugging my leather jacket off my shoulders for a better look. "I hit the lamppost on my right side, but the only thing that really hurts right now is my hand."
"Let's have a look then, shall we?"
I can see a familiar brow furrow and chin wobble appear on Portia's face when Julian gently lifts my hand in his and everyone present sees the way my knuckles are slowly disappearing into the swelling, reddish-purple bruise. He slowly bends my wrist this way and that.
"Does this hurt?"
"Nope. Just my fingers."
He nods and sets my hand back down. "An X-ray might be a good idea, but in my professional opinion, you're going to be right as rain. Given that you - ah, take proper care of it."
"As if." Portia rolls her eyes and holds out an instant cold compress, fishing in her bag again for what turns out to be a hand wrap. "You don't have a great track record with doing things the 'proper' way."
"Hey -"
"Seriously though!" She crouches down next to me and shoves a pastry against my chest. "You just got your bike, and you took your first trip out in weather like this?!"
She gestures to the hanging fog and slick roads and I feel my face flush with embarrassment. Asra steps in, still on high alert from seeing me injured and trying to lighten the mood.
"What, do you expect him to control the weather now?"
"Pasha's right," Julian cuts in with an afflicted sigh, "riding a motorcycle is already taking a risk. Perhaps I should've warned you better when you were planning to buy one. If only I'd -"
Asra bristles. "Perhaps you should let Drue make his own decisions, Ilya -"
"Don't you talk to my brother like that!" Portia squares up to the bathrobe-clad DJ, shaking off her older brother's feeble attempts to tug her back. "At least he has something helpful to offer here!"
Asra snickers. "And you're doing ... what, exactly? Shaming him when he needs help?"
"Enough." Nadia climbs out of the sleek towncar none of us noticed pulling up. "Is an ambulance needed?"
"No -"
"Can you secure your bike?"
"Yes -"
"Then get in."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I sit back on the plush sofa in Nadia's penthouse, watching sheepishly as she clicks back and forth in her heels. Portia hands her phone back to her with a playful smile.
"Your schedule's cleared, milady."
"Thank you, Portia." The city mayor graciously extends her manicured hand to accept it, and then turns back to face me with her polished nails tapping thoughtfully on the dark glass. "Now then, about the bike. Portia tells me it's currently enroute to the mechanic's, but whether or not you should ride that beast again is my greatest concern."
I look at her in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Julian clears his throat from where he's seated next to me on the couch, readjusting the cold compress he's currently holding against my hand. "We're not sure a motorcycle is - ah - wise."
"Ha! Do you think he cares about 'wise'?" Lucio appears from where he's somehow successfully invaded Nadia's liquor closet, an obscenely large amount of liquid sloshing in the glass he extends to me. I eye it cautiously.
"What kind of alcohol is that?"
"Does it matter? It looked like whiskey to me ..."
"Drue," Portia interjects worriedly, "what if it had been worse?"
I accept the glass with my good hand and take a hearty sip to avoid thinking about it. This tastes like a single malt. I'll have to remember to ask Nadia which bottle this is -
"C'mon, you're all overreacting!" Lucio flops onto the couch on my other side, flinging an arm casually around my shoulder. Asra and Muriel both stiffen slightly where they're occupying the nearby armchairs. "Everybody's gonna crash at some point! He just got it out of the way early, right? Besides, you gotta admit having one of those things is cool as fu-"
"'Cool', perhaps, but not safe." Nadia's eyebrows draw closer together the longer she ruminates on what's happened. "If he hadn't been able to keep the bike upright those extra seconds - if he hadn't been able to react in time - I fear to speak such things aloud, but he could have been trapped underneath it with a broken leg in the middle of an intersection. I don't take that scenario lightly."
Asra looks slightly queasy. Muriel, in typical fashion, goes right for the point.
"You could be dead."
"But he's not!" Lucio spreads his hands wide, grinning at his own truthful point. "He's fine! All he needs is some ice and he'll be zooming around town again in no time!"
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree with Lucio." Asra drags his hand through his hair, the curls practically standing on end. "Life is full of risks. I'm not going to stop him from living ... especially when, all things considered, he handled it really well." They finish their thought with a reassuring smile in my direction. I start to smile back, and then wince when Julian crushes the compress against my hand in protest.
"I see motorcyclists come into the hospital every day -"
"Exactly!" Portia interrupts, "It's one thing if you want to live on the edge, but something that dangerous is just stupid."
"Portia says it with more fervor than I would, but I must agree with her." Nadia sits at Julian's other side with a thoughtful hum. "You're inviting a level of risk you could be avoiding with a different vehicle. If it's a matter of purchasing power, I do have a vehicle or two that need a new owner."
I avoid saying anything out loud with another hearty sip of what's quickly becoming my new favorite liquor. Knowing Nadia, if I took her up on her offer, I'd be getting a brand-new car delivered to my basement apartment with a singular obligatory scratch somewhere on the back and a charge of five dollars for the transportation fee. Julian, getting antsy from the pause in conversation, turns to the one person who's barely spoken since he showed up.
"What, ah, what do you think, Muriel? You're - er - quiet."
Muriel's hum sounds suspiciously like a grumble as he shifts in his seat. "I'm not making his choices for him."
Portia, dissatisfied, fixes him with her blue-eyed stare. "And?"
"And ..." he shifts again, uneasy, "And if this is the riskiest choice he's making in his life right now ... I'm okay with that."
That leads to a longer, heavier pause. I can feel several pairs of eyes on the different set of faded, old scars further up the arm Julian's treating, and I hear a few quiet hums. Lucio squirms from the abrupt seriousness.
"I can drink to that, Scourge!"
"Don't. Call me that."
"Okay!" I jump to my feet, reeling from two six-way arguments in a row and what could easily be considered a triple shot of whiskey. Julian catches my wrist in protest and reapplies the compress. I swivel slowly to look my gathered friends in the face. "I appreciate all your thoughts and opinions and I will think about them seriously - as soon as thinking is easy again."
Julian stands to check my pupils again, smells the alcohol on my breath, and sits back down with an amused snort. I collect my thoughts and continue.
"Thank you - all of you - for rushing to help me. You've each helped me today in ways I wouldn't have been able to help myself."
There's a round of murmured "your welcome"s and one disbelieving "is he sober or isn't he?". I ignore the last remark.
"That said, I am ready to go home and lie down. I'll decide what to do with the bike while it's at the mechanic, so ... can someone drive me home?"
Asra's already rolling out of their seat, a collection of keychains jangling in their hand. Lucio holds up my empty glass.
"Want another?"
"No," I turn to Nadia, "but I would love to know which bottle that came out of."
She tuts graciously and stands up to walk me out. "I'll send you one of your own. You may need it as you recover."
Portia walks over with a kitchen towel to tie the compress to my hand. "Ooh, save me a sip!"
"And make sure not to mix it with any painkillers!" Julian calls from the couch.
"Let me know if you get the good prescription stuff, I'll buy some off you!" Lucio smirks at his unsubtle dealing request, earning a scolding look from Muriel as he escorts me out.
"Pretty sure that's illegal..."
Asra playfully holds out his keys with a teasing grin, waggling their eyebrows when I sway slightly on my feet. "So. Wanna drive?"
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monstersinthecosmos · 3 months ago
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Vamptember Day 5 - The Easy Cleft of My Mortality
{daughter - new ways}
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Daniel swallows.
Maybe he’s had enough, but he claws at Marius’s shoulders, bites down again to tear the wound open deeper. The arterial spray hits the roof of his mouth and he moans in pleasure.
They’ve been doing this for a while now. Daniel knows it, like a secret that’s buried. He knows that the ritual is muscle memory now—the way Marius comes to him, he way he straddles Marius’s lap. Marius’s strong hands always settle on Daniel’s hips, and he always stares into Daniel’s face when it’s over. Always combs Daniel’s hair into place with his fingers after, and always asks him questions.
Daniel doesn’t usually answer. Usually slides right off of him, and goes back to sleep. Lately, he’s been staying awake longer. He’s spent some nights watching Marius paint. 
You shouldn’t sleep all day, Armand told him once, and it had turned into an argument.
But he sees it in the visions. Marius scolding him for the same. Coming home at dusk to Armand in his bed, and none of the studying done. 
Anyway.
No, the point is.
They’ve been doing this for a while, and Daniel knows he’s seen visions in the blood. Didn’t have the energy to understand, maybe. Stored them away for later, to make sense of everything.
So maybe tonight is Later. And he looks, really looks. Tears at Marius’s throat to stay there.
The memories are infused with Marius’s thirst. Years of little tastes, when he’d wanted to take Armand’s life so, so badly. Daniel can feel the hunger, the lust. The willpower, every time, forcing himself to stop before he took too much. And the taste of it, coating his mouth. How he’d pull back and just sit there sometimes, holding it without swallowing, savoring it until it just absorbed.
Something hideous about these visions, seeing Armand so ruddy and alive. It’s a series of grotesqueries, really, and Daniel can’t look away. Staring into them feels as important as the powerful surge of Marius’s blood, as important as Armand’s had been when Daniel was alive. He thinks maybe these days he lives for them. 
The way he touches himself. The human smell of him. Cupping a hand around the healed wound on his throat as he masturbates with the other, his eyes half-lidded, color splotchy across his collar bones. Marius steps away, stands back, his mouth full of blood as he watches.
And what must it have felt like, finally? When he was feverish and dying, and Marius was finally able to take?
Perhaps how it felt for you, too, Marius suggests. He pets the back of Daniel’s head, and eases him away. 
The room around them snaps back into focus. His bedroom in Trondheim—he’s not sure he knew it was Trondheim before, but knows now. More information he’d tucked away for later. Hadn’t mattered before.
Marius holds him away, a hand gently on his shoulder. Studies his face for a moment, then fixes his hair, like he always does. 
It’s true, isn’t it. All those tiny sips, for years. Even longer than Marius waited. 
Daniel can’t remember the last time he spoke aloud. Isn’t sure he remembers how. He thinks, if he were human, his voice would be rusted and weak, but the dark blood keeps him too pristine. 
“Why didn’t you like him anymore?” he asks. Each word takes effort, and he feels them moving through, churning like disused gears, fighting their way to the surface. 
Surprise dusts across Marius’s face. Eyebrows lift for a moment, and he settles back against the couch cushions, thinking about it. 
“I don’t understand what you mean, Daniel,” he says softly.
The room spins and his mouth feels too heavy. His fingertips are numb. 
“After you turn them. You don’t like them anymore.”
Marius’s head tilts to the side. His hand cups Daniel’s jaw.
“That’s not true at all. How could you think that?”
Daniel’s consciousness recedes. More things to store away, for another later. Running on muscle memory once more, as he tucks himself under.
“He used to be a person,” Daniel mumbles. 
The room blurs. Everything looks red for a moment. Marius is speaking—Daniel sort of hears it. Sees his mouth moving, but everything is out of order. 
That’s okay, maybe. He shuts his eyes, feeling for Marius’s blood in his body. Buzzing, beneath his skin, and if he focuses on the warm glow he doesn’t have to feel the pain caving in his chest.
Why didn’t you save him, then? Daniel thinks. His teeth chatter as the grief washes through.
“That isn’t so simple,” Marius says. His eyes narrow, trying to read Daniel better. “Are you all right?”
A wave of it rises again, in his chest. Punching the air out of him, and if he keeps talking he knows he’ll cry. 
“I wanted this,” he says. His voices folds under the emotion, and his vision is red again. And Marius is sitting up straighter, reaching for Daniel’s hand. Daniel can hear the heavy old heart beat a  little faster. “I begged him for it. For years. And then he didn’t want me once it was done.”
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adrift-in-thyme · 1 year ago
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@skyward-floored and I both noticed Warriors looking less than comfortable in Jojo's latest art and thought 'wait is he afraid of heights??' As someone who is VERY afraid of heights I naturally had to latch onto the idea...and write something about it. Sorry, Wars
CW for blood/injury, mentions of vomit, and descriptions of panic and fear of heights
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In no universe is this enjoyable.
Warriors stares down, transfixed by the sky and clouds beneath him, (beneath him — by the golden three they should be above him, ABOVE HIM like normal). His limbs are leaden, his thoughts scrambling, panicked. His mouth is dry as the Gerudo Desert.
He swallows, forces saliva down a too-tight throat. He and heights never truly have gotten along. But this is a new extreme. 
He’s never been this high before. He’s never been atop an island in the sky. It’s something he was very much fine, never having done. In fact, he was much more fine before the Shadow had decided it would be wonderfully comical to dump them here. 
To Sky, it had been the best thing since pumpkin soup. He was home, after all. Warriors can’t blame the guy.
Still…
He drags his foot away from where it had crept worrying close to the edge. How exactly had that happened?
Still, why on Hylia’s green earth does the hero have to live IN THE SKY?
Warriors glances over to where Sky is eagerly showing off his loftwing to Wild and Hyrule. A short ways away, Time converses with Gaepora. Not far from him, Legend and Wind seem to be engaging in a game of some sort. 
Warriors squints. Are they…are they hurling those strange, little creatures off of Skyloft to see them fly back? Well, not anymore, because here comes Twilight to save the poor things. Not that they had seemed to mind much…
The rancher catches Warriors watching and shakes his head. 
Can you believe these two? His gaze seems to ask.
Warriors dredges up a dry smirk. 
Try dealing with that behavior 24/7, he mouths.
Twilight frowns. I do, is his silent response. Then, his brows dip further, expression losing its exasperated humor. He walks forward, a tiny creature cradled in his arms. Still very much paralyzed, Warriors watches helplessly as he advances.
“Rancher,” he says, cordially, once the hero is beside him – or more in front of him. (Why Twilight has chosen to stand with his toes off the edge of the island, Warriors has absolutely no idea. All he knows is that it makes his legs go numb. He forces himself to look forward instead.)
“Captain,” Twilight replies. He shifts and Warriors’ stomach somersaults. “Are you doin’ alright? You look a little pale.”
“Do I?” Warriors chuckles. It sounds too harsh, too loud. “Must not be spending enough time in the sun.”
Twilight gives him an unenthused look. Warriors grins. The expression feels as wrong as his laugh. Too wide, too brittle. 
Why does everything just seem off right now?
“Don’t worry about me, rancher. I’m alright.”
Twilight studies him for a moment, eyes narrowed. He opens his mouth, no doubt gearing up to pry further. But Four’s voice rings out before he can, beckoning him to come inspect one thing or another. Warriors can’t truly make out the words. Maybe that’s because his ears are filled with the sound of rushing wind.
Is it the wind? Or is it coming from inside of him, stealing away his remaining balance and setting his stomach churning?
“Well, take care of yourself,” Twilight says. He sets a hand on Warriors’ shoulder, with a small smile. “And be careful. Can’t have you fallin’ off the edge there.”
Warriors looks down and immediately regrets it. He hardly registers Twilight walking away, doesn’t hear his brother’s lively voices as they enjoy the wonders of Sky’s home. All he can see is the drop off he is certain that he is mere inches from plunging off of. His line of vision narrows, darkening at the edges, and he stumbles back, arms wrapped protectively around his middle. 
“Captain?” Time is suddenly holding him, keeping him from toppling. “Are you well?”
Warriors swallows hard. “Fine, Sprite. 
“Just fine.”
It’s only the lack of a substantial breakfast that morning that prevents him from getting sick all over the old man’s shoes. ----------------
The next few days are torture. Warriors does his best to keep his distance from the edges of the island. But it is nearly impossible in a place so compact as Skyloft. And the sparse fences constructed around hardly seem enough to keep him from plunging off. 
So, he spends most of his time indoors (praying to any goddess who may listen that there won’t be a sudden earthquake that sends the building careening down into nothingness). 
His excuses are few and paltry. 
“I don’t feel well.” “I’m tired after the journey.” “I need to think about an actual plan to track down the Shadow before he gets too far ahead.”
The heroes can see right through him – he is certain of it. And none more than Time.
“Tell me what I can do, captain,” he says one night when Warriors awakens screaming after a dream of plunging into a sky of flame. (And wow, does that commotion help him maintain his secrecy and uphold his reputation. He’s doing wonderfully.) “Please, I want to help.”
Warriors’ breath hitches as he slumps into his little brother’s arms. Here, with the two of them there is nothing to hide anyway. He couldn’t even if he tried.
“You can get me off this cursed island,” he says, with a dry chuckle. “That would be lovely.”
Time merely sighs and holds him closer. 
They both know he can’t do that.
…just as he cannot keep away the monsters the Shadow sends after them the next day.
Venturing outside of the academy to fight off a hoard of monsters is not exactly something Warriors had wanted to do. He is a hero, however, and he refuses to leave his brothers to battle them alone. So, out he comes into the light of the day, with his heart in his throat and his chest feeling like Ganondorf is sitting on top of it.
“I’m sorry that you have to do this,” Time murmurs as they head toward the tell tale screeches (in the plaza, of course).
Warriors shrugs, somewhat stiffly. “Who knows? I could get lucky.” He sends Time a grin and plunges his sword into the first of the monsters. “Maybe the Shadow will open another portal.”
Time smirks. “Perhaps, he will.”
-----------------
The fight drags on all morning. Warriors fares well enough through it. He remains in the center of the plaza as often as he can and his brothers take care of the stragglers around the edges. He does his best not to look at them when they toe the edge, heedless of certain death less than inches away.
And he fights on with the same ferocity as he always does.
…until about midmorning. Because that’s when the moblin shows up. 
It is one of Sky’s – hulking and corpulent and capable of taking at least ten bokoblins with one hefty swing of its spear. But he has fought this kind before. With a smirk, he rushes forward to engage it.
He hacks away at its shield easily, then readies himself to dodge as it roars in rage. It rears back, then bends its head, smoke puffing out of its nostrils. 
Warriors raises an eyebrow. He hefts his sword more firmly into his hand.
“You gonna come and get me?”
It roars again and breaks into a run. He steels himself, tensed for the strike. One second, two, three…
“Warriors look out!”
Something hits him from behind – something big and bulky and heavy. It slams into his side, breaking bones on impact. He gasps, vision going spotty. 
And suddenly he is flying. His feet leave the ground and he is tumbling, head over heels through the air. The world is a blur of color, up is down and left is right. He is almost certain that he’s going to be sick.
Then, it’s over. He hits the ground in a tangle of limbs and fabric. Blood fills his mouth and he chokes on it. 
“Captain!”
Running feet sound in his ears. He blinks, dazedly, trying to bring everything back into focus. It feels like the moblin has taken to tap dancing on his skull.
“Ugh…”
“Captain!”
There is panic in that voice, he realizes sluggishly. There must be a reason for that, there has to be…
His vision clears just enough that he can make out a gigantic something looming above him. He tries to push himself up for a better look, but his upper half seems to be on a slightly different level than his bottom half. When he allows himself to lay down fully he sees only sky.
Ah…that would explain it.
Panic pierces him far deeper than any spear ever could. He digs his fingernails into the grooves in the pavement, gritting his teeth against the pain and oncoming unconsciousness.
Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out…
“Captain!”
He tries once more to pull himself up and fails. 
Warriors lets out a grow of aggravation. He really wishes his brothers would exert more energy on fighting off this thing and getting him back on land than yelling his title repeatedly.
…though maybe he has heard it a few more times than they have really said it. 
The monster raises its weapon just as Twilight comes out of nowhere, leaping forward to skewer it. The rancher’s sword strikes home seconds before the monster’s can, piercing it through. And the next thing Warriors knows, he’s staring up at the concerned face of his brother.
“Are you alright?”
Twilight leans forward, grabbing his hand and supporting his back as he drags him away from the edge. Warriors slumps against him with a relieved sigh.
“Just great,” he slurs and Twilight chuckles. 
“Don’t worry. We’ll get you a potion and you’ll be just – ”
Warriors isn’t entirely certain what happens. He is too dazed to comprehend the events that occur in quick succession.
One moment he is held in Twilight’s arms and the next, the rancher is wrenched away from him with a grunt of pain and shock. Then, something collides with Warriors’ chest…
And he’s falling.
His stomach turns to lead, the wind rushes past at breakneck speeds, his scarf tangles about his limbs. Panic courses through his veins, beating in time with his pounding head and thumping heart. It encases him like a vice, paralyzing him, chasing away all other feelings, all other sensations save for icy, thick, undefeatable terror.
Warriors shuts his eyes and grits his teeth. He can’t breathe. He’s going to be sick, he’s sure of it.
…Or maybe he’ll die before that happens. Maybe he’ll collide with the hard ground and in a quiet, contained explosion of agony be gone. 
And after he had just gotten up the courage to propose to Arty too. Isn’t that just his luck.
“Hold on, Wars!”
An inhuman cry rings out, free and brave and strangely familiar. In the next moment Warriors’ lands with something blessedly solid. Arms wrap around him, warm and strong. A heart beats fast beneath the chest he collapses against. 
“I’ve got you, captain,” Sky breathes. “I’ve got you.”
He drapes his sail cloth over Warriors’ trembling shoulders. Warriors clutches it so tightly his fingers ache. 
“Get me somewhere low to the ground,” he whispers, in between haggard breaths. “Please.”
“Don’t worry.” Sky’s voice is kind. “I’m bringing you to the Surface.”
The Surface. That sounds promising. Warriors can only hope that it is as solidly on the ground as the name suggests.
He won’t see it if it is, though. He keeps his eyes stubbornly closed the entire trip.
---------------
The Surface, it turns out, is just plain, old Hyrule. Which, in Warriors’ book, is pure heaven. 
“I still can’t believe no one thought to tell me about this place,” he gripes as he limps out of Sky and Sun’s cozy, little cottage, two days later. “Why would anyone want to stay up in the sky when we could be down here, on the ground?”
Twilight smirks. The rancher has been cooped up with him for the last few days as they healed from the injuries they got on Skyloft. And Warriors has to admit that he has appreciated his company. 
“I still can’t believe you’re afraid of heights.” Twilight grins innocently at him. “The great Captain of the Hyrulean Army, scared of a little sky island.”
His tone is light and teasing and Warriors feels no pain from the jabs. But he scowls anyway.
“I’m scared of falling off a ‘little sky island.’ Which, coincidentally, I did and nearly died. Given that, I’d say the fear is warranted.”
Twilight hums. “So, what you’re saying is fear of heights is really a fear of falling.”
Warriors sighs. He looks out over the small town Sky and Sun are building, smiling slightly as he spots Time and Wind fishing in a nearby stream. It’s lovely, really, how he’ll be able to enjoy those activities with them now that he isn’t trapped in the grip of nauseating fear.
“I don’t know, rancher,” he says, shrugging. “Call it what you want. All I can say is that I want my feet firmly on the ground.”
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esteljune · 9 months ago
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Jhonny "Soap" MacTavish x surgeon f!reader
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Synopsis: It's Christmas Eve, Johnny is on temporary leave at his family home. He didn't have the courage to ask you to go with him because you've only been dating for a few months and you have to work anyway. As soon as you tell him on the phone that you'll be working the night shift, he feels like an idiot for not asking you to come with him so he jumps in his 4runner (thanks @brewed-pangolin for introducing me to this mindblowing headcanon) and drives for over three hours straight to come to you.
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As you watch him walk out the door, you've never once protested, never hesitated, always showing your best side. Your best, which is equivalent to sincere love, the most tender dedication, the broadest understanding.
Every time that blue-eyed giant leaves you behind, a piece of you inevitably goes with him, a piece of that heart that now beats wildly in front of his tender and apprehensive gaze.
It's hard not to get carried away knowing that this ridiculously and scandalously attractive guy drove like a maniac on a holiday just to see you again.
He had drawn you to him by grabbing the stethoscope intertwined around your neck, a satisfied and cheeky grin painted on that face so painfully close to your heart that it made your stomach churn.
Whatever you had wanted to object to his madness had been silenced by a kiss. One of his. So deep and all-consuming that it clouded your brain, keeping you anchored to his hot skin, to that rapid breath with a vague scent of tobacco and coffee.
"As much as the prospect of kissing you for the fifteen minutes of break I have left is definitely tempting, Sergeant. Can you tell me why you're here? Like, for real." you murmured on his soft lips, in the pause needed to catch your breath, the stubble on his scarred chin tickling your face.
"Steamin' Jesus. Because I wanted tae ask ye tae come to Glasgow with me when I came back, but I didn't. Instead, ye'll spend the night with your hands inside someone's chest." he cursed in that thick Scottish accent that was capable of making you lose your head on its own. His forehead pressed against yours, desperately.
"Johnny, stop worrying about me. I'm fine. And I'll be fine tomorrow. Knowing you're happy and safe is all I need right now." you breathed a smile, and you meant it, you meant it with every fiber of your being.
And yet, that pain, that insecurity so deeply rooted inside you had not escaped those brilliant ice blue eyes.
If he had known words strong enough to tell you how Soap felt, he would have done it, but he was not like you, his world was all action, adrenaline, discipline, control, instinct. There had never been much room for that oppressive and nameless feeling that had crushed his chest since the day he met you.
For Johnny, actions were worth much more than his limited arsenal of words.
"Here, take these. I want ye to keep them. For when I'm gone." he grunted with a breath caught in his broad chest, as his big, calloused hands nervously fumbled around his neck.
He almost awkwardly pulled off the dog tags, now dulled by the time spent resting against that familiar body, and dropped them into your hands. For a moment you could have sworn you felt him trembling. Your heart skipped a beat.
"I can't accept them, you stubborn Scot. Your blood type is written on them." you muttered, trying to camouflage your burning cheeks, the words dying in your throat.
"It's also on my combat gear." Johnny grinned in response, with that childish and mischievous smile that had often almost made you slap him.
"You always have a quick answer, don't you?"
You looked at them, more intensely and for longer than you would have liked. The truth was, you were afraid.
"I can't, Johnny. Keeping them... It would almost feel like you're never coming back to me." you confessed in a barely audible whisper, your heart sinking a little in your chest.
His rough fingers on your chin had the effect of an electric shock, forcing you to lock eyes with his prodigious blue ones.
"It's just a wee loan, aye? You decide if and when to give them back tae me. I'll always be here." he smiled and you felt like you could breathe again.
"If I could tear me heart out of my chest and leave it with ye, I would, lass. Ye'll have to settle for these."
That promise seemed to imprint itself so deeply inside you that you thought it would leave a scar.
"You can't say these things to me, Johnny. I'll end up believing them." you replied softly, praying with all your heart that it was true, that his absence would not one day destroy you.
Seeing in his eyes that he had caught the doubt that had slowly crept into you broke your heart.
"Hen..." he began in a hoarse whisper, again searching for words he didn't know.
The sound of your pager interrupted him and the moment was already gone.
“I’m sorry, I have to go.” you smiled, brushing your fingers against his achingly beautiful face, his icy eyes melting into yours and turning your blood to lava.
“Go. Save the world, bonnie.” he was so proud of you that he felt his chest might burst. Whatever he had wanted to tell you, he was sure you knew it already, you knew everything, even before he confessed his love to you. You had understood it before he did.
He loved you, and he let you go.
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Please bear with me and my poor imitation of Johnny's accent T_T unfortunately english is not my first language
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peachyloveswriting · 2 years ago
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Kyle x reader who has social anxiety?
CLUB CELEBRATION --- Kyle Brovloski
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SUMMARY: Kyle drags you to the club for Kenny's birthday but you're not very thrilled.
⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝
Stan and Kenny are standing outside waiting for Kyle and I when we open the front door. Kyle smiles and greets them with a hello while I softly wave my hand. Reaching back Kyle intertwines our fingers before tugging me along beside him. "We're ready to go now?" He asks as he makes his way to his friends sides. All turning, we walk down the sidewalk towards Kenny's truck. It's still on, waiting for us while snow falls all around.
"Yeah. Night out at the club for your birthday Kenny." Stan claps him on the back and smirks at him. "Hell yeah!" Kenny retorts.
We all pile into the truck, squished closely together while Kenny shifts gears awkwardly in front of Stan's open legs. I'm squished in-between Stan and Kyle, my thighs pressed tightly together. I'm surprised they wanted me to come with, especially to a club. Kyle didn't want to disrespect me by going alone which I would've been completely fine with. But he begged for me to go. I didn't want to go for a good reason, being around so many people is nerve wracking. Even just sitting with so many people now is enough to unsettle me. Of course I know these people so I feel comfortable being here and chatting, however the public part is going to kill me.
After the longest ride to the club in the next town over, we file back out onto the snowy streets and make our way towards the entrance. Kenny's the first to make his way to the door, holding it open to the rest of us. "Let's get fucked up tonight, yeah?"
The guys around me cheer before pulling me into the chaos that is the club. Bright lights flash all around and loud electro music rumbles in the background. All around is the loud chatter and shouts of the visitors all around us, their bodies all merged together on the dancefloor. I can feel the tension building, all the half naked women grinding against guys making me nervous. Kyle drags me to an empty booth table. "We're going to go grab a drink. Want one?" He asks.
"I'm supposed to be the designated driver. Remember?" I respond. He stares at me before nodding and leading the guys off towards the bar. I'm left alone in my seat, everyone's walking around the table with purpose. Each one of them eyes me strangely as they pass. It must be strange seeing me sitting here all alone. They probably think I'm weird cause I'm not dressed inappropriately or drinking. That feeling grows unsettling on my shoulders. Setting my hand on the table top I pick at my nails before eventually pulling out my phone as a distraction. It feels like Kyle should have been back by now but trying to get through a crowd would take a while. So I try to keep still, dating the urge to jolt up and look for him by bouncing my knee.
"Excuse me ma'am." I hear over the noise. I glance over to see a tall slender lady with barely any clothes covering her body. She's absolutely drop dead gorgeous. "Are you here alone?" She quires.
My stomach drops and I open my mouth stupidly to speak. I'm not here alone, I'm with friends is what I want to say but nothing comes out. "Ma'am?" She repeats.
"Ah. She's with us." Kyle scoots from behind her and slides into the seat with me, he holds a beer in his hand and takes a sip of it before smiling at me. She nods, observing the other two as they sit down.
"Right. Enjoy your stay." She moves along to the side and disappears from sight. Small chatter between the boys begins to pick up but I sit silent in my corner. The occasional laughter calls for even somewhat relevant smiles or fake huffs of laughter, otherwise i don't say a word. This whole situation is rather uncomfortable and being brought here with so many people watching is horrible. I'm not terribly focused on the conversation at hand until Kyle nudges me.
"You well them what happened babe." He urges me. My stomach churns and a cold cavernous hole opens up inside my chest. I feel so small, everyone's looking right at me while I look on like a deer in headlights. I give a nervous smile.
"I'm sorry. What are we talking about?" If only the floor could open and wallow me whole, I'd gladly never come back. Kyle's smiles falls and his brows crease. 'Well, ok. Let's move on shall me?" He suggests to the others. Very softly his hand slides around my waist and softly squeezes my side. I figure it's a way of reassurance, just to show not to be worried but my heart is already pounding in my ears. Suddenly it feels like the middle of summer and the moisture is choking every breath.
"I'm going to step out for a bit." I whisper into Kyles ear. He looks and smiles with a nod, sliding out of the seat to let me past. All three watch me as I rush around the corner, my small bag slung around my shoulder. Shoving past a small group of people and towards the door, sporadically I shove it open and step into the cold night's air. Taking a deep breath and looking up at the cloudy sky my eyes flutter. The streets are empty around me, save for the few stragglers. Walking towards Kenny's truck, I extend my hand to the door handle. It shakes harshly like a leaf in the wind, something I hadn't noticed until I stepped outside. Firmly gripping the handle I pull it open and toss my bag inside. The quiet around me is reaffirming that no one is watching, I'm alone.
I hop into the passenger side seat an settle in with my legs out the side. The wind blows softly around the truck, the wind somewhat finding it's way into the truck. I shudder. In my rush to get outside I sadly left my jacket inside and now that I'm out here I'm not going back in for a bit. Just the though of going back in makes my stomach churn with unease and nausea creep up my spine. The door to the club opens and a younger couple exits, I find myself hoping that it's Kyle coming to find me though I doubt he would try. he was already having such a great time with his friends and I don't want to ruin that. Pulling my phone from my pocket I stare at the blank screen, there's no notifications. It's always dry, but I want so badly to text him. Even just staring at our messages I can't gather the courage to bother or faulter his mood.
Nervous, I start typing the first words of what I want to say. Abruptly his voice startles me. Shouting, my phone slips from my hand and falls to the floorboard screen up. Kyle leans down and picks it up, carefully studying my words.
With a hand over my chest, I scowl. "Kyle, why would you do that? I nearly had a stroke!" I fuss. The scare makes my chest ache and body shake with adrenaline.Giving the phone back to me with a soft smile he chuckles. "Didn't meat to. You forgot your coat, I was coming out to give it to you before you got cold but, looks like I'm too late." He points out.
Turning the phone off and sliding it back in my pocket, I hum. "Well thanks Kyle, that's sweet." His gloved hands slide over mine, the warmth is stark in contrast. "Scoot over, let me get you warm." He takes the folded jacket from his arm and places it around my shoulder before sliding me over. I turn quietly while he slides in beside me, an arm eventually comes to rest around my shoulder.
"What if someone sees?" It feels weird to be so open about this sort of thing even with really no one around. Though my question might seem stupid just thinking of other people watching again makes my whole body ache.
Kyle looks at me inquisitively. "What would that matter?" he counters. I shrug and look at the floor board. I know it doesn't matter but my nerves are so shot already that I'm not sure I can handle much more. His arm slides down to my waist and pulls me closer before he grabs my other hand with his free one. "Why'd you come out here?"
I sigh and a white cloud leaves my mouth. I feel bad for pulling him away from his night out with his friends even though he came out here just because he wanted too. "I just needed fresh air." I raise my gaze to meet his. "I hate crowds."
A sympathetic frown tips the edges of his lips down. "Is there anything I can do?" He asks. Just like before when we were inside his hand reassuringly squeezes my side. I shake my head. "No. It's just social anxiety, I hate being in places like this." The though of all those people watching and judging me makes me shudder with discomfort.
'I'm sorry. I didn't know." He hums softly. his genuine disappointment bring amusement to my face. Chuckling, I shake my head and smile up at him. "Don't be sorry. It's not you're fault. I can't help it."
A glimmer in his eyes lights up and he grins at me, leaning forwards to press his forehead against mine. His warm breath fans my face as he speaks. "I know. I just feel responsible for you." Very quickly he kisses my forehead and engulfs me in a warm and safe hug. Smiling softly, I hide my face in his shoulder. "Thank you, for being worried."
Kyle pulls back to look at me again. "Don't, I'm supposed to be worried about you. we're dating." His reassurance makes the hold in my chest slowly closes, bringing with it the warmth of a fire.
I snort, resting my hand on his bicep gently. "I'm thankful anyway. I didn't meat to kill the mood though."
"Kill the mood?" He repeats. I nod sheepishly. "You didn't kill the mood. If anything you made it awkward without you there." He whines. 'You should come back inside with me, we can come back out whenever you like." He offers.
Looking down at his hand covering mine, I hum. "Sure." Knowing I didn't ruin anyone's night or cause any problems eases my nerves. AT least now that Kyle knows I won't be going in alone to deal with it myself. He'll be beside me to keep me grounded, so I'm not alone.
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sicknessbysalem · 3 months ago
Text
Two for One Special | Sicktember 2024
ended up sort of combining ‘day five: rogue organ’ (which i didn’t think i was going to write so i subbed it) and ‘day sixteen: toxin/poison’ (to the extent of mentioning both)
in honor of the professional football season starting this weekend and my favorite team absolutely FUCKING EVERYTHING UP… i decided to write.
I’m sure my other works are long but this bad boy is 5.6k words because i had way too much fun writing college (so, baby) novak + appendicitis. So buckle up best friends.
if you have any requests, comments, questions, etc., send them my way!
tw emeto, fever, rapid sickness, life threatening sickness, hospitalization, fainting
Novak stood on the field, his broad shoulders squared against the weight of the game ahead. The air was electric, charged with the shouts and cheers of thousands of fans filling the stadium. His teammates were hyped, adrenaline coursing through them as they prepared for the biggest game of the season—the championship. But Novak... he wasn't feeling the same rush. Not entirely.
His stomach, twisted tight in knots since the morning, was gnawing at him more fiercely now. The nausea had started creeping in during the bus ride to the stadium, a subtle churning that he tried to write off as pre-game jitters. But now, standing in full gear with his helmet tucked under one arm, the sensation refused to fade. The queasiness simmered low in his gut, nagging at him as the countdown to kickoff drew closer.
He shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to ease the discomfort, but it didn’t help. Novak had been through enough rough games and tough hits to know that something wasn’t quite right with him today. It wasn’t just nerves. It was something deeper, something he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried to focus on the game plan.
From the sidelines, his eyes flicked toward the stands. Somewhere in that sea of faces was his mother, Marina. She had flown in to watch him play, and it was the first time in months he’d get to see her in person. That alone should have fueled him, but even thinking about her being there wasn’t enough to settle his queasy stomach.
The coach blew the whistle, calling them into the huddle. Novak tugged his helmet on, pushing away the swirling discomfort. He was Novak Daskalov, the linebacker who never missed a snap. He wasn’t about to let some stomach bug—or whatever this was—ruin his shot at a championship ring. Not to mention how many professional coaches were probably here, scouting draft picks. Sure, Novak had another year. But at least if he did well here, he'd be on the radar.
The game kicked off, and for a while, Novak managed to push the gnawing nausea aside. The thud of shoulder pads colliding, the roar of the crowd, the thrill of chasing down the opposing quarterback—all of it distracted him. But in the quieter moments, in those brief pauses between plays, the unsettling churn in his stomach would return, more persistent each time.
By the time halftime rolled around, Novak was drenched in sweat, but not from exertion. He pulled his helmet off as he jogged toward the sidelines, each step making his stomach lurch dangerously. His head was starting to pound too, a dull throb at the base of his skull, but he could handle a headache. It was the nausea that was beginning to get the better of him.
Novak made a quick decision. As soon as the team broke for halftime, he beelined for the athletic trainer's tent, keeping his head low so none of his teammates would ask questions. His vision blurred slightly from the discomfort, but he made it to the tent without drawing attention. Inside, the trainer, a seasoned woman who’d seen more than her fair share of sick and injured players, took one look at him and raised an eyebrow.
"You alright, Daskalov?" she asked, her tone more knowing than concerned.
He swallowed hard, wincing at the way his stomach protested the motion. “Yeah… just need a minute,” he muttered, his voice tight.
She nodded, not pushing him for more. Athletes had a certain pride, especially guys like Novak, and she’d learned when to give them space.
Novak barely made it to the trash can in the corner of the tent before the nausea took over. He doubled over, clutching the edge of the can as his stomach finally gave in to the relentless churning. His body heaved painfully, forcing out what little he had in his system. The retching was violent, his whole body tensing as he tried to keep quiet, embarrassed by the display of weakness. He gasped, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, the sour taste lingering in his throat.
The trainer was there with a water bottle, but she didn’t say a word, just handed it to him with a quiet understanding. He accepted it gratefully, taking a sip to rinse the awful taste from his mouth. His face felt flushed, and he could feel the dull ache behind his eyes intensifying.
"Look," the trainer said softly, "if you're not up for the second half—"
"I’m fine," Novak interrupted, his voice more forceful than he intended. His heart was still racing, but he wasn’t about to let this stop him. Not now. His team needed him. And more than that, he couldn’t afford to let his mom down. Marina was in those stands, expecting to see him walk off that field as a champion.
The trainer gave him a long, hard look before finally nodding. “Alright. Just… if you need to come back, don’t wait.”
Novak nodded, trying to force his body back into action mode. He wiped his face with a towel, took a few deep breaths, and left the tent. The second half was about to start.
Despite the queasiness that still lingered in his stomach, Novak jogged back onto the field, the roar of the crowd hitting him like a wave. His vision tunneled for a moment, the noise and lights blurring together, but he blinked hard, grounding himself. There were two more quarters to get through, and no matter how bad he felt, Novak was going to power through it.
By some miracle, he did. Each snap, each tackle, felt like a monumental effort, but he gave it his all. His teammates had no idea anything was wrong—he wouldn’t let them see it. Every hit sent a fresh wave of nausea through him, but Novak buried it down, forcing his body to obey his mind. He had to finish this game.
And when the final whistle blew, signaling their victory, Novak stood tall, his chest heaving with exhaustion and relief. They’d done it. They’d won the championship.
The crowd erupted into cheers, and Novak let himself feel a small burst of pride, even as his stomach threatened to rebel again. His teammates crowded around him, all celebrating, slapping his back, pulling him into the joy of the moment. Novak smiled, doing his best to join in, but the trainer’s tent still loomed in his mind. He could still taste the sour remnants of his halftime struggle, and his body felt far weaker than it should have after a win like this.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted Marina standing in the stands, beaming with pride. Novak’s heart swelled with emotion—he had done this for her. Despite everything, he had made it through.
-
Novak had barely slept.
The championship victory that had felt monumental the night before had lost its luster in the haze of sickness that followed. As soon as the adrenaline had worn off and he’d gotten back to his dorm, the nausea that had plagued him during the game came back with a vengeance. He’d hoped it would fade once the excitement was over, but instead, it had grown worse. Novak had spent most of the night in the bathroom, doubled over the sink or clutching the sides of the toilet, his stomach rejecting everything he had eaten—or tried to eat.
Now, standing in front of his mirror, he hardly recognized his reflection. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, his skin pale, the usual sharp angles of his jawline softened by the toll his body was taking. His right side ached, a persistent throb that flared whenever he twisted the wrong way, but Novak had chalked it up to the brutal tackles from the game. He had taken more hits than usual, and it was no surprise something was sore.
His phone buzzed on the dresser next to him—a message from Benji, his roommate.
You good? You were up a lot last night.
Novak stared at the screen for a second before replying: Fine. Just post-game stuff.
He left it vague on purpose. Benji had already expressed concern earlier in the morning, catching Novak pacing outside the bathroom after another bout of nausea, waiting out to see if there was more to come up or if he was fine for now.
Benji wasn’t stupid—he’d noticed how Novak had barely touched his breakfast or how he’d clutched his side a little too tightly when he thought no one was looking. But Novak couldn’t deal with worrying Benji right now, not when his head was already swimming with everything else.
Besides, he had to go to class. He couldn’t afford to miss a day, not with the semester well underway. Professors always gave athletes that sideways glance if they skipped right after a big win, as if the victory was an excuse to slack off. Novak wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction of thinking that. He had worked too hard to be dismissed as someone who was only there for the game.
Still, walking to class felt like an impossible task. The cold, early morning air should have woken him up, but it only served to make the nausea worse. Every step sent an unpleasant jolt through his stomach, and by the time he reached the first lecture hall, he felt like he was going to be sick all over again. He kept his head down as he entered, choosing a seat near the back, away from the more crowded rows in the middle. Plus, he was close to a doorway. Just in case.
As the lecture began, Novak tried to focus, but the professor’s voice sounded far away, like he was speaking underwater. His notes were a mess of half-written lines, his mind too foggy to keep up. The nausea pulsed in waves, and at one point, Novak had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek just to keep himself from bolting out of the room.
Halfway through the class, he broke.
The professor had been droning on about market analysis in sports industries when Novak felt the unmistakable rise of bile in his throat. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, as his body tensed in protest. He couldn’t let himself get sick here, not in front of everyone.
With barely a second to spare, Novak grabbed his bag and slipped out of the classroom. He walked as calmly as he could, but the second he was in the hall, he bolted to the nearest bathroom. The door swung open with a slam, and Novak fell against the sink, gripping the porcelain edges until his knuckles turned white. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead, the nausea overwhelming. But just like before, nothing came of it—his stomach twisted and churned, but refused to rid itself of the poison building inside him.
He braced himself against the sink, breathing hard, willing the nausea to pass. For a moment, he stayed like that, head hanging low, the cool air of the bathroom a slight relief against his flushed skin. But the reprieve was temporary. Novak splashed some cold water on his face and stared at his reflection again, the harsh fluorescent lights of the bathroom doing nothing to hide how awful he looked.
With a deep breath, he forced himself back to class.
By the time he returned, the lecture was nearly over, but Novak didn’t care. He slid back into his seat, ignoring the few glances that followed him. His right side throbbed again, but he pushed it aside, just like the nausea. There was only one more class before lunch, and if he could just make it through the morning, he’d be fine.
At least that’s what he kept telling himself.
The next class was worse. Novak could barely keep up with the lecture, the words from his textbook blurring in front of his eyes. He tried to take notes, but his hand felt heavy, his mind too slow to process what was being said. His stomach flipped dangerously more than once, and by the end of class, he had to stifle a groan as the pain in his side grew sharper.
Once the class ended, Novak bolted from the room again. The thought of lunch made his stomach turn, so instead of heading to the cafeteria, he found the nearest bathroom—one he knew would be less crowded—and sat down on the cold tile floor, his back against the wall. He could tell he would be sick again.
For a long while, Novak just sat there, knees drawn up to his chest as he leaned his head back against the stall door. His stomach felt like it was trying to tie itself into knots, the nausea worse than before, and his side throbbed with each breath. He wasn’t sure if he could make it through the rest of the day at this rate.
He didn’t want to worry Marina. She had come all this way to watch him play, and she was supposed to stay in town for a few days—probably to catch up, maybe even celebrate his win. But Novak couldn’t face her, not like this. He didn’t want her to know how bad he felt. She had enough to worry about with everything back home. He could handle this on his own.
But as the minutes ticked by, Novak felt the telltale signs that his body was ready to revolt again. His stomach lurched, and he barely had time to lean over the toilet before the nausea overwhelmed him, forcing up whatever little was left inside him. He gagged, his entire body heaving with the force of it, his throat burning as he tried to keep himself steady.
When it was over, Novak slumped back against the wall, breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath. He'd head to his next class soon. He just couldn't. Not right now.
-
Novak’s next class was a blur of half-formed thoughts and a dull, persistent ache in his right side. But for the first time since waking up that morning, the nausea seemed to ebb slightly. It wasn’t a full reprieve—his stomach still felt unsettled, but at least it wasn’t twisting with the same violent intensity. He sat at the back of the room, his notebook open, though his pen hadn’t moved in nearly twenty minutes.
Maybe this was it, he thought. Maybe the worst had passed.
With cautious optimism, Novak fished out a granola bar from his backpack. His stomach growled—not in hunger, but in protest—but he knew he had to eat something. He hadn’t had more than a sip of water all day, and if he was going to make it through this class, he needed some energy.
He unwrapped the bar slowly, as if the sound itself might trigger the nausea again. With a hesitant bite, he tested the waters, chewing slowly. His stomach stayed quiet. Encouraged, Novak took another small bite, then a sip of water. It wasn’t much, but it felt like progress. For the first time in hours, he allowed himself to believe he might actually make it through the day without completely falling apart.
But by the time the class was winding down, Novak realized his small victory had been short-lived.
As the professor wrapped up the lecture, Novak felt the familiar heaviness settling back into his gut, slow and insidious. The nausea returned, creeping in like a shadow, bringing with it a fresh wave of discomfort. He shifted in his seat, trying to stretch his back and alleviate the pressure on his side, but it only made things worse. The ache had sharpened, and now, every breath felt like it tugged at something deep within his body.
Novak gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay seated until the end of the lecture. He glanced at the clock—five more minutes. He could handle five minutes. But with each passing second, the nausea intensified, his stomach rolling with every breath. The water he had sipped earlier sloshed unpleasantly inside him, and Novak could feel his body threatening to rebel again.
Finally, the professor dismissed the class, and Novak was out of his seat in an instant, clutching his bag as he bolted for the door. He needed air—anything to keep from being sick in front of everyone again. But just as he was about to head toward the nearest exit, his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Marina Daskalova.
He paused, dread pooling in his stomach. He wasn’t ready to talk to her, not like this. Not when he felt like opening his mouth would make him puke. But he knew if he ignored the call, it would raise suspicion. With a resigned sigh, Novak answered, doing his best to keep his voice steady.
“Hey, mamon.”
“Novak! I was thinking, since you’re done with classes soon, do you want to grab dinner tonight? I’m still in town, and I’d love to catch up properly.” She sounded so excited, eager even. "Plus, I want to celebrate your win."
Novak’s heart sank. Dinner was the last thing he wanted to think about, especially with the way his stomach was churning. But how could he say no? His mom had come all this way to see him play, and the least he could do was spend some time with her. Besides, if he admitted to feeling sick, she’d worry, and he didn’t want that.
He forced a smile into his voice. “Yeah, that sounds great. I, uh, I still have one more class, but it should be over soon. I’ll meet you after.”
The lie slipped out easily, and even as the words left his mouth, Novak felt a pang of guilt. His last class had been canceled—he should have just told her the truth. But then he’d have to explain why he wasn’t feeling up to dinner, and that was a conversation he wasn’t ready to have. He’d rest for a bit back at the dorm, clean himself up, and hopefully feel better by the time they met up.
Marina sounded pleased. “Perfect. Just let me know when you’re free.”
“I will. See you soon.”
As soon as he hung up, Novak leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. The thought of food made his stomach churn violently, but he couldn’t back out now. He just had to make it through dinner—after that, he could collapse in bed and forget the whole day had happened.
He dragged himself back to the dorm, each step feeling heavier than the last. His body felt sluggish, the pain in his side a dull throb that refused to fade, and his nausea had only worsened since leaving the classroom. By the time he reached his dorm room, Novak was exhausted, his skin clammy with sweat. He fumbled with the key, pushing the door open and stepping into the familiar space with a sigh of relief.
Benji wasn’t there, which was a small blessing. Novak didn’t want to answer any more concerned questions right now. He needed to focus on getting himself together before dinner. He tossed his bag onto the floor and headed straight for the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face to shake the fatigue clinging to him. His reflection stared back at him, pale and drawn, eyes heavy with exhaustion.
He couldn’t show up to dinner looking like this.
Novak peeled off his shirt, wincing as the motion sent a sharp pain through his side. He gingerly touched the spot, half-expecting to find a bruise, but there was nothing visible. Maybe he’d pulled something during the game, or maybe it was just his body’s way of retaliating after all the stress it had been through. Either way, he couldn’t focus on that now.
After changing into a fresh shirt and brushing his teeth to rid himself of the lingering bitterness of nausea, Novak collapsed onto his bed. The soft mattress welcomed him, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to relax. He stretched out, closing his eyes, hoping the rest would calm his stomach and ease the throbbing in his side.
But the relief was fleeting. His stomach twisted again, a tight, uncomfortable knot that made him curl in on himself, pressing a hand to his abdomen in a vain attempt to soothe it. The ache in his side flared up again, sharper this time, and Novak clenched his jaw, breathing through the pain.
This wasn’t just the aftermath of the game. Something was wrong.
He could feel his body screaming for rest, for food, for anything other than the constant pushing he’d put it through. But he couldn’t stop now. He’d already promised his mom dinner, and if he canceled, she’d know something was up. So instead, Novak stayed there, eyes shut, breathing slowly as he tried to push the nausea and pain down.
He just needed to make it through a few hours. After that, he could deal with whatever this was.
-
Novak had hoped that resting for a while and eating something light would help steady him before meeting up with his mom. He’d managed to choke down a small meal and drink some water, and for a brief moment, it had seemed like things were going to be alright. The pain in his side had dulled, the nausea had lessened, and while he still felt off, he figured he could make it through the evening without issue.
But now, as he stood in front of his mom’s hotel room door, that tentative calm was unraveling.
His stomach had begun to twist again, a familiar and unwelcome sensation building deep in his gut. He shifted uneasily on his feet, swallowing back the rising discomfort as he knocked lightly on the door. His hand instinctively drifted to his side, pressing against the ache that hadn’t fully gone away.
The door opened, and Marina’s warm smile greeted him. “Novak! Come in, come in,” she said, stepping aside to let him in.
He smiled back, trying to ignore the wave of nausea that hit him as he stepped inside. The smell of her perfume—soft, floral, comforting—washed over him, but it only served to heighten the queasiness he’d been fighting all day. Novak’s steps faltered as he moved toward the small sitting area in her room, his stomach roiling violently.
“You look tired, sweetie,” Marina commented, eyeing him with concern as she closed the door. “Did you sleep at all after the game?”
“A little,” Novak lied, his voice strained. He dropped his bag onto a chair, trying to appear casual as he settled down. The effort it took just to sit upright sent a spike of pain through his side, and he grimaced, hoping she wouldn’t notice. “I’m fine, though. How was your day?”
Marina crossed the room, sitting across from him, but her eyes were sharp, studying him in that way only a mother could. “My day was fine, but you don’t look so fine,” she said gently. “You sure you’re feeling alright?”
Novak nodded too quickly. “Yeah, I’m good.” The nausea surged, and he shifted in his seat, trying to find a position that wouldn’t make the sensation worse. But the queasiness was growing stronger, his stomach twisting tighter with each passing second.
He glanced toward the bathroom, his heart pounding as the familiar pressure built at the back of his throat. “Uh, mamón—excuse me for a second. I… I’m… sorry.”
Without waiting for her reply, Novak bolted from the chair and made a beeline for the bathroom. The second he shut the door behind him, his stomach gave up the fight. He barely made it to the toilet before the nausea overwhelmed him, and he started to vomit, violently, painfully.
His body heaved, his stomach emptying itself in harsh, agonizing waves. The retching was brutal, each convulsion leaving him gasping for breath. Novak clung to the edge of the toilet, his knuckles white as his body betrayed him again. And worse, the pain in his side flared with each round, sharp and excruciating, until it felt like a hot knife was being twisted inside him.
“Novak?” Marina’s voice came from the other side of the door, muffled by concern.
He couldn’t answer. His body was too busy convulsing, too wrapped up in the vicious cycle of sickness. The pain in his side was unbearable now, radiating from his lower abdomen up through his ribcage, each heave making it worse. His vision blurred with tears from the strain, and he clenched his teeth, trying to hold himself together, but it felt like his body was being torn apart from the inside.
The door creaked open, and Marina rushed in, her face pale with worry. “Oh, sweetie…”
She knelt beside him, pulling his long hair away from his face and holding it gently as another round of vomiting racked his body. Novak could only gasp between heaves, his entire body trembling from the effort. The pain in his side was so intense now that it took all his strength just to stay conscious.
“Shh, it’s alright,” Marina whispered, her voice soft and soothing as she rubbed his back. But Novak couldn’t find any relief. His stomach kept rebelling, and the pain… it was too much.
“Hurts…” he managed to choke out between retches, his voice barely above a whisper. He pressed a trembling hand to his right side, hoping to ease the pain somehow, but it only made things worse. “Fuck.”
Marina’s eyes widened as she watched him clutch his side, her concern deepening. “How long have you been sick like this?”
Novak shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. His throat burned from the acid, and his stomach was still convulsing painfully. The pain in his side was now a constant, searing agony that left him breathless. He reached down, grabbing it. But that hurt. It was almost blinding. It made him retch harder and he was sure the pain in his side was an outward injury about to split him apart.
“Novak, look at me.” Marina’s voice was firm now, a mother’s tone when she knew something was wrong. “How long has your side been hurting like that?”
He managed to lift his head slightly, his vision swimming. “Since… since last night. I thought… it’d go away.”
Marina’s brow furrowed in concern, her hands still holding his hair back as he lurched forward again, his body wracked with another wave of vomiting. This time, it felt like the pain in his side was going to split him in two. Novak groaned, the sound low and desperate, and when it finally stopped, he slumped forward, his forehead resting on his arm.
Marina’s hands tightened slightly as she shifted into what Novak recognized as emergency mode. Even more so the way she saw Novak clench his jaw to muffle a sound of discomfort when her hand lightly rested on his side.
“I think your appendix is causing this,” she said, her voice urgent but calm. “We need to get you to the hospital, Novak. This isn’t something you can push through.”
“I just… need a minute…” Novak rasped, his breaths shallow. He tried to push himself up, to stand, but the pain was so intense it made his legs feel like jelly.
“Sweetie, no.” Marina’s voice was firmer now, as she tried to help him up. “We need to go. Now.”
But as Novak rose to his feet, the room spun violently around him. His stomach twisted, the nausea coming back full force, and the pain in his side flared so sharply that it took his breath away. His vision tunneled, and for a second, he thought he could fight it off, but then the darkness closed in.
“Novak!” he heard his mom shout, her voice distant and echoing as his legs gave out beneath him. The world went black as the pain overtook him completely.
-
Novak drifted in and out of consciousness, his mind foggy, the edges of his awareness blurred by the lingering effects of anesthesia. He couldn’t remember much—just flashes of things. His mom’s worried voice, the sharp pain in his side, the frantic rush of nurses. It all blended together in a haze, and for a while, he let himself float in that strange, detached space.
But as he began to wake, one thing became clear: he was nauseous.
The rolling in his stomach was unmistakable, a dull churn that twisted uncomfortably as he tried to shift on the bed. He groaned softly, trying to push the sensation down, but it refused to fade. His head felt heavy, and everything seemed distant and muted, but the nausea was stubborn, gnawing at him with each shallow breath.
He blinked slowly, his vision blurry as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The sterile smell of the hospital hit him first, clean and cold. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic beeping of machines, and a dim light filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the floor.
His throat felt dry, his body sluggish, and the nausea swelled again, sharper this time, pulling him back into reality. Novak swallowed hard, trying to push it back down, but his stomach rebelled almost immediately. He tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for his side—only to find the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as before. The sharp, stabbing agony was gone, replaced by a dull, residual ache that lingered beneath his ribs.
“Easy, sweetie,” came a familiar voice beside him. Novak turned his head slightly, spotting his mom, Marina, sitting at his bedside. She leaned forward, her face lined with concern, and gently helped him sit up a bit. “I’ve got you.”
The movement made his stomach churn violently, and Novak’s body reacted before his mind could catch up. He gagged, the nausea surging forward with brutal force, and Marina quickly grabbed the basin from the bedside table, holding it close as Novak heaved. His body wasn’t done yet, apparently.
The retching wasn’t as violent as before, but it was enough to leave him shaking, his muscles weak from the strain. Marina stayed close, her hand gently rubbing his back as he slumped over the basin, his breath ragged. The bitter taste of bile lingered in his mouth, and his throat burned, but at least the pain in his side wasn’t as excruciating.
When it was over, Novak collapsed back against the pillows, utterly drained. His head spun, the nausea still swirling in his gut, but the worst of it seemed to have passed—for now. He closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath, and felt his mom’s hand smoothing over his arm, a comforting touch in the middle of the chaos.
“You’re alright,” Marina murmured, her voice soft and soothing. “I’m here. They said the anesthesia might do that…”
Novak swallowed, his throat raw, and opened his eyes again, blinking against the bright lights. “What… happened?” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
Marina sighed, her expression a mixture of relief and concern. “Your appendix, sweetheart. It was acting up, and by the time we got you into surgery, it had already been close to bursting. It might have even burst right before they got in there, they couldn’t really tell but it was pretty bad.”
Novak’s mind struggled to piece together the information. He remembered the pain, how it had grown unbearable, but everything after that was a blur. He pressed a hand gingerly to his side, where a bandage now covered the incision. It was sore, a deep, dull ache, but it was nothing like the agony he’d felt before.
Marina leaned closer, wrapping an arm around him as she continued. It was then he noticed she was sitting on the edge of the bed, so he moved slightly over.
She kept her arm around him, reaching around and brushing his hair off his face. The same hold and rhythmic motion she always did to comfort him. Stomach flu, food poisoning, when Nikolai died and Novak came home. This was her comfort.
“You’ll feel pretty rough for a few days. They said it’ll take time for your body to flush out the toxins. Plus apparently you aren’t reacting well to the anesthesia….” Marina informed him, “But you’re going to be fine. You made it through surgery, and that’s what matters.”
Novak let out a slow breath, the reality of it sinking in. His appendix had nearly burst, and he’d been so focused on powering through that he hadn’t even realized how serious it was. He leaned into his mom’s touch, grateful for the warmth of her arm around him.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice weak. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Marina’s grip on him tightened slightly, her hand still rubbing soothing circles on his arm. “Oh, Novak. Don’t apologize. I’m just glad I was here. If we hadn’t gone to the hospital when we did…” She trailed off, her voice thick with emotion.
Novak’s heart clenched. He could hear the worry in her tone, the relief barely masking the fear she must have felt. He turned his head to look at her, his gaze softening as he met her eyes. “Thanks,
mamòn. For everything.”
She smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Of course, sweetheart. I’ll always be here when you need me.”
He nodded, letting his eyes flutter shut again as exhaustion settled over him. The nausea still lingered, but the pain was manageable now, and the warmth of his mom’s presence helped soothe the rest of his frayed nerves. He didn’t have to fight anymore—at least not tonight.
For the first time in what felt like days, Novak let himself relax, sinking into the comfort of the moment. He knew the next few days would be rough, but for now, he was safe. And that was enough.
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alieinthemorning · 1 year ago
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Inked Wrists [Dynamight | Bakugou Katsuki || Red Riot | Kirishima Eijirou]
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Content: Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Angst, Polyamory, Established Relationship
Pronouns: None
Bakugou Header: @/coaco_rami | Kirishima Header: @/urachan1629
Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don't forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!
This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.
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At one point, people were born equal. 
In the world of quirks, this is no longer true. 
In the world of soulmates, this is even more false. 
You were a part of the 5% population who had a soulmate.
You and your partners
You glanced at your right wrist: 
Bakugou Katsuki
Then your left:
Kirishima Eijirou 
These two names appeared on your wrists the moment you stepped foot on UA’s grounds. 
You didn’t know who they were during the exams, but the moment you walked through Class 1-A’s door, you knew. The three of you were immediately drawn to each other (even if Katsuki was too shy to admit it).
But now…
Now it just seemed to be you and Eijirou.
Katsuki was spending more time training (as if he wasn’t strong enough). More time studying (as if he wasn’t smart enough).
He was just 
gone.
“You seem to be thinking hard, what’s wrong?” He asked, raising a hand up to caress your cheek. 
You blinked at him, slowly returning to reality. 
You were in your room, on your bed, with Eijirou resting in your lap. It was after classes and training and—
“Oh. I’m sorry.” You resumed stroking his hair. That must have been why he said that.
Or maybe not— because he sat up, facing you head on. “What’s wrong? I can basically hear the gears churning up here.” He tapped your forehead. 
You sighed, “I can’t keep anything from you.”
“Well, something ya can, and other things…” He trailed off, caressing your wrist.
Your right wrist. 
Ah.
“So you noticed it too…” 
Eijirou nodded. “I feel like ever since we rescued him, he’s just been…off.” He paused, “And not just because of that— it’s like…”
“There’s something else he’s not telling us.” You finished. 
The two of you were quiet for a moment then
“We have to confront him.”
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And what a fucking mistake that was. 
“Katsuki…is there something wrong—?” You barely got to get the entire question out before he was jumping down your throat and stalking toward you.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” His hands flexed at his side.
Regardless, you held your ground. “Ever since the kidnapping, you’ve—”
His hands popped once, then he was turned away from you. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 
Eijirou was on his other side, arms crossed, stance strong. “At least hear us out, man…we know something is—”
“You don’t know shit!” Katsuki raised a crackling hand up, ready to slam it in the side of Eijirou’s head.
So you quickly activated your quirk, Gummy Gum, wrestling his arm back with the elastic substance. 
Katsuki looked between the two of you. “I’m not saying shit, so drop this weakass quirk before I make you drop it.” 
You did, knowing that he wasn’t going to actually harm you, but instead knew that he had reached his limit and pushing him any further would instead push him away from you. 
Even further that he already was.
So instead, you waited. 
Waited for him to come to you on his own.
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And he did.
Just not in the way you were expecting. 
Battered and bruised. 
Eyes glazed over with what you could only identify as 
Regret. 
He didn’t tell you what happened, just stood at the door waiting. 
So with a quick glance at Eijirou, you did the only thing you could do
You opened your arms and heart for him.
As the two of you would always do.
Because at the end of the day, this is the only thing you could ask for.
For them to come home.
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Until he didn’t.
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This took like three days.
I'm not actively writing for this again btw. I just really needed to rewrite this lol.
I also I did not realize that I never posted this here.
Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist
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rizlowwritessortof · 1 year ago
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Unforgivable - Part 2
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Sequel to A Little Rowdy, because I just wasn’t done with those two! Planning for three parts (unless my muse goes crazy, it happens). Huge thanks to editsbymichele (IG) for the lovely Beau header - beautiful as always, my friend!! And thank you to @firefly-graphics for the divider!
Beau and Laney have settled into a comfortable relationship, things are smooth and easy - until Laney is threatened, and Beau strongly suspects she’s not the real target.
Pairing: Beau Arlen x Laney Marcus
Word Count: 3012
Warnings: Smut (as usual), stalking, menacing behavior
Part 1
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Laney watched as the tow truck hauled her car away, Beau’s arm around her shoulders as they stood, talking to Poppernak. “I know you probably think it’s overkill, but I just want to make damn sure nothing else was tampered with,” Beau said, giving her a squeeze, and she nodded.
“I know. I’ll feel better knowing it’s all checked out, thank you.” She had finally stopped shaking, but she was thoroughly spooked.
Beau pulled away, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking down into her eyes. “Listen – I want you to go home with Pops, stay there until I get back.” Before she could speak in protest, he moved to cradle her face with a gentle smile. “I won’t be gone long. But I want to talk to your ex.”
She frowned in confusion. “Garrett? Beau, he’s in prison.”
“Yep. And I want to make sure he isn’t directing this little show from there.”
Poppernak cleared his throat. “You think he could swing something like that, boss?”
Beau sighed, pulling Laney into a hug. “I don’t know, but I want to see him face-to-face and get a read. If it’s not him, then we start from square one and figure it out.” He bent to place a lingering kiss on Laney’s lips. “Pops, drop me off at the office, I need to grab a squad car – Pedro’s out of commission.”
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A couple of hours later, Beau sat in an interrogation room in Montana State Prison. It was a longshot that Laney’s ex had anything to do with threatening her, but he wanted to check every possibility. The guard ushered the prisoner into the room, handcuffed him to the ring on the table, and turned to stand quietly in the corner.
Garrett glared at the sheriff, and Beau geared back in his chair, a smirk on his lips as he took in the man’s appearance. “Been makin’ friends, I see.”
Garrett was sporting a black eye and stitches on the right side of his face, along with several other bruises and scrapes. “Fuck you.”
“I’m just here for one question. Did you send someone on the outside after Laney?”
The man stared back at him stupidly. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Just answer the question.”
“How the fuck do you think I’d do that? I’ve been a little busy trying to watch my own ass in this hellhole, so no. I didn’t send anybody after anybody. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m done talking to you.”
Beau nodded. “Glad to hear it. If you did, I’d make sure your hell got much worse.” He stood as the guard came to let the prisoner loose from the table and turn him towards the door. “By the way – happy to see you’re getting a taste of your own medicine.” Garrett glared before turning to leave the room, guard at his back.
Beau stopped to speak to a couple of the guards on his way out, finally heading back out the gates, satisfied that his former prisoner had no involvement in whatever the hell was going on. His mind churned the whole drive home, a sick conviction in his gut that this wasn’t about Laney at all – somebody was targeting her to get to him.
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Laney was in the kitchen talking to Poppernak’s mother when Beau got back to Helena, and Pop stepped outside to talk to him quietly before he came inside.
“So what did you find out?”
“It wasn’t him. I didn’t really think so, but I wanted to make sure. Talked to him, talked to the guards, they said he spends half his time in solitary and the other half getting patched up in the infirmary because he’s not smart enough to keep his mouth shut. He doesn’t have any friends in there, and he hasn’t had any visitors or called anybody.” Beau sighed, biting on the inside of his lip. “I’m afraid what’s going on isn’t about her. It’s about me. Somebody’s going after Laney to get to me, and I can’t let that happen, Pops. We need to figure this out.”
The big man nodded. “Yeah, I think you’re right boss. And we will. And we just won’t leave her alone until we do.”
“Damn straight.” Beau clapped his deputy on the back, heading inside the house.
“Beau!” Laney walked into his arms, squeezing him tight before pulling back to look up at him. He put a hand to her face with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“It wasn’t Garrett, I’m sure of that. Wanted to look him in the eye to make sure. So we’re starting from square one, but I don’t want you to worry, honey. You’re gonna have somebody with you 24-7 until we get whoever’s doing this.”
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Laney rode back to the office with Beau, and they picked up her car from the garage there. Beau spoke with the techs, verifying nothing had been tampered with, and they headed back to her place, both ready for a beer and a long, hot shower.
They showered together, but Laney was quiet, withdrawn, and Beau knew she was unsettled from the day’s events. He dried himself and went to the bedroom, pulling on a pair of black sleep pants, then headed to the kitchen to ready the coffee pot for the next morning. When he returned, Laney was still not there, so he walked into the bathroom, watching silently for a moment as she stood in front of the mirror, still wrapped in her damp towel, lost in thought.
At the warm touch of his hands on her shoulders, she moved her gaze to meet his in the mirror, a sorry attempt at a smile quirking at the corners of her mouth. “You okay?” he asked softly.
She leaned back into him, and he wrapped his arms around her. “Not really.”
He turned her to face him, bending to kiss her, sweet and gentle. “I’m so sorry, Laney. Whoever this is, they went after you to get to me. I wish I could erase what happened, but I promise you, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”
“What about you? You keep saying you’ll keep me safe, but what about you, Beau?” She looked at him with tears in her eyes, and he clenched his teeth against a wave of guilt. Because of something he had done, someone he had pissed off – he didn’t know what, or who, but they were willing to terrorize a completely innocent person just to get to him. And she was worrying about him.
“I’ll be fine, I promise. I’ve got Pops and Jenny, my whole team to help me figure it out. We’ll be okay.” He kissed her again, and she reached up to cling to his neck, Beau’s hands splayed over her back to hold her tight. The way her lips moved on his, the tip of her tongue teasing at the seam sent a flash of heat through him, his cock twitching and swelling as their kiss deepened. He lifted his head, his lips parted as he inhaled, staring down into her eyes. “I don’t know how you do that.”
“Do what?” she asked innocently, and he shook his head slightly, a smirk teasing at his mouth.
“Make me want to protect you like some precious thing and at the same time want to make you scream my name.”
She smiled, genuinely this time. “Can’t you do both?” she teased, her eyes sparkling as she loosened her towel, letting it drop to the floor.
“Oh, hell, yeah…” He scooped her up in his arms, moving quickly to the bedroom and laying her down, immediately covering her with his body, his lips on her throat and moving quickly downward to her breasts, her nipples already hard and begging for attention. He teased and nibbled at them briefly, moving down with a low chuckle at her whine. “Patience, darlin’.”
“Don’t be mean,” she pouted, and Beau flashed a sexy grin as he continued kissing his way down her body. He finally settled himself down between her legs, dragging his thumbs up the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs.
“So damn pretty,” he crooned, leaning in close to give a little flick of his tongue to her clit before burrowing into her folds with his lips and tongue, forcing a startled little cry from her lips.
“Beau, oh, my god…”
He peeked up at her again with a smirk. “You can do better than that,” he teased, and then went back to work, determined to make her forget everything but the two of them. Before long she was grasping his hair, writhing underneath him as he held her in place with one arm, his other hand a blur as he fucked her with his fingers, sucking her clit as he worked it with his tongue.
Everything inside her broke loose and she wailed his name, her hand wound so tight in his hair that it ached, and he almost lost control along with her at the desperation in her voice as she begged. “Please, oh god, PLEAAASE… Beau!!” He backed off slowly, easing her down until she went limp, whimpering softly as he grabbed the corner of the sheet and scrubbed it over his face, then moved up to drop gentle kisses to her face and lips.
“You alright, sweet girl?” he murmured as he nuzzled at her neck, lacing the fingers of one hand through hers.
She finally let her eyes drift open, looking up at him with a dreamy smile. “You, sir, are a menace.”
He chuckled, bending down to kiss her softly, teasing at her tongue with the tip of his. She sighed, wrapping her arms around him and dragging her nails whisper-soft down the smooth skin of his back, making him moan.
“That’s your fault. I mean, hell, I walk around at work half-hard all day long.” Her hands reached the firm globes of his ass and squeezed, and he moaned again as the head of his cock barely breached her entrance, still slick and hot from her climax. He pushed ahead, his breath catching in his chest at the feel of her, pulsing and squeezing him tight, and she slid her silken legs up to cling to his hips, straining to pull him deeper.
“Fuck me, Beau,” she whispered, nipping gently at his lower lip, barely able to breathe at the heat in his gaze. He let out a desperate groan, capturing her lips in a ravenous kiss and driving deep inside her, smothering the sounds forced from her with each stroke until they had to break apart, gasping for air.
He kissed her neck, moving down to brush his face over the curve of her breast before latching on to suck a mark into the soft flesh. He looked up into her eyes, the green of his own dark, pupils blown. “You want me nice and deep?” Laney whined softly as he held himself still, resisting her coaxing him to move, and she nodded before tossing her head back into the pillow. “Turn over for me, darlin’.”
He pulled himself free and raised up to his knees, helping her roll to her stomach, his hands smoothing over her hips and helping her raise them until she was on her knees, her head still resting on the pillow. She grabbed fistfuls of the bedding as Beau slid slowly back inside her, rocking back and forth gently for a moment, hands caressing over her smooth skin. Then he pulled back, hesitating for a second before plunging back in to the limit as Laney cried out, her voice muffled in the pillow. He gripped her hips and kept his promise, fucking into her hard and deep, their bodies slapping together in a furious rhythm until she was begging incoherently. Beau clenched his jaw and reached down to strum at her clit, and she shouted into the pillow, almost sobbing as she came, clutching wildly at the sheets.
Beau drove himself on, teeth bared, balls drawn up tight as he finally exploded with a growl, his head spinning with the force of his climax. He fell forward, catching himself on his arms, his heaving chest against her back as she whimpered weakly beneath him.
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Laney closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath before fielding yet another phone call. The office was hopping the last few days with the annual Oktoberfest and rodeo on the upcoming weekend, and as the week wore on it got crazier. The event was held at the county fairgrounds, so it fell on the County Sheriff’s department instead of the city police, and they were swamped with vendors and participants coming in for permits, asking for information, and settling disputes over anything and everything. When the festival actually began on Thursday, the town would be full to overflowing with people attending, which usually involved a lot of drunks, bar fights and cowboy wannabes getting themselves injured.
She had only seen Beau in flashes, except for when he finally made it back to her place at night, usually late. He had gently laid down the law about her having someone with her at all times if she was out and about, even though they had seen nothing more of their stalker. He was okay with her at the office, where she was surrounded by cops, but made her promise not to leave without Pops or Jenny or someone with her. Her spirit of independence was rebelling, but she knew he was right, and that he just had her safety in mind, so she complied without complaint. Hopefully whoever it was had been discouraged at the organized chaos currently going on in town, but she had that ominous feeling that the other shoe would drop sooner or later.
She finished up her call, looking up at the sound of Beau’s voice near the front desk, where he was dealing with two feuding vendors. She smiled to herself at the way he just seemed to charm them, calming the situation and sending them on their way. He turned, his eyes landing on her, and he spoke to the desk officer before walking her way. “Hey, Laney – how’s your day going?”
“Not as crazy as yours.” She smiled up at him as he perched on the corner of her desk. “You look exhausted, Beau.”
“Nah, I’m good. Gotta be. Got a few more days of this insanity before it’s over, so…” He looked into her eyes with that searching-your-soul gaze that always made her breath hitch in her chest. “Are you doing okay, really? I hate leaving you alone so much after…”
“Beau, I’m fine, really. You’re just doing your job, and I’m a big girl, don’t waste time worrying about me.”
“Nothing to do with you is a waste of my time, darlin’.” His lips quirked in a wistful little smile. “I’d love to kiss you right now.”
“I’d love for you to kiss me right now.” She bit her lip, and he groaned softly.
His tongue darted out to sweep over his lips, and he stood reluctantly. “I’d better get back to work before I do something that’ll get me fired. See you later.” Laney sent him off with a gentle smile, reaching for her ringing phone as he headed into his office.
Cassie and Denise picked her up for lunch, and Denise’s gushing over some of the recently arrived cowboys was a welcome distraction for a while. When she got back to work, Beau was out, and Laney settled back in at her desk to more calls and forms to file.
Beau came in later on, Pops on his heels, and they both headed for his office. A couple of minutes later, Beau charged out of his door, his expression thunderous, his voice loud as he approached the front desk. “Who brought this in?” He waved a manila envelope in the air, waiting impatiently for someone to answer. “Madge?”
Madge glared back at him over the top of her glasses, then barked out, “Aaron!” The desk officer excused himself from the person he was helping and approached the two of them.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Who dropped this envelope off for the sheriff?” Her usual humorless stare was aimed at the young officer, who stammered a little as he answered, aiming his words to Beau.
“Well, sir – I’m sorry, but I don’t know. I was busy with several people, and by the time I noticed it laying on the counter, whoever dropped it off was long gone.”
Beau’s jaw was clenched, but he nodded curtly. “Okay, thank you. I get it, it’s been crazy in here. Better get back to…” he gestured with a head nod towards the man waiting at the counter.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Beau turned, walking back towards his office, tossing his words over his shoulder. “And stop calling me ‘sir’!”
Laney rose from her desk and walked to Beau’s office, glancing at Poppernak as she walked through the door. His face was grim, and she turned to face Beau, who was standing with his hands braced on his desk, his jaw working. “Beau, what is it?”
He shot a glance Pop’s way before standing up straight. “Shut the door, Laney.”
She nodded, then came to his side, and he turned to put his arms around her, hugging her tight for a moment. When he finally let her go, she looked up at him with a worried frown. “Tell me.”
He tilted his head towards his desk, and she pulled free from his grasp to turn and look. The envelope was on top, addressed simply to ‘Sheriff Beau Arlen – Confidential.’ She moved it, her heart beginning to pound in her chest as she stared down at the array of photographs, pictures of her and Beau during their movie night, obviously shot with a long-range lens. With the photos was another handwritten note in large, red letters – ‘YOU CAN’T PROTECT HER.’
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tiny-necromancer · 5 months ago
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A warning...
Chance woke with a start. Darkness swirled around him and he had to fight to catch his breath. The pain in his body reminding him about what he'd just endured, and how he ought not to be trying to move just yet.
He rolled onto his side, clutching a pillow to his chest, biting into it to keep from screaming. He felt raw, wide open, like all his internal organs were spilling out of him. But he knew logically that they weren't. Just as he knew the pounding in his head wasn't from anything more sinister then having someone digging around in there with a shovel. And that seemed wrong. That thought. Because why should someone be rooting around in there at all?
Everything came back to him in flashes of images. Flashes of screams. Flashes of blood. There was so much blood. And Desmond. Oh Desmond....Desmond was dead. Tears pricked his eyes and he hugged the pillow tighter.
But then, he remembered something else. Something that wasn't pain or fear. Something that felt...comforting. And it took him only a moment more before he remembered what it was. Who it was. Wes had been there. In his head. Crooning to him. Stroking him. Or at least that's what it felt like. But Wes hadn't been there. He was sure of it. But that also meant that Wes was in trouble.
Chance heaved his battered body from the bed. Staggering a bit as his legs threatened to buckle. He had to get to Wes. Had to warn him. His father knew about him now. He'd hurt him, maybe even kill him. And Chance just could not handle that.
He escaped into the darkened hallway. Somehow it was quiet. An eerie quiet. That didn't bode well for anyone. Chance shivered a little from so many things. Turning to make his way towards the main doors, he nearly ran right into Caius.
Caius was close to Chance's age. But that was where there similarities ended. Chance wasn't afraid of him, not as he was afraid of others. But he was wary of him. Mostly because he had his father's ear. But Caius had never actually done anything to Chance. So he didn't feel like he ought to be afraid of him. Even though he knew what he could do. What he did do. "What are you doing out here?" Caius demanded, and there was something strange about him tonight. But Chance didn't know what it was. And he didn't have the time to try and figure it out.
Chance decided then that he needed to get Caius on his side. Because if Caius went and told his father what he was up to. He'd never make it to Wes. "I need to go to Twilight." He said insistently.
"The Vampire Bar?" Caius looked dubious. "Right now? Why?"
"Because I need to find someone. And I think he'll be there." Chance bit his lip, considering Caius for a moment. "Look. I just really need to go. Come with me if you have to. But I have to go." Asking for permission wouldn't work. And Chance didn't need permission to leave. There was no formal rule that said he couldn't leave. And he knew that's what Caius was deliberating. "Please..."
The strange thing about Caius was his emotions didn't make sense. He was never angry when he should be, never sad when he should have been that too. And Chance didn't know what it was exactly that his father had done to him. He'd never wanted to know. He had enough nightmares of his own. But tonight, Caius was pensive. And that was a curious thing. Because he usually wasn't. "Twilight?" He asked again.
"Yes." Chance responded, watching the gears churn behind Caius' eyes.
And somehow, they made it there. Chance didn't really know how. He was still shaky, still shocky, still just not right. And it felt like his skin was on fire. Like someone had poured molten lava over him. But still, he kept moving forward. Because he had something he needed to protect. And nothing else mattered other then that.
The bar was crowded. And Chance shuddered against Caius who had a steadying arm around his waist. For the first time, Chance started to panic a little. What if Wes wasn't here? What if they'd come all this way and he couldn't find him? He pulled away from Caius, taking a step forward. He closed his eyes, reaching for something, anything that could tell him Wes was here. And then, as if by magic, he found him in the murky darkness. Found him and pulled him towards him. And it wasn't in a physical sense, but a much deeper, more intimate sense. It screamed Wes. His essence. His blood. His unlife. When Chance opened his eyes again, he saw him.
"Wes...." He whimpered, staggering forward a step.
@that-kinky-photographer
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bee-tee-rus · 9 months ago
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MML AU where King Pistachion is a single dad going on a T/indr date with you and Derek keeps fucking shit up:
(press "Keep Reading" for the fic)
Your legs bounce with anticipation. You tie the 50th knot out of the paper sheath that your straw came in, now noticing how strong it-- oh! Nope, it finally tore. Broken out of your daze now, you take a look around the little sandwich shop that you sit alone in, wondering when your date will show.
Online dating isn't really your thing, due to the countless articles and stories you've sunken time into reading, giving your paranoia a whole 'nother level of paranoia. But it really can't be that bad, right? You are hyper aware or any potential danger, so it all should be fine.
Some minutes pass, and you just got back to your seat with a Pistachio latte. You laugh to yourself, remembering that the guy's screename who you are supposed to meet was... "King Pistachion". He didn't look like your typical human. In fact, dude didn't look human in the slightest. Like some hot sexy monstrous treeman. Hey, there's a first time for everything! You pat your pocket to be sure you brought tweezers-- in case of any splinters.
RING! The door opens after what seemed like an eternity and you are 99% sure that the being who came through is him. I mean, how many men made of wood really live around here... Actually, that's a great question and you'll look into that later.
The tree man swivels his head and squints his eyes as he looks around the room. I lock my eyes onto him, yet remain silent as he surveys the room. I can't help but feel a bit intimidated. Once he turns my way and meets my gaze, I flash a weak smile and wave. He straightens up, nearly missing the ceiling as a huge smile forms across his face. The man comes forward and then I realize just how much taller he is than I. If this date gets far enough... I wonder how THAT will play out? I shake those unwanted thoughts away.
"H-hi, I'm Anon. Um from the uh... The app." God, why are you nervous?
"I know, as soon as those gems glistened my way, they drew me in... Anon~" the man says with smoothness as he kneels down and grabs your hand, his large stick thumb caressing the top of your hand in a seductive way.
Oh God, he is laying it on a little too thick.
"Uh..." You pull your hand away, feeling awkward from the sudden gesture. "Here, let's sit down and maybe talk some first, kinda get to know each other?"
"Ha ha yes, my little berry. Here... Let me--"
"AH!"
Suddenly, you are light on your feet. In fact, you aren't even on your feet anymore! This man had the audacity to pick you up and carry you bridal style to your seat. Sir, this is a Jimmy John's. He pulls out your chair with one hand and gently sits you down, then goes over to his seat and plops down in it. He leans his chin on his clasped hands as he leans forward to give you his undivided attention. What is with this guy? It seems like he is wanting to get to the good part already, like slow down!
"Haha... " You chuckle nervously, not knowing how to react to his chivalrous antics. "So... Is 'King Pistachion' your real name?"
"Yes."
"Really? No really?"
"Well I suppose if I had a human identity, I would go by 'Pcarl'. The 'P' is silent."
His face looks proud of his swift answer to you. The gears in your brain start turning and churning. There's not a single 'P' in 'Carl', what is he... ? Whatever, you won't question his logic for now.
"Okay, Pcarl..." You look the strange man up and down, not really feeling the name. You get the strong feeling that he just made that up on the spot. "Can I call you KP?"
"If that's what your heart desires, little berry~" he purrs out as he flashes a wink in your general direction.
You let out a sigh and try your best to reel the tree man back to square one with you.
"Anyways, KP, tell me a little about yourself. What do you do for fun? What sorta job do you do?"
"Oh you know. Terraforming foreign lands with my bountiful seed to grow my fiersome army of Pistachion soilders so we can rule this dying planet."
A smirk forms on his face as he leans back with his arms crossed.
With a strained poker face, you can only bring yourself to respond with a repeated question.
"... And for work?"
"Terraforming foreign lands with my bountiful seed to grow my fiersome army of Pistachion soilders so we can rule this dying planet."
Hm, so he's pretty much a Line A to Line B guy. You are uncertain whether you should feel threatened or not. Your thoughts get cut off when you hear an adult male voice boom through the restaurant.
"DAAAAAD! DAAAAAD WHERE ARE YOU?"
The whiny voice feels as though it is being focused towards us. KP lets out a grumble, face palming and muttering something under his breath. You can only make out a, "Not now" due to the Ed Sheeran music drowning out miniscule sounds. King Pistachion lifts up a finger to you as though he is motioning you to hold on, stands up and turns to face the door where the voice came from. He inhales as his eyes close and brows furrow, then responds.
"What now, Derek? Daddy's busy with 'business'!" KP holds out his hands towards you. So you are a business matter now? You would feel offended, yet the curiosity of this situation keeps you quiet as you become the onlooker of whatever is about to transpire.
This "Derek" was smaller in size compared to his father, being the size of a human adult male. He kinda had a BioShock thing going on with his fashion, with the top hat and tailcoat combo. He stuck some resemblance to his dad, except for the chiseled features of his face. You would think this guy could be a model or something.
"You said you would be quick and it's been 5 hours already!" Derek says with exasperation.
"Derek, stop being so dramatic. I've only been in here for 10 minutes and was this close you getting you a mommy" KP hisses as he presses his index finger against his thumb to emphasize how close he was to--
"What? I never agreed to anything like-- Is that why you have been so flirtatious from the get-go?" You can't believe that this guy really thought that it would take a mere day of cheesy romantic antics to get someone to just marry him.
"It was going so well, I could see in your eyes that your heart began to call out to me." He turns his head to you and looks a little smug, as though he truly believed this date was going great.
"I don't want a new mom! I'm happy with the one we got at home" Derek stomps his foot to assert his belief.
"Your 'mom' is a heat lamp, that's not a mother. That's a machine that aids. We need the touch and love of a real being, especially for when I'm busy with my plans."
"Her name is 'Laura' and you would know that if you ever came home and spent time with us!"
You are assuming that the heat lamp 's name is Laura. It's a bit hard to follow this conversation, yet you try your best since it involves you in the mix. Derek begins to walk towards the table and stands in front of you, rubbing his chin as he thinks.
"How old are you?" He asks as he narrows his eyes, making sure that you do not lie to him.
"30?"
He huffs as he throws his arms up and spins around to walk away. Derek begins to become as boisterous as he was before.
"Really, Dad? They're not much older from me or your other kids! That's like you're dating my siblings or something!"
"Don't be disgusting, Derek. It's not like that at all, get over it!" King Pistachion 's tone is now becoming more impatient at how his son is publically judging him around strangers. Something flat and green grows from the bush on his head, he reaches and picks it off. Wait, is that... Did he just illegally grow cash?
"Here's $50, just-- PLEASE, go find some entertainment and let Daddy finish business."
The steamed tree man towers over his son, holding out the totally legal cash for Derek to accept. A few seconds pass and Derek silently snatches the cash and leaves. Kind Pistachion lets out a heavy sigh of relief and dusts his hands, sitting back down and his face quickly transforms from anger to... Oh he's gonna keep trying, isn't he?
"So... Anyways, have you ever lay with a man of lumber?" His eyebrow raises as he leans forward, doing his best (and failing) to woo you.
"Uhh... "
"YOU KNOW I SPRINKLED WEED KILLER ON YOU IN YOUR SLEEP SO YOU CAN'T MAKE BABIES!"
This time, you did not hear the door open but you recognize the voice. It's Derek once more, only this time he is holding a yellow dog. You hear the chair scoot and look to find King Pistachion looking horrified. Is this man afraid of dogs?
"D-Derek, put that thing away now! You don't know what you're doing!" KP shakily says as he presses his back against the wall.
Derek chuckles as he pets the blissfully unaware dog that he carries.
"Oh I do know what I am doing, father..."
He puts his hands under the dog's arms and holds it up and far from him, Lion King style. The smile of Derek fades, his head tilted down with his brows furrowed, causing dramatic shadows on his face.
"I just gave this dog a full bowl of water and cranberries... He hasn't relieved himself yet. Now if you don't piss off from this pointless date and take me home..." Derek pats the dog's belly and a swoosh of fluids can be heard. "Then I'll have no choice but to piss you out of here."
What the hell is going on? Without a peep, King Pistachion stands up and heads towards the door. He seems cautious as he passes the airborne pup, squeezing his large frame by his son and through the exit. Derek has a prideful grin, puts the dog down and goes to follow his dad into the parking lot.
You are now out of your seat and rush to the window. You want to see what sort of vehicle these two travelled in. What exactly are these beings? Are they aliens? A science experiment gone wrong? Surely, something like them wouldn't be driving something so basic, right?
Wrong.
Why are you surprised? KP and his son enter a dual colored PT Cruiser, the top half being a pale green while the bottom half is a pale yellow. Ha, it's a PisTachio Cruiser. From here, you can vaguely make out both of their expressions from the car. King Pistachion wears a look of irked defeat and Derek has the smile of someone who got their way. The car drives off and now you are just sitting alone in the shop, not wanting to even finish your pistachio coffee.
"I don't think I like pistachios anymore."
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mlmvoreconfessionals · 2 years ago
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Story of a a collage varsity football player whos ability to devour guys comes in the locker room while him and half his team are in the showers
I think locker rooms make for very dangerous places in this society. Imagine how many guys must get eaten in them daily. Well, I guess you don't gotta imagine with this one.
The quarterback's stomach won't stop grumbling. He's been eating all day trying to deal with it, even going so far as to down a few twinks when normal food wasn't cutting it. But even now, his stomach won't shut up, demanding more and more food. He can't really go and do that right now, though. He's in the locker room with the rest of his team before practice. He can't quit now...but his stomach just keeps rumbling. He's gotta do something about it but the only thing to eat right now is...
He looks at the others. All of them are big, handling that college football builds like champs. They just got out of bulking season and it's done its wonders for everyone's body. The quarterback's stomach groans again and he's drooling a bit. The team's pretty big...and they aren't all going to play. No one will miss just one or two, right..? Besides, he needs it. The guys would understand.
A group of players are chatting at their lockers, getting out of their clothes and into their gear. One guy closes his locker and turns around to see the quarterback looming over him. He goes to great his teammate, only to be met with a yawning, drooling maw that engulfs his head. The others look over in time to see their teammate being scarfed down by the quarterback in hungry desperation. His legs kick in the air before they're messily guzzled down and he's packed away in that monster of a tank. the quarterback belches and his stomach is already shrinking down, messy churns and crunches ringing out as his body processes all that jock meat like its nothing. He looks at the other three guys, still drooling, his eyes like a wild animal. They all know they aren't going anywhere.
The quarterback waddles off a few minutes later, belching into his fist as his gut sloshes with each step. It's larger than before but still round, each jock little more than a meaty stew being processed away. Even so, the quarterback's tank is still grumbling, not yet satisfied. A few of his teammates walk past him, dressed in their gear and ready to hit the field. He pounces on them fast, engulfing one guy's head and starting to hork him down while he holds on tight to the other two. They yell and thrash, trying to push him away, but he gets them down one after the other just as fast. Even geared up, it didn't mean much. The quarterback just belches up a couple helmets and a jock while his guts melt everything down again. By the time the last of them is packed away, they're already dead.
The quarterback ventures to the showers next, a few guys already in there from some earlier training. He doesn't bother taking off his clothes as he walks in and starts taking them down one by one. The slick floors make it hard for any of the players to get far, and none of the six of them make it out of the shower room alive. Only as more boiling slop in the quarterback's tank as he waddles out of the showers. His stomach is the size of a beachball now, sloshing with every step, filled to the brim with boiling jock meat. He feels well enough to finish suiting up and hit the field for training.
It doesn't go well for long, though, as his hunger still isn't matched. That days' training ends up being a fight for survival with the other guys. Every tackle results in someone getting tanked, running laps just means anyone slower than him is shoveled down, and anyone who tries to catch the ball with him gets sent down the hatch as well. In the end, another twelve or so players wind up devoured and digested, and the quarterback's gut sloshes around for the rest of training. By the time he's hitting the showers, though, his stomach has finally settled down and he's feeling a million times better. The rest of the team...not so much. But they don't do anything to voice their demoralization to the hungry player. They don't want to be next. Hopefully, at least, he can hold out until their big game. If he devours enough of the other team, they could even win the match by default. Wouldn't be the first time...
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mothrite · 2 years ago
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Wandering gaze
SUMMERY: Adrian has always been a bit salty but it feels like with you he intentionally tries not to say anything nice. You finally confront him.
WARNINGS: fluff, reader is plant coven head because Terra got fired (I hate her sm.), afab+Enby reader, trans Adrian!!
A/N: I hate how this came out help 😿
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“And now, y/n l/n as the next head of the plant coven!”
You swiftly removed your hood, staring into the camera with the same bright smile you had as the moment you received the news.
“Thank you so much for this opportunity! Im thrilled to be working with such high powered witches, it’s truly an honor.”
You sighed, your smile softening as the camera turned off and you turned to look at all your fellow coven heads. Most started to file out but a few remained, including the heads of the bard and abomination covens and the head of the Illusionist coven as well. You made your way over to the illusionist as the other two were indulged in their own conversation.
“It’s a pleasure to be working with you Mr…?” You trailed off, hoping for him to complete the sentence as you hadn’t been informed of his name. He looked you up and down before rolling his eyes and setting his hands at his hips.
“Graye. It’s Adrian Graye Vernworth.” Before you could respond he had already started walking away. With a confused expression you stepped over to the other two coven heads who were finishing up their conversation. The one with glasses and mint hair smiled and reached out their hand to greet you.
“Glad to have you on the team! Im Raine, and this is Darius” After introducing yourself the three of you made small talk, eventually these two would grow to become your best friends.
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A few months had passed and over the time Adrian continued to be sour towards you. He distanced himself, ignoring you. It angered you. Infuriated you. Everyone else was kind and open with you while he was somewhat hostile.
You had enough. The Emperor had to leave, causing the meeting to be cut short. Everyone was gone and just as Adrian was leaving you gently grasped his arm. “Wait!”
He looked at you, his face twisting in confusion. You let go of his arm as he turned around to look at you. His foot tapped against the ground, trying to get out of the too small room as fast as possible.
“What do you want.”
“Why do you hate me.” You bluntly let out the truth. You noticed as his eyes widened slightly and his mouth clicked shut.
“Excuse me?” He said, a nervous smile painting his face as he let out soft giggle of anxiousness.
You repeated the question. “Why do you hate me.”
His smile dropped and he stood there, the gears in his head churning as he figures out the right words to say.
“I don’t hate you.”
“Then why are you always avoiding me? Why do you go out of your way to cut our conversations short?”
He put a hand to your shoulder and smiled as a soft pink dusted his cheeks.
“Because you dazzle me. You make me so nervous I get scared I’ll mess up and a make a fool of myself.”
You stood there, stunned. He quickly covered his mouth with one of his hands and paced away. You stood there for a good few minutes with your thoughts before leaving. So he doesn’t hate you. He thinks you’re amazing. You sat in your room, thinking about what he said.
“Dazzle.”
“I Dazzle him.”
You laid down, looking out the window at the extensive pit of spikes. You thought about him. His face. The way his tail starts to swing back and forth when he gets excited or happy. How he always has a bit of fur on the back of his neck. The cute little pride flags he keeps in his office. Everything about him.
“I think he dazzles me too.”
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izzet-always-r-versus-u · 5 months ago
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Universes Within theorycrafting: Assassin's Creed (part 1)
Kept sliding off making posts for the bigger sets (LTR, PIP...WHO is mostly pending more data on the space opera plane) just because I was struggling to organize my thoughts on them; ACR has about half the total new cards as the commander products, and a lot of those are on the simpler end, so it's a lot easier to just go through on a case-by-case basis. Hopefully that'll help get the word-gears churning for the other sets.
Part 1's gonna be the cards that don't need name changes for UniWit adaptation; 49 out of 105 (not counting Raven Clan War-Axe, which would be close to the line in a vacuum but is mechanically tied to a card that does need a rename regardless), a little under half.
Battlefield Improvisation
Works more or less anywhere, but one particular interpretation that tickles me is a bit of flashy showmanship in Valor's Reach when a fighter is reduced to a 1v2 and starts going to town using their fallen partner's weapon. Given the colors, maybe Regna dual-wielding her scythe and whatever massive polearm Krav is rocking?
Detained by Legionnaires
Even on Ravnica I figure actual Pacifism is more likely to see a reprint, but the Boros are legionnaire-cops, so this would translate there fine.
Distract the Guards
Assassins and Rogues? Those are both outlaws, so Thunder Junction's the obvious fit. I'm gonna say it's a Freestrider operation, one group drawing the Sterling Company wardens away while another group stages a jailbreak.
Escarpment Fortress
Apparently an escarpment is a kind of cliff face, so this is a fortress built on or into a cliff. No shortage of fits there; could be an Akroan outpost, could be a Zendikari refuge, could be a highland monastery of the Jeskai/Ojutai...et cetera, et cetera. Take your pick.
Fall of the First Civilization
Could be Fall of the Thran but slightly to the left, but I like this as an Oltec tale of the First People of Ixalan; just because they're unknowable due to being four apocalypses deep doesn't mean the Oltec wouldn't have stories about them in some capacity, and "how their world ended" would be right at the top of the list.
Haystack
The same bit as the original could work in most of the multiverse's cities, but I actually like the idea of setting this on Innistrad: the terrified eyes of a pair of peasants barely visible peaking out from within a pile of hay as a shadow shaped distinctly like a werewolf passes across it. A perfect hiding spot...so long as your breathing doesn't give you away.
Hookblade
Zendikari kor lineslinger equipment. One of those "you could put it in a set and most people wouldn't even realize it's a reprint, it fits so cleanly" cards: White "hook" equipment that grants temporary flying? Yeah, that's a kor card alright.
Keen-Eyed Raven
Mostly notable in that, as far as I can see, Magic's ravens have been entirely restricted to Blue and Black up to now. Certainly doesn't mean they can't fit there, though: maybe the Beskir have taken to keeping and training ravens in emulation of the Omenseekers, or maybe Will has gotten what exists of the Eldraine courts to start using them as couriers and scouts.
Settlement Blacksmith
The two natural fits for planes referring to "settlements" are Zendikar and Thunder Junction, and this works fine with either. Zendikar's the one with a history of Equipment themes, though, and there's more than enough space for flavor text talking about times of necessity spread stoneforging traditions beyond the kor that developed and long kept them. (Could even make it a Nahiri quote, have her complaining about what she sees as wrong about Zendikar these days.)
Tax Collector
Magic doesn't exactly spend a lot of time talking about tax policy, but anywhere that has actual money is gonna have taxes. The Orzhov are definitely the most obvious fit, though, even if detain is an Azorius mechanic.
Templar Knight
There are two other extant Magic cards with "templar" in their name: Capashen Templar, a Benalish Knight, and Noble Templar, an Otarian Cleric Soldier. The latter has a more obvious legendary artifact to amass an army to quest for - the Mirari - while the former is actually a Knight (the gap between Knight and Cleric Soldier is not a large one, but creature types mattered in Otarian sets). Either could reasonably be expanded out into a cohort of knights going on a "holy" quest; just a matter of preference.
What Must Be Done
I feel like there's an even cleaner fit I'm failing to think of, but the main place my mind goes is to Liliana's ultimatum to Thalia in original Innistrad block: sunder the Helvault and release Griselbrand, or Liliana kills all of the Thraben cathars guarding it. Reanimation or boardwipe, a choice faced by a White-aligned character - it works.
Assassin Den
In the MKM story, Etrata had a well-hidden personal base/crash pad that was also extensively trapped against anyone trying to break in. Feels like a natural fit for a Wall with >0 power that can buff a creature and enhance their stealth - the interior would naturally be equipped with every tool a master assassin could need. Presumably other Dimir assassins have their own hideouts, justifying it being nonlegendary, but that'd be the specific one I'd depict; there's more than a bit of space for an Etrata quote in the flavor text.
Assassin Gauntlet
Would be perfect as a piece of hacking tech in modern Kamigawa if Ninja wasn't a separate type. As is, we do know that the Dimir sometimes use the Izzet as a magitech development program (sometimes outright hiring them, more often through espionage and subterfuge), so an Izzet-sourced gauntlet with some sort of built-in smoke bomb or flashbang being used by a Dimir assassin would fit well enough.
Ballad of the Black Flag
I...don't know that we actually have any art of specifically the flags of Brazen Coalition ships? So it's not a given that they actually have black flags to line up with the name, but that also means that I can just decide they do and that can just be something that first becomes clear with the UniWit art for this.
Otherwise it fits fine, though: the tale (told by shanty, perhaps, if that's something that can be conveyed/implied through Saga-style art) of the humans and orcs of Torrezon fleeing across the ocean in search of better fortunes, and the often-violent steps they would take to claim and secure those fortunes.
Become Anonymous
Lazav, fading back into the obscurity of the crowd in the wake of the invasion. Could easily have very similar composition to the ACR art, though obviously that's far from a requirement. Just naturally leans into the same vibe.
Brotherhood Spy
Let me pull up the flavor text from the original Time Spiral printing of Assassinate:
The rulers of old Dominaria kept assassins on retainer. However, the true loyalty of these master killers was always to their peers. This elite brotherhood survived the fall of the old royal order.
That's right, Dominaria has a canonical brotherhood of assassins! That plane is the kitchen sink that keeps on giving. Given the context, that brotherhood presumably survived up until the Rift Crisis, so it may well still be around in the present day. The lack of specific information gives me plenty of freedom in interpreting the various "Brotherhood" cards in the set to fit that context.
In this case, there's plenty of space for flavor text to talk about the network of informants that support and assist the members of the brotherhood actually assigned the task of assassination.
Desynchronization
On an entirely different note (heh) from the rest of this post, I'd set this one at Strixhaven: with mundane music, the worst that happens when an orchestra falls out of sync is that the performance grinds to a halt after just sounding really bad for a bit. With music magic, discordance can have a much more tangible blowback, tightly woven harmonics pulling apart into a chaotic, concussive blast.
("Let's just...try it again from the top." -Zaffai, thunder conductor)
Eagle Vision
An Obscura-aligned eagle aven scoping out the location of an impending job - sometimes there's something to be said for taking a name literally.
Escape Detection
A suitably generic "Dimir sneakiness" effect.
Hookblade Veteran
Unlike the actual Hookblade, I don't think a mono-Blue Human Assassin lines up nearly as well with established Zendikar flavor. The best fit I can come up with is actually on Kaladesh; none of the night market-associated creature cards had the Assassin subtype, but it wouldn't be a stretch for Gonti to employ assassins, and a gauntlet with an integrated, extendable grappling hook would be real handy for Spiderman-ing around the spires of Ghirapur.
Loyal Inventor
Somehow the first Fioran card in this post: once she took the throne, the High Paliano Academy was subject to Marchesa's demands, and some of its finest minds now vie for her favor, presenting their newest, most cutting-edge inventions before the royal court.
Tranquilize
Sleeper Dart was an Ikorian card, so this is just a slightly different framing of the use of that same bit of poacher tech. Not exactly hard to make work elsewhere, but that's the most clean fit.
Assassin Initiate
I like to imagine Marchesa's used the resources of the crown to open an official (if not particularly publicized) royal school for assassins - the Renaissance equivalent to the CIA academy, basically. She didn't exactly cut ties with her old connections, but as the new seat of power in the high city, her eyes (and blades) need to extend far further, which means she needs more manpower. Conveniently, this card's got space for a solid four lines of flavor text to exposit about those developments.
Brotherhood Ambushers
As the most generic of the "Brotherhood" cards, this would probably be the card that exposits more broadly about the Dominarian assassin brotherhood as a whole, building on that Assassinate FT to talk about the position they fill in the modern day.
Brotherhood Patriarch
The death trigger points me toward the trope of "you become the master assassin by being the one to take out the current master assassin."
Hemlock Vial
The art and flavor text are both generic enough that they could probably just reprint the whole card exactly as-is aside from the frame and it'd work fine as a "UniWit" treatment. Otherwise, the obvious home for this is to ground it in Theros - probably Meletis in particular. They already did the same bit with Sip of Hemlock, but Theros isn't exactly averse to reusing tropes when necessary.
Merciless Harlequin
Appropriately for a design that's Blade Juggler but slightly to the left, this is a pitch-perfect fit for a Rakdos assassin.
Petty Larceny
Card name is a crime? Check. Card is mechanically a crime? Check. This definitely belongs on Thunder Junction - have Tinybones picking someone's pocket in the middle of a bar brawl. (Maybe show Vraska fighting in the background to help justify the Assassin-typal element.)
Phantom Blade
I'd go more classic-fantasy with this one, I think: a cursed sword that captured the soul of the first being it killed, becoming wreathed in ominous spectral energy. Feels right at home with the sword-and-sorcery vibes of Corondor on Dominaria, but off the top of my head I could also see it fitting pretty cleanly on Innistrad or Ixalan.
Poison-Blade Mentor
Another part of that Paliano assassin school - can't have students without people to teach them.
Restart Sequence
The grand prize of her daring heist was also her escape plan.
(Art: a ninja stands at a control panel in a dimly-lit Futurist laboratory, her hands flying across the screen as lines of light begin to glow across a prototype mech in the background as it starts up.)
I mostly try to keep Freerunning cards flavorfully tied to Assassins in particular, but there's some where it makes more sense to bend a little further, and this is pretty close to top of the list. It helps that Ninja and Assassin have pretty heavy overlap.
Headsplitter
Not all poachers favor range or stealth.
The two Ikorian cards with the Assassin type are both specifically archers, but poachers being able to be Assassins is the best way I've found to square "Headsplitter" implying an immensely un-assassin-y weapon while also specifically making an Assassin token. Thus, a poacher with a gnarly, Monster Hunter-esque bone blade. Probably not too big since it only gives +1/+0, but not exactly subtle.
Hidden Footblade
Stiletto heels, where the heel (or possibly the toe, depending on what would work best for the art) conceals a stiletto blade - I'm far from the first person to make that pun, but, well, if the shoe fits...
(Most natural fit in the multiverse for that concept is probably New Capenna, specifically the Cabaretti - elaborate fashion that's more practical/deadly than it appears is right up their alley.)
Labyrinth Adversary
That sure is a Minotaur card, all right. The specific callout to a labyrinth in the name means that probably the most natural fit for this is Theros. (Technically Ulgrotha also had minotaurs connected to labyrinths, but Theros actually has a modern visual identity to build off of, whereas Ulgrotha would be pretty close to starting from scratch, which is a hell of a tiebreaker.)
Monastery Raid
Another pretty literal one: Khans!Zurgo leading the sacking of a Jeskai monastery by a Mardu raiding party. (Leaning more into the "or commander" side of Freerunning here.)
Overpowering Attack
This one's more in line with the printed Assassin poachers than Headsplitter: Kelsien leading a veritable army of poachers armed with bows, raining hellfire down from atop a cliff onto a big monster below.
Hunter's Bow
This one works damn near anywhere, but putting it on Kaldheim (tying it to either the Kannah or the elves of Skemfar) tickles me because it means it could even keep the flavor text as-is if it wanted.
Palazzo Archers
The high throne of Paliano has been extensively guarded against the subtlest possible angles of attack, but that doesn't mean it leaves the more obvious approaches unguarded: the archers that watch the skies around it are sharp and well-armed.
Viewpoint Synchronization
The best idea I've got for this one is set on modern Kamigawa: a ninja watching a security feed displaying the views of several different cameras at once. Kind of mundane, but everything else I've come up with runs headlong into "how would an artist even convey this concept in a single piece of card art," so simple and literal carries the day.
Rooftop Bypass
Just a fairly straightforward bit of Dimir stealth/infiltration. Ravnica's not exactly short on options for rooftop travel.
Bleeding Effect
It's not quite a perfect color match, but the best fit I've come up with for this name and effect is the Order of Saint Traft, who willingly allowed themselves to be possessed by the geists of former cathars in cooperative union. In such a situation, it would make sense for the lines between the living and the dead to blur - becoming hard to tell where the skills and memories of one end and the other begin.
Bureau Headmaster
Another Fioran, in one respect or another. Could be another teacher at assassin school, could be positioned at the Paliano embassy (/assassin cell) on Thunder Junction (not really featuring in this half of the post, but one of the better throughlines I've been able to come up with the various mostly-legendary RW Assassins in the set). Probably a slightly better fit for the former, as a leading weapons teacher.
Brotherhood Regalia
The Dominarian brotherhood probably wants something approximating a unified visual identity anyway, so this is just the clearest portrayal of their garb.
Hidden Blade
The Dimir did more or less exactly this bit with Silent Dart in GRN, so this is just that again. One of those cases where someone who wanted to proxy could just directly lift another bit of Magic art and it would still work fine.
Smoke Bomb
Kamigawa feels like the best fit for a smoke bomb - either classic or modern. Solidly a ninja tool either way.
Towering Viewpoint
Another one that works basically anywhere, but I like the full-circle take of tying this to the Amonkhet version of Mighty Leap - making it a particularly tall obelisk in Naktamun that initiates would jump from, either as part of a trial, just on a dare, or as a statement of proof of their faith.
Brotherhood Headquarters
Could more or less swipe the flavor text from ACR Assassin's Den for this one, since it translates as basically the same beat: a covert base of operations hidden in plain sight in a major city. (In the context of modern Dominaria, that's New Benalia, New Argive, or possibly whatever the biggest city of Suq'ata or Femeref is these days.)
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