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comfortless · 2 months

Text

Only Other

chapter two of three.

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical au (set around 350BC); potential inaccuracies as i am no historian!, König speaks some German here (as opposed to Gothic), mutual pining & worship, mentions of an arranged marriage with a large age gap, slight sexism, descriptions of violence & gore, more groping, allusions to abduction, dubious consent to a nonsexual genital inspection, animal death, minor character death, masturbation.

wc: 10.6k.

<- previous.

Everything feels unsound, a thicket of heavy vine curling it’s way up from the dirt to settle over you, in your belly, hair, anywhere. Sharp thorns and sap so thick you could drown.

Gaius is here, again, poised with his arms folded over his chest. You swallow thickly after you ask him to repeat what he’s just said. Something about eyes and ears between every crevice, beneath every board. He had a litany of reasons to believe you were not the sweet little maiden he had promised a halfway decent life to.

Careful as you thought you were, sneaking past the gate to roll in moonlight with the giant men of myth and smell the beasts and their pelts past the wall… The following morning had been the downfall of bliss. People take note when wolves begin to sniff around their cattle, and it’s no surprise that König was noted doing just that when he brought you back here on his horse with some sort of bloated pride when he named you his ‘Göttin’.

“Disrobe,” Gaius commands for the second time. The voice that comes from cracked lips and weathered jowls never falters: always so self-assured, stern, and where it may have sparked an interest in you from anyone else, here… it only feels vile. He’s the embodiment of the city itself: worn, cracking, splintered filth, left alone to wind and twist out of control.

You imagine he must have taken up the demeanor during his days as a centurion, but your head clouds when you try to recall the many times he’s monologued those times to you. Like his proposal, the dowry and arrangements, all of it feels blurry in your mind. You lose yourself to it when the strap is slipped down your shoulder, your body goading you do as asked for the sake of fewer future headaches.

There are no lemures looming over your shoulders these days, they only guide his hand, his voice. They haunt you in the shape of Gaius, an old hawk that screeches the commands you’ve no place to refuse.

The stola drops to your ankles with a dreadfully slow sweep, a century passed in a bolt of lightning. It pools down at your feet in a river of white. Graciously, Gaius doesn’t prompt you to remove the breast band where the truth of your bout lies embedded in little bruises, the mark of teeth scraped right by your areola in a rolling fit of passion.

Your betrothed boxes you in against the bench until the backs of your knees meet the wood, guides you down with weighty palms until you’re seated: feet pressed onto the seat, knees brought back toward your chest. In earnest, your stomach froths with a displeasure and embarrassment, but this is not the first time that the man had taken to inspect your pussy as if it’s your only worth in the world.

Whichever malady he possesses to make him like this… you could only hope that König did not have it. This weak, old soldier would be nothing short of a toothless dog should your bull take to charge him.

What was a dull glimmer of longing for his safety immediately sours to a wish for his goring when those cold fingers tug your loincloth aside and you’re laid bare for him right there on the bench.

The old creep inspects your cunt as though he were a medicinal woman. His fingers part your parched labia, not so much as a dewdrop of arousal there— completely unlike how your body had only seemed to melt and sing its pleas for König. He doesn’t whisper his pleasures in Latin about how pretty it is down there, doesn’t capture your mouth in a kiss that scorches you right through, only probes and prods at your slit to see if there’s any give.

Of course there isn’t.

It wouldn’t have mattered if you let the entire barbarian camp take their turns with you; you wouldn’t be any more blooming for Gaius. Men like him didn’t have the slightest idea of how to make a lady soft and dewing, they only thought that they did.

You knew with a certainty that this wasn’t normal by any stretch. After the first instance, asking the women nestled against their open windows, humming to sleeping infants curled on their chests only prompted sympathetic stares. “Have you no midwife?,” one had replied, face paled as she looked to you: the pitiable woman who had been inspected like a strange fish just for bartering with a man at his market stall for bread. Gaius had not found a thing then, and you had only begun to doubt his intelligence.

… Did he even know what a hymen was?

You will keep your secrets, and he will always play the fool. That’s just how peace would operate once you did share a roof with him.

“Well?,” you prompt, shifting a little in your seat when his cold fingers move to grip the plush of your parted thighs, examining closer with a low, raspy gasp.

A feint that earns no response.

Seemingly satisfied by a lack of a shimmering semen trail or whatever dullards like Gaius sought, he scowls and backs away, hands falling to his sides. There’s no bulge stirring beneath his toga, either. There’s an absence of anything that would make your relationship seem anything more than some strange transaction.

If anything at all, you have become a kept dove, clipped wings and cooing in a gilded cage. No more a wife than a pet or a pretty, glittering jewel. Something meant to waste away its days possessed.

You didn’t even know why he had chosen you, a lady with no gold, silk, or land to her name. Everything you owned he had given to you. Father, mother… whether or not you even had siblings, you were uncertain. Trying to remember only stirs up another aching in your head and you’ve had more than enough to worry about lately without the added sting,

“You’ve done no wrong.” It’s decided in a cold tone of voice. There’s a belief there, but only because the truth of the matter would make him look entirely the part of the fool that he seemed to play without notice.

“As I said.” You won’t run pleading to Juno for her forgiveness this time, or ever again. For the goddess of marriages and women to bless you with… this. Surely she never favored you very much at all.

You wouldn’t waste your bronze coins on fortune tellers anymore, either.

“Mind your words, girl.” He pats your cheek, feigning an affection that has never been present in this villa, in this city at all. You feel little more than like one of the slave girls— not whipped into submission, their plight was always far worse, but if you looked into their eyes for a moment too long, you knew you would find a part of yourself held there.

You nod your head and carry on puppeting yourself as you always have. Conversation comes stiffly as he wanders about your little home, noting what would need fixing before the night of your wedding, checking your food stores and even helping himself to a bone cup filled with wine. Even with it offered to your lips, speaking with him does not come any easier.

Finally, you utter the words that have nagged at the back of your throat since the day of his proposal, “Why do you want for us to be wed?”

The man pauses as he sets the cup aside, finger drumming at the rim momentarily as he regards you with an upturned brow.

“Your father’s dying wish was for us to be married.”

“Yes, but… who was he?”

“A great warrior.” That’s the only explanation you ever get, even when the confusion paves way to a simmering concern. How could you not remember your own kin? It seemed so unfathomable. Seeing so many large families walk these same streets as you… and yet you only had Gaius, hardly better company than a corpse.

“That’s all that you ever tell me.”

“… You will make a great wife.” He concludes the conversation, gives you a firm kiss on the cheek and leaves you to stew in the nothingness that haunts this place as though it were an ancient tomb.

Your days remain the same, nothing ever changing in your eternal cage that only grows ever-colder, more and more like a crypt.

Stitching, weaving, flowing. The animals needed tending, the marketplace was always bustling, and you’ve stopped listening to the poets. Their words only make you feel colder now.

You have met the things that lurk beyond these walls, and they do not speak of bubbling creeks and your gods; they soak their weapons in you, whisper like the trees and bellow like the mountains, ride their horses into battle without a scrap of armor on their hides. They don’t even fear the lemures or Jupiter’s lightning strikes. Maybe not even the changing seasons; harvests must be plentiful when your home isn’t surrounded by chalked clay and ivory.

You don’t turn to Juno any more, but you do turn to Mars. You pray not for the empire, but for his bastard.

Her altar had been tucked away to a corner of your room, replaced now by a stagnant cup of wine you dutifully purge and refill each night, a stray dagger you had acquired from a thieving child on the street, and a strip of red fabric torn away from an old tunic belonging to your betrothed.

When night comes and the weight of it all curls over your shoulders, you find yourself tugged down to the floor on your knees, whispering great fortune for that arrogant beast who had promised to take you to bed when next you meet. It always starts the same, your voice pleads to Mars, only to dither off to murmurings of a different name.

Though he remains distant, barking and bleeding out prey far from you, some semblance of him remains tucked between your ribs. A small echo, one that only seems to grow into a roar when your eyes close and you dream of wolves and their sharp-fanged promises, wisps of wind through low-hanging branches and not paved streets, dirt giving way beneath your feet.

He holds you in those dreams, whispers to you about your false gods when you stand over a stream, points out the only two in existence amidst the reflection with a curled finger.

In those dreams, you think you hear the voice of Mars, a fluttering leaf on the breeze detached from what he’s come to be: it tells you of thyme and rosemary, a foreign glade, of death and longing, and never does it breathe fire.

Then, you wake, ripped from the Elysian and back to wander Orcus with a heavier weight upon your soul.

— — —

Mars answers your prayers in the late autumn.

You do not wake to the sounds of horses or crackling fires outside, only something quieted and peaceful. The street beyond your window is silent as you stretch out to see what’s stirred you; not an animal or a man lies in wait, only the cool gloom of the moon tucked beneath clouds above.

Time only seems to pass more viciously these months. There’s a wedding to be had when the seasons changed; your yellow-red veil had been stitched with trembling fingers nicked several times over by needle, the lectus had been prepared and set on the first floor of the villa. The red cloth covering the modest couch seemed a threat in itself. You don’t hazard it a glance when you wander out of the door to take to the street tonight.

Dim moonlight does little to guide you, only making each shadow seem to stretch and warp in mocking, uninvited guests to set your shivering heart spinning.

There is just no time anymore, not here.

There, sits an owl atop a roof. Its dark wings stretched out as if to begin another flight, to coo its retribution to the sleeping city. You don’t dare to attempt to capture it, there would be no ritual tonight and no care if some harbinger brought doom to this place. It regards you with shimmering yellow eyes, and you think, for just a moment that you see the same feral look in them that you saw in your warrior. The bird wasn’t always the omen that others may claim, sometimes it’s only a sign.

The son of Mars has returned, his horse is waiting to take you upon its broad back and carry you to the mountains and the sea.

The chill on the breeze only guides each step you take as you clamber through that chipping hole in the wall and flee to the field once again. Strangely enough, the air even feels different out here, colder still but devoid of the shadows that climb and crush. The soldiers usually stationed outside the wall are not present now. You only reason that it was rare that they ever were, anyway, always too bathed in wine and kisses from flighty little women slaves to focus on the scape just beyond.

And there, further out from the opposite bank the stream, you see the glow of a fire.

It was strange to see the Goths had returned before your city’s own soldiers. Perhaps you had slept through their march, tucked away at some vast banquet filled with pillaged riches, the finest of wines and the most fresh of smoked meats before you had even begun to stir. Peculiar thing, being so accustomed to the rituals of men that for the most part you had learned not to even bat an eye. It mattered not, anyhow. What you sought was not another Roman to steal away your aspirations to take you as his woman.

Your pace is light and tentative, feeling the earth sink and mold around your bare soles. The thorns risen up from grass dare not poke you with their spines, the owls lurking in the trees do not chase or call, and the horses in the pastures seem at ease.

Even in a world bathed in black and silver, you feel golden, warmed from temple to ankle by that someone other lurking just beyond reach. The other gods could be condemned— it was Mars at your side all along.

The barbarian camp is in a similar state to when you had first seen it, just as you are with the ends of your gown drenched in water from the stream.

There are fewer to their numbers now. You count only three: two busied away with roasting meat over the fire, one running his blade over a flat stone at the mouth of his tent. You recognize them, somewhat, as you step closer, each just as imposing as the first with thick hair and wild eyes, but there’s no sign of König, not here in the open.

You’re stricken by fear immediately, clouding your head with doubt and worry: not for your own safety, but at the thought that your warrior was left to rot in the forests beyond, struck down by some other barbarian king.

You’re stood at the edge of the camp when your breath grows thin, pulse racing as your veins try in earnest not to burst with panic.

One of the men rises from the fire, gruffs something at you in his mother tongue, a deep rumbling like the rocks of old mountain and the timber of trees: like König. He stands before you, a wild mane of dyed hair atop his head, so deeply crimson and maroon you would even think it had been colored with blood from sheep or man, perhaps both.

He claps you on the back with a strong hand, the shove nearly enough to send your shivering form tumbling to the dirt, before you’re righted with a strong grip on your wrist. Then, he laughs.

“Come. König,” the man barks in his heavily accented voice, tugging at your wrist as if you were a mere calf to herd.

Your panic dulls somewhat, enough to wriggle out of his grip and shoot him a glare you had only previously reserved for your betrothed. Intent on playing the part of some strong yet benevolent noble woman it seemed, as you straighten yourself out and ignore the way that the mud and blades of grass stick right to the dirtied hem of your loose robe.

“He is here?” You ask after a moment, feeling a bit misplaced as this other, less familiar giant stares down at you. His eyes are not blue, but gold when the light of the fire pit illuminated him.

This one does not understand as much as you had hoped, because he only murmurs more incomprehensible words and pushes your forward with a palm placed right between your shoulder blades.

You don’t trip, but you had half a mind to hiss at him then, until you realize he is only leading you towards that same ugly tent from before.

The pelts have been changed out, somewhat. There is less gray now and more brown, hides from deer and boar alike, taken from their months of travel. The maroon fabric remains, layered beneath in such a way that seems to make it only seem more alive and bleeding this time.

“Keep warm.” The man speaks up again, and there is no mistaking the amusement in his voice. Insulting, what he dared to insinuate with those two words, yet… there’s a cloud of fuzzy, warm excitement billowing up between your breasts all the same.

The flap of the tent is held up by your own trembling hand, elation tinged with an anxiety, a clustering song played without harmony in your very bones. Though, it settles so easily when the light of the moon mingles with the candles within the cradle of wool and leather.

König is sat, recognizable from his very being, laden with scars and coarse light fur, vast as he had always been. However, his face has changed. Gone is the bleeding shroud you had seen upon him before: the cloth has been tossed away on the mattress, revealing a face that both chills and heats you to the very base of your being.

His face is not unlike others you have seen, maybe upon gladiators a time or two once the helmets were discarded and the dancing with beasts and men alike had subsided. There are scars there, too, a broken face revealing a menagerie of pain from the bump upon his nose to the chip in his tooth as he smiles. His eyelids are still smeared in darkened mud used to make him seem that much more sinister in battle, streaking down his cheeks not unlike the carmine that tended to use to paint your own.

Those eyes though… they stand out above all else, heart wrenching and sullen, and still, they rise to crease at the outer corners when his stare meets your own.

A man with more polish would have concealed the state of himself from a maiden; turned his face away and covered his nudity in the furs lining his mattress. You’re thankful that König is not like those men. His stare is as open as his body’s own articulation: he only lies back into the bed and beckons you near with a curl of his fingers to his calloused palm.

“I made offerings for you.” To you, but thankfully that phrasing doesn’t make its way out. You take your place on his mattress, carefully placing a palm over his chest just to feel— to touch, to be nearer to your god in some way. The time apart hasn’t been entirely cruel, but ‘kind’ would never suit it well either.

Your touch is answered by a heavy grip around your forearm, a gentle yet demanding tug that leaves you sprawled across him like some tiny animal gripping onto a tree: your head presses against his bare stomach, one hand tucked to your chest while the other is quickly pulled up to meet his mouth. König kisses you, right on your palm in some peculiar sort of reverence.

“Your blessing was enough.” You feel his mouth stretch, the brush of teeth against your flesh as he grins, something you’ve missed.

It’s a ruse; there are winding strips of fabric haphazardly tied over his chest, thick with the stench of iron. The blood is dried, but you could only imagine the state of the wound beneath it. Months upon months of travel with a chest wound… your heart crumbles, struck with worry then.

The seax sits intact, however, propped up against one of the wooden poles keeping the shelter in place. Even sheathed, you could assume with how dutifully the barbarian cared for his blade that it had been cleaned, sharpened and greased to keep rust at bay. Though the benevolence he had coaxed from you had not saved him, a part of you was almost pleased to see the weapon unscathed.

“You’re hurt,” you hear yourself say, far away, out amidst the turning leaves that surely watched him take a spear or a dagger, maybe even an arrow, toward his beating heart.

“Hm…? Men get hurt in battles, meine Göttin,” he says, so nonchalant, as though the fear of dying out amongst the trees and hungry animals did not exist for him at all. “You worry?”

You pull your hand away from him when he playfully nips at your fingertips; even wounded König seems more inclined to bite and make you squeal than settle into this expanse of fur to rest and heal.

Of course you’re worried, men fall to mere scrapes in time: grime coaxes its way in, wounds fester with an almost laughable ease, infection paves way for fever and…

“Take care of me…?” König’s voice comes soft, the softest you’ve heard. Gone now is that boyish, mocking lilt, replaced by something akin to trepidation. Fear for him does not come from the shouting of men with blades held high, but in small whispers begging for affection.

“Sure…”

The ruddy bandages are pried away from his chest by gentle hands, uncurled and left on the dirt floor to the side of the bed. The wound in his chest is not as severe as you had expected, a few centimeters deep, jagged as it curves upward… whoever had done this had not had the opportunity to properly pierce him before the offending weapon had been pried from their hands. Crushed. Followed by what you could only imagine was the attacker’s fretful shrieks when König advanced upon him.

Your fingers brush over the wound, gentle, as you inspect the blaze of red around its edges. There’s no clear indication of infection, but when a clay jar of honey is plucked from König’s belongings and brought to your hands, you dutifully dab the wound in its sweetness.

You tell him how it will heal, using the phrases you’ve only heard from the physicians about the city, failing to mention that you had not tended to someone like this before. He breathes his appreciation in a soft rumble when you wrap his chest in strips of cloth, tightening it comfortably just to tie at his side.

“Did you kill the man who did this?,” you ask once you’ve stripped yourself bare, shed your clothing to lie in a heap with the ruined bandages he had previously worn. Your body rests at his side, arm curled over his middle. A woman’s warmth was necessary to heal a warrior… perhaps it could remedy a forgotten god, too.

“All of them,” he hums into your hair, a whisper of a voice harboring words that should chill you to your very bones. König only appears pacified as he speaks, never minding his own madness, nor the blood caked beneath his fingernails.

You ask him what these men were like, who could have been capable of wounding a man as mighty as himself, and in turn he laughs. Surely, the gash must ache, but his voice never falters when he gathers you in two treelike limbs to pull your body ever-closer to his own.

He tells you that they were familiar, that your men in their dye red tunics held their spears and struck down some of his men but could not hope to best him.

He tells you of the cowardly ambush, how the warriors of your city turned upon his own with shouts and anger after a slave woman had been released. The way the woman spoke… as if she knew more about you than you ever had, how he could not bare to watch her suffer when she even resembled you in some ways: older, but still so very much like you. He had felt killing her captor to return her to the forest was the only way he could keep your favor.

While you listen in a stasis, stuck ridged against him as your mind drifts, pulls memory from the darker corners within your skull, he strokes at your shoulder, presses his nose right up to yours.

The man who had struck him was smaller… weaker, he had not survived König’s first blow, but… There’s a frothing madness in his eyes like the sky threatening storms when he tells you that he could not bear the thought of a man that would think to harm anyone like his goddess finding a way to return. His attacker was ripped limb from limb, body burned with the rest of those that followed his order.

You remain entirely silent, taking in this whispered tale as though it were breathed from the mouths of the gods themselves.

You never needed to pray to Mars, to Juno, to Vulcan…any of them. The embodiment of fear lies as a welcomed presence next to you, stroking along your back as though you were a mere kitten while he breathes this gory story against your lips. The smile returns when he finishes, pets at your jaw as if awaiting a reward for his perceived good deed… and you allow his madness to slip right past your teeth.

The touches brush over you like the featherlight breezes of the past spring, fingertips grazing from your waist to neck, nails leaving lightened stripes over the flesh he carefully claws at, gathering your skin, the meat from your bone, to roll between each pad of his digits. There’s further worship, a desperation to ensure that you are still here as he pants into your mouth, grips at your hip to pull you closer to where he aches the most.

There’s no pelt sprawled over his groin to hide himself from you, no thin linen to protect where he wishes to reach most. All you have is your words, and a thumb delicately rubbing over his bandage. When the kiss breaks, only then do you think to speak.

“When you’re better.”

The man makes his protests, gives his cock a few strokes as he hisses into your ear about promises, the horse, how long he’s dreamt and waited. You don’t need to be convinced, but now… your mind is riddled with what’s occurred in your months apart. Though the tension remains thick and wafting in the air between you, the physical could wait until you’re both sorted.

While you remained stuck and forlorn, struck by longing and misery, he had only found some semblance of meaning for all of what has eluded you, slayed every man who he could envision bringing you- anyone like you- harm, came back with another wound to fold over into a puffed scar.

You’ve only been waiting for your own sentencing.

Your warrior softens when your eyes begin to swim, fragile and overwhelmed as you’re tucked away beneath him. He only holds you, protective with an unwavering grip as the moon sweeps through the tent with its melancholic comfort that finally pulls the tears right from your eyes.

“Meine Göttin…,” he whispers against your temple, before you press your face into a broad shoulder, hiding tears and frail hiccuped sobs. “I prayed only to you.”

The words come barely audible, though they were never truly necessary.

You feel them in every touch, every hurried whisper as he coos his apologies in that keening voice, every kiss pressed over your warmed face when relaxation snares your limbs, and you do bloom further against him. The comfort and adoration is near staggering, taking you in and pulling you under, further below than even the rivers of your dreams and the ocean just out of reach could ever hope to.

As though this were the most natural thing…

The altars of your villa before were mere practice for the worship of lying next to your own deity; bastard son or Hercules, a wolf or a wild boar, none of it mattered.

He sighs, cups your face to kiss you just once more, something far more chaste than what you’ve come to know from him; the small peck to your lips holds more weight than the clatter of teeth and tongue from before. When you begin to drift off to a dream of a glade filled with nymphs where the trees breathe sap that tastes of honeysuckle, all bathed in the glow of starlight, you only feel the need to silently pray for one last thing: that he will never let you go.

— — —

It’s only on the seventh morning that you come to a realization over a breakfast of figs and water from the stream just below the hill— one that you haven’t been home. You feel at home enough here. The stuffy villa seems only a distant memory when you’re seated across from him, the giant who showers you in so much love it feels warmer than the great flames of Vulcan’s own fury.

No one has come to seek you out, either. Gaius had to have had an idea, should he have even bothered to search for you in that now desolate home. The few soldiers you have witnessed on their patrolling across the field never seem to turn an eye to the barbarian camp. You fill your pots with water, taking aid from König’s men, and never once have they turned to you.

Judgment always seemed so swift with all apart from destiny. You reason that this is surely what it must be, a destiny painted high above in the stars on nights where the mist does not curl up to conceal them from your gaze. You watch them sometimes, when König relaxes his grip in sleep: you turn to the outside of the tent to stare up at the expanse of stars and hear the stories of this nameless king from the mouths of the very men who have braved each storm with him.

They tell you in shattered language of stories you know with a certainty must not be entirely true. They range from talk of the hundred wives König supposedly had that he released all when he met you, of the temples built in his name all lined with gold and the names of jewels you had never once heard spoken, of how he had even slain your great god Jupiter… You have always listened with great amusement, wondering just how highly he must speak of you to have his men lie for him so brazenly.

Laughter follows you back to König’s tent each night, waiting to hear the cries of their king expending his love upon you that never come. You tend to his wound, observing its healing as the days come and go, and with each rebirth of the sun, his touch only seems to grow more imploring, his words sweeter than even the fruit held up in your palm.

In the haze of the morning sun spilling in from the parted flap of the tent, his eyes seem alight with an unnatural flame when he pulls you in to seat you upon one of his muscular thighs, far too rowdy for an injured man. You think not to refuse him when he laps at the juice from the fruit that has trickled down your chin.

“I love you.” He professes his devotion in that same pleading voice, an arm curled around your middle to keep you securely in place. Another thing that you never needed the words spoken to know.

You bring a fig up to his mouth, feed him with a kiss to his cheek and a whispered confession of your own. From the moment you saw him tending to his seax on the bank, your heart had become a howling, skittering animal in the cage of your ribs. You murmur words stolen from the poets against his jaw, about love and flowers, the mating dances of beasts and gods alike. With each word spun, he clutches you tighter, echoes them in his mother tongue.

The confession ends in a kiss that leaves you cloudy, aloft, a union of tongue and soft panting that leaves each nerve thrumming rapidly. The bowl of fruit slips from your lap, left to scatter over the ground forgotten.

König lowers you to lie back on the bed, teeth nipping and raking down along the column of your throat, over your pulse… back to your breasts that he caresses in two large palms.

“Not yet,” you remind him. His touch grows more insistent, thumbs pressed to your nipples to roll over them until your back arcs and your thighs tremble. “You’ll open your wound…”

“I am fine,” he huffs when he releases you from such delicious torture. “Let me…”

You can not bring yourself to tell him the true reasons as to why you can not. Not yet. You’re a mere stroll away from the city’s beckoning gates, from the place where you’re set to be wed only a fortnight from now. The mouth of Orcus that will drag you back in and keep you caged away from him… it would be too bittersweet to make your passions clear when your doom still imposes upon you with just a glance outside. If it ever comes… and you silently begged to any greater thing that it never would.

“When you’re healed… when you take me away from here,” you promise.

König listens in his own way. You see a flash of mischief when he separates from you with one final generous squeeze to your breast. This isn’t just the casual acceptance that comes with children being scolded, but an urgency to contend your words, a desire to prove himself buried in those shimmering eyes.

“Meine Göttin thinks that I am weak, hm?”

“That is not what I said.”

“I will show you.”

All at once, König rises from the mattress, casually shedding the bandage over his chest to discard it. You want to protest to whatever it is that he’s doing, but you knew very little of the minds of these men, their proclivities and desires, only that above all his intentions only seemed to be to prove himself worthy of worshiping at your feet, between your parted thighs…

As if to taunt you, the stiffened cock between his own legs bounces, drools when he stands. Your head spins as you force yourself to sit up and look into his eyes instead.

“What are you doing?,” you ask when he gathers his seax from the place he’s left it propped up, followed swiftly bu the pelt he usually donned around his middle with its leather straps and worn, gray fur.

“We will go on a hunt, hm? I will show you how…” He trails off with a grunt as he fastens the straps, finally conceals the pale, proud pillar when the fur comes to cover his groin. The seax follows as it’s tied to his narrow hip, the pommel glinting in low light as he approaches the opening of the tent and gestures for you to follow.

He should not be going on a hunt, and you… still did not even possess a weapon to aid in such an endeavor. Still, the thought of seeing him actually in the midst of a heated battle stills your breath for a moment, spurs you forward to follow along behind him.

The men around the camp speak with him for a time, prattling on in their mother tongue, gesturing out towards the trees with grins brimming with excitement. They all seem enticed by the prospect of felling some noble creature to drag back to their camp, make a true sacrifice for the goddess made mortal that lurks here. König dismisses them with a wave of his hand, clearly intent on being the only one to gift you such an offering.

He barks an order to the man that led you to his tent, and within moments this other man brings a Roman spear to your warrior, recognizable by its intricate engravings and barbed tip. König weighs it in his hands for a moment, glances back at you with a grin that simply screams his satisfaction of holding a trophy pried from the grip of one of your own detestable soldiers.

You follow after him through the dense forest bordering the clearing. The trees have long since shed their summer green, replaced instead by reds and golds, the dead falling to bathe the forest floor in bronze and brown. König walks slowly as to not cause too much sound to pass beneath the weight of his bulky body, encouraging you to do the same in a hushed demand with each crunching leaf beneath your soles.

Finally, he comes to a halt overlooking a small ridge that overlooks a small clearing. The brush and thickets rise high here, no doubt the birthing place of brambles and thorns, ground passive and untouched by all except the animals hiding within trees and bedded down in burrows. One still walks, awake and alert, a brilliant red stag with antlers more vast than even the horns of the bulls sent off to play war with the gladiators.

The creature is stationary, chewing cud with each movement of its dainty little jaw. It’s tail twitches, ears flicking on occasion when a bird swoops too close or the sound of a snapping twig out in the distance echoes through the forest. It’s a beautiful, delicate thing, but still strong and sturdy. The stag looks perfectly at peace here, not noting the wolf that watches over the ridge.

By the time that the deer does catch sight of König, it’s already too late. The arm holding the long spear is already pulled back and raised high. When the creature moves to resume its prance, the weapon is sent spiraling through the air, twisting and spinning in the absence of a breeze like a living thing until its point is found bedded in the stag's protruding belly.

The creature bleats in pain, writhes and kicks as it comes crashing down to a bed of brittle leaves that clamor beneath its weight. You close your eyes when you see the ground painted with blood from its seeping wound, and König begins to descend upon it. There are other sounds that follow, thudding blows in quick succession that leaves very little to your imagination; you’re only grateful he brought such a pretty thing a swift death.

You walk ahead of him on the way back to camp as he carries the animal’s corpse, politely telling him that if you look, you will not eat.

He gives his spoils to the other men once you’ve reached the camp again. They cheer, readying their blades to carve the creature up for a meal of venison and whatever amount of wine remains in their stores. The rations had been cut off since the others had failed to return, it wouldn’t be long until there was no wine left without one of them fetching work for coin within the city and purchasing it himself; still, König ensures that your cup is filled to the rim with it’s tart sweetness, grape with notes of something earthy, a mixture of thyme embedded into it to bless it with scent like a pomander.

You seat yourself in his lap, looking every part of a pretty earthen goddess as he presses his face to your bare shoulder, traces shapes into your hip while you sip from your cup. His men do not stare, either, regardless of your state of nudeness. There’s respect here, embedded into their flesh, their beliefs, and you only feel the part of a noblewoman when you take note of it. You are not just any man’s woman, but their leader’s most revered treasure.

The others pick apart your harvest of flesh, hang the skins to dry for further use, the antlers and bone left in a heap to be cleaned, then sharpened and carved. Your stare is appreciative as you watch them work away, never having seen this side of things from your modest villa. A fire is stoked when the usable meat is peeled away from what remains of the bones, ribs and femur, others that you could not hope to name.

“See?” König chimes as he takes hold of your hip, squishing you closer, tighter amidst the space of his palm. “Not weak..,” he hums into the hair at the back of your neck.

His touching grows more persistent, eager as the tips of his fingers graze your inner thigh; though appeased, you were not keen on the idea of straddling him before the eyes of his men as though you were only a breeding pair of foxes, screeching your passions into the forest for birds and bears to hear. When a throb resounds from his stroking, you wind yourself away to sit at his side instead, jaw resting on his knee and cup raised up to hide your breasts from his field of view.

“I did not say you were. Just hurt.”

He gives an impatient grunt in response, but allows you to linger in this new position, taking to stroke at your face and shoulders instead.

When the meat is cooked to their standards, still bloody and near raw to your own, the men chatter away between mouthfuls and thick swallows of their wine. You try to keep up, forcing yourself to commit some of their more common turns of phrase to mind— obvious yeses and nos, the way that they call one another, the names that would sound strange on your tongue but suit the others all the same. When your expression falls to confusion, König whispers translations into your ear; they’re discussing the Romans… what they will do if their rations are cut entirely, something about a deal struck before your interest summers and you resort to eating the venison you hood in silence.

It is not that you feel out of place, only lost. These men live in a separate world entirely: there is no talk of ironed out politics, organized festivities, of weddings an plotting for farmland. There is laughter here, even song when one of the trio seated across from you and König begins to bark out a loud chorus from a tune that your warrior so sweetly explains to you is about a woman who ventured out to elope with a cave-dwelling bear. Peculiar wild men that they were, you don’t even bother to question how that could ever possibly work.

When the afternoon sinks into the coziness of evening, you walk hand in hand with König back to his tent, and just as with any other night, there are cheerful, foreign goads and tedious little sounds elicited behind you. The wine had you peaceful for a time, but its haze has since passed. Your sheepishness is apparent at the implication, but the wolfish grin König shoots back at his men is anything but.

You know he expects to fulfill his promise entirely— make you his lover, wife, whatever he seems to see you as. That could not happen… as much as you thrum for him with each brush of his warm palm against your backside or upon your face, eternally gazing up at him with your dumb and doting stare.

To your credit: when his gaze crawls over you to take every bare expanse of flesh in, he only sees a beauty that he seemingly can not comprehend. The tells range from the tightening of his jaw, the twitch of each digit when they meet your skin, the way his nostrils glare and eyelids sag. His profession from earlier was anything except just that: it was a truth.

As he strips away his pelt and sets his blade aside, your hands rise to press against his shoulders, forbidding him to go any further than this simple reveal. And you speak true, explaining your exasperating engagement with the foul man who made certain you were spied upon, your distaste for your life within the walls itself, and lastly the marriage that would occur once the seasons did change.

Your eyes feel nothing short of pure liquid when you seat yourself upon his mattress for what you assume would be the very last time. Your voice tapers when you reveal that those very reasons were why you had come to him that night for the horse, why you came back even now.

König listens until your voice is reduced to a somber whisper, broken up by weak sniffles. The flirtation in his gaze is lost, and there’s no grin that splits apart his thin lips. You think that, if he asked you if you felt similarly to him then, that you would break down in full, but he doesn’t.

Instead he hisses something in his mother tongue, a singular word: “Scheiße.” Then, another laugh is coaxed from his throat, the dozenth that you must have heard this night alone. He seems fully unperturbed, unbothered when he descends upon you as if you were nothing more than the very deer he had slaughtered earlier.

“It is fine. Alles gut.” He covers your face in kisses, biting at your cheek when you squirm against him. “I can fight him, hm?”

Stupid… so terribly impulsive and cute. You sigh as if exasperated with him, but envelope him in your embrace anyway.

“I just want to be free of all of it,” you explain in a hushed voice.

“Then we will be free,” he confirms. We. No longer just yourself, and you almost bring yourself to ask if he has truly meant it before you're reminded of his declaration with a swift kiss that punches the air from your chest and leaves you shivering.

You hold him tighter still, fingers weaving into his hair to massage at his scalp and draw back in a tug when his head cocks to nip at your jaw. Again, always, he encompasses you, pulls you down into darkened water that warms and thumbs around you. You lose yourself more and more with each touch, thumb brushing over the pulse of your neck, teeth nipping at your clavicle, the brush of his groin as he rolls his hips to meet the plushness of your thigh.

You ache, cry when he guides your nipple into his mouth, languidly lapping over you until his salivating is evident over your tit. He only grows less patient the more vocal you become; one hand remains played to the side of your head while the other steadily slinks down past your naval, trails off to grasp at you hip and steer you closer before descending lower, where only his blade had dared venture before.

“I have dreamt of this, meine Göttin,” he purrs when he shifts his hips. His cock rests heavy over your thigh, weeping the sheerness of its own demand to paint your flesh. He guides your hand there to palm at his steadily growing arousal, curls your hand around his length and guides it up to stroke.

His chest rumbles his pleasure as he groans against your cheek; the sounds are somehow more surprising than the ones you had heard outside the brothels. Before König… never had you heard a man voice his pleasure, and though it may have been emasculating to some, it only makes you wet, there where his fingers reach to pet once he’s satisfied with the pace you’ve set as you pleasure him.

Your thumb grazed over the flushed tip, smearing the preejaculate that drools from it, his hips buck then. Your own sounds join his chorus when he ghosts a fingertip over the hood of your clit, buried his middle finger into your cunt. The entire ordeal is lazy, lazy as the slow kisses that connect your panting mouths.

With each twitch of your wrist as you milk his cock, you’re met with a finger probing deeper. At some point, one becomes two, a try for three before he draws back and realizes you’re too close to begin to take anymore.

“Tight..,” he appraises in a low voice, tongue lapping over your teeth as you writhe at his side.

You pick up pace at his praise, adoringly offering him your love with quickened sweeps of your hand, of your thumb over the weeping head, until he begins to throb in your hold. König mutters a curse against your jaw as he struggles to keep his hand steady then, bludgeoning you with his fingers, circling your clit until you begin to whine.

The heat builds within you so quickly you begin to see the night sky beneath your eyelids— an expanse of stars, of glowing blooms, and all at once the heat becomes too much. You curl into yourself, struggling to keep the demanding cock in your grip as you grind your hips down upon his hand to ride out your orgasm, bleary eyes and weakened by the intensity of it all you merely muffle your cries against his waiting mouth.

It takes no time at all for him to finish then, thick spurts of white seed paint up from your mound to your belly, coating your fingers in its stickiness. He hurts his teeth through it, intent on stifling the desperate little sounds building up in his throat, kisses you with even more fervor when you bless him with another tug to milk out every last viscous drop as it kicks and throbs in your hand.

He settles briefly, trailing kisses from your jaw to shoulder, then rises to part your legs with a strong grip around each thigh. For a moment, you almost think he’s prepared to fuck you proper, but the thought dissipates when he gathers his own seed over the head of his still hardened cock, settles it against your cunt, and grinds his seed against your salivating hole.

Your whine is clipped and almost pained when he brushes over your clit, hips rising to pull away when you feel the tickling burn of overstimulation. It doesn’t last; satisfied that he has left his spend close enough to your pussy that he may as well have laid claim to it, he crashes down over you, head pressed between your breasts.

König’s breath still comes in a pant while he huffs his affection for you: praises, those three wonderful words again and again. His tone is tender, reverent, as he tells you that he loves you… immediately following it with a stout and crude declaration of how roughly he will fuck you when the time does come.

“Do you mean what you said…?” You find your voice when he finally stops whispering the filth of his fantasies to you, when your cunt ceases its pleading for more. Right now… it would not be as special anyhow. Your fate still lies in the grasp of another, and as much as you wished for it to align in full with him, that simply was not so.

“Ja,” he answers immediately, no hesitation when he commits himself in full to you, the Roman woman who had tamed him down with her silly whims and ache for him. “I will take you to the mountains, the sea, …the stars if you ask.”

You comb your fingers through his hair, filled with mirth as he speaks of such impossibilities. There is no place in the stars for two misplaced lovers, but you don’t dare say that. The things that fill your imaginations would leave even the poets balking, scrambling for the words pretty enough to describe a love so peculiar.

— — —

You had not questioned why they remained, that was your folly.

You had never thought that you would even care should you see the city fall. Though… dread immediately strikes your heart with ice and silver when you’re bolted awake by the sound of shrill shrieks and loud crumbling. There’s a war just beyond the veil the tent provides: loud sounds of heavy feet, shouts, even the clash of metal upon metal if only for a single stuttering beat of your heart.

Vulcan has descended, rode right through on flaming steeds with flame rising from his open maw. You know it with a certainty without even approaching the opening to look. But you do. You do move away from the empty mattress, finding the space where König had slept against you, snoring softly and tugging you closer in your bliss, entirely devoid of any warmth. The air is warm, tinged with the heat of coursing flames, but the bed is cold, frigid like the fear that cinches at your heart and steals the breath from fluttering lungs.

There’s ash in the air, falling like the first snows of winter when you make your way out of the tent, coughing into your hand as it clasps over your mouth and nose. The air is so thick, noxious and darker than even the backdrop of velvety sable marking the horizon. Your eyes track the twisting, feathering pillars of flame as they rise even higher than the wall: a gold and red death.

Shadows scramble across the field— men, women, then the horses, the bulls, that come thundering past. The animals trample and shriek: broken bones, hooves driven through skulls to erupt into mush, leaving twitching, scorched corpses in their wake.

Fire billows up only to fall and rain down, back onto the murderous beasts in some abstract punishment. You watch the puppets writhe and squeal; perhaps your own cries join them, wailing and crying out as all you’ve come to know is engulfed, smothered, destroyed. What the fire does not take, the shattering structures do.

Amidst it all is glee.

There are shouts of men on horseback that come out as the victory roars of men amidst battle, yipping and howling as all is reduced to rubble around them. Your feet do not guide you toward the chaos, they do not bring you to peace either, only far— far as you can go.

The smell alone makes it worse than it ever appeared in your dreaming. Blood, oil, cinder and ash that plummets deep down into your stomach, pushing back up to purge what became of the deer. You feel how that creature must have: alone, terrified, certain that death was biting at your heels. If you had fur it would bristle, antlers would plow through the brush to carry you to safety, but… you do not. You’ve only the ability to gather yourself enough to fall. You descend down the hill in a painful roll as your legs give out beneath you.

You want to close your eyes, to sink into the stream and bid the fire away with desperation alone. When you lower to the grass to wretch, fingers digging into the earth, your gaze snaps back to the scene just beyond the stream.

You know, know dreadfully well that the people here that have managed to escape were hunted down in a veil of inky blackness. The ghouls of myth could not compare to this… This was very real, real as the scent of cooking meat and hair and wood.

And you watch and wait for the fire to burn out, for the animals to cease their rampage and fall back to a calm that never comes.

You stand to your feet, meekly trembling before the wrath and chaos, and you wait with splintering nails clawing at your thighs and unshed tears blurring your vision. There was always a price to pay for freedom, you had seen it time and time again in gladiator pits, monetary and dull, but never this…

And you know the price for yours was paid in fire and vengeance, promised before you ever even had the notion to disappear at all. There was always tension between the Goths and your people. This was bound to come about sooner or later, but the guilt of potentially being the catalyst to it all brings you back to your knees.

You don’t know how long you sit there, staring out into the abyss in silenced fear, but eventually all that fills the quiet is the dull roar of the fires still burning and the dull sounds of a horse’s trot growing nearer. Just across the bubbling little stream, untouched by the death beneath the full moon, is König atop his sable steed. The creature huffs just as König cocks his shrouded head, prompting you in his silence to say anything— deliver your blessing, your thanks, your kisses.

Yet, you can not bring yourself to deliver anything but a weak, anguished wail.

The stream is crossed before you’ve even the time to raise your head, limbs gathering you up to pull you against the broad chest of your god in the cruelest tenderness. You feel limp there, atop this frustrated horse, in the arms of the man who had sacked this city. They will come for him, kill him too… You will be alone with nothing and no one, and stupidly, you find yourself longing for the comfort of calling to Juno in that bedroom you would never see again. All of this just for pleading for the very horse you now perch upon.

He lets you cry as holds the reins in one hand and carries you away from this desolation. The horse walks further than you have ever even seen. The stream before the barbarian camp is not the only, there are orchards and glades and fields of tall grass even further beyond it. You take in the beauty as the city becomes a glimmering speck far behind you.

König only remains silent, stroking your back with his free hand, so lovingly and gentle you find it almost impossible to believe him capable of such cruelty. Your mind is tired, limbs weighty and chest aching from breathing in so much smoke. You do not even realize your exhaustion until you find yourself in a fitful sleep.

There are no dreams, no wonderful comforts, only slow breaths and pained whimpers.

When you do wake, the sun has risen in full.

You’re lying on your back amidst withering grass, a pelt thrown over your body and a figure sat at your side. There’s no longer the stench of smoke, no drab gray clouds hanging over your head. The air is light and tinged with the tartness of buckthorn. There are white, puffy clouds hanging up in the vast blue of the sky, and as you blink, a thumb moves to stroke at your cheek. Soft, so soft and even tentative when it rises to your temple.

“You should have slept longer.” König’s voice comes, not reprimanding, but in a gentle surge of breath. He sounds as exhausted as you still feel.

You’re angry… but you know not why. It feels performative, almost, when you shove his hand away. You want to wail for what you’ve lost, but that voice never comes. Gaius? A home you never liked? The lectus that would be used as a stand to consummate a marriage you had begged to avoid for months on end? What was lost?

“You are going to die.” Your whisper comes strained, tight and tinged with your own misery.

“You worry for me again?”

You shake your head at that, fierce as you turn on your side and away from him again. The dying grass digs into your flesh beneath the fur, scraping like claws, like König’s very touch.

“We are not going to die, little one,” he continues as he moves closer to you, trying to gather you up into his arms in an act of comfort. Your tension rigidly leaves you, though you try to force yourself to remain closed off, it does not happen. You mold against him when he lies at your back, hand splayed over your stomach.

“I never said we. Just you,” you huff. Your hand meets his wrist as his thumb begins to stroke at your naval. The desire to push him away again only dissolves when he winds out of your grip to take your hand into his own, forced lower to feel the cold earth and the warmth of each digit beneath your touch. “They will hunt you down.”

“Then I will die at your side.”

You don’t respond to that, finding his desire to further prove whatever this was entirely incomprehensible now. It is not endearing, you force your mind to reason. This man was more than just tedious at times, but dangerous to… To burn an entire city on a whim then curl against you like this… You whimper, keening and sorrowful as you squeeze your eyes shut— force the macabre thoughts out.

“You are like me,” König continues, a low rumble as he lowers his head to press his cheek to the side of your neck. Even amidst the chill of winter, he’s so warm, so soothing, enough to make you melt like wax from candles… perfumed by his own sweat and the ash he left in his wake, so earthy and lofty all the same. “Kleine Göttin…”

“No… I’m not.”

“You come from the mountain,” he urges with a kiss to your shoulder. His grip around you becomes more insistent with each muttered word, the pads of his fingers pressed further to dimple your skin. “The slave woman told me so.”

You didn’t know the woman he spoke of, you didn’t know anyone still living apart from himself and his men. You want to yell, to drill it into his very skull with your words, but even more than that, you want this comfort.

You want to feed him figs, allow his tongue to sip the wine from your own, and to fall asleep against him with his breath tickling at your scalp. More, to share the life with him you once promised to a deceased man buried in ash…

Truth be told you were not even sure of your standing, Roman or barbarian… Though you had never told him that, his resolute tone leads you to believe all of it. You had always longed to bathe in rivers rather than crowded bathhouses, to crest the tops of mountains and taste fresh honey on your tongue… The titan promises you all of those things and more with his tight hold and in a purred, breathy, “I love you.”

All that you could not prevent dissipates in a plume when you twist around to bury your face against that chest, curl your fingers into his hair and breathe out your resistance in its entirety. The most pitiful of surrenders.

#könig #könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig #konig x you #cod fanfiction #f: only other

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kaltacore · 5 months

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I'm sorry but no videogame party does it like hawke squad. they're one of the most exceptional people in their city one way or another. they are remarkably pathetic and helpless when their personal shit hits the fan. their character arcs are a slight growth at best and a total regression and slow descent into a very bad place mentally at worst. no matter how you play hawke they can't completely change these fuckers' pivotal beliefs. they're obsessed with hawke anyway. half of them lives in literal shitholes. the other half willingly comes to aforementioned shitholes to hang out. their disgust and displeasure with each other is rarely a joke. they still care for each other's well-being to an extent. these bitches are very serious about wanting to cut each other's throats sometimes but they will behave for hawke's sake. they're also very serious about exploring each other's bodies and inventing nsfw fanfiction in thedas just to fuck with their friend group. the most unhinged dynamics of all time. there's no way it could be that good considering shitty writing and production hell but somehow it is. a mess of a game but also a miracle

#every time i pop up on this site it is because of them. the little freaks #i love you the most hated people in kirkwall <3 thank you for being this fucked up #dragon age

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stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage · 11 months

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I said I wasn't going to get started on the topic of Aveline ruining Carver's chances with the guard but I lied okay, it's Carver Hawke defense hours.

Here's the thing; it doesn't matter if you believe Carver was or wasn't fit for the guard. That's a different debate that I'll get to. What matters is Aveline's in no position to tell the guard not to accept his application. Why does she think that's her right to judge whether or not he's fit?

Carver should've had the chance to prove himself one way or another. If it turns out he's not a good fit, then let him fail. Let him learn from it.

"Oh but failure could mean lost lives-"

Aveline doesn't get to talk shit about failure and the people. Plenty have died on her watch yet she still believes she's a good guard and Guard-Captain.

"maybe Aveline's protecting him, Carver could die while on patrol-"

Carver could die working in the Bone Pit, or serving as a templar, or when he's running around with Hawke. Carver could trip and fall down a set of stairs and die. In fact, he can die in the Deep Roads, somewhere he wouldn't have to go if the Hawke's weren't desperate.

Either Carver fails as a guard, or more likely, he succeeds and proves himself worthy of it.

But let's be real, Carver probably kept getting rejected due to being a Fereldan with a past of smuggling/mercenary work and Aveline only reaffirmed the decision, either because they asked her what she thought or she stuck her nose in unprompted.

But what irritates me is that she admits to telling them not to accept his application, and then has the balls to call Carver too proud to take up a trade or find another line of work.

Carver tells her, "And who would take on a Fereldan apprentice? Maybe in another year I could work my way up to pissboy." He has a good point here. Aside from the guard, the only other place Carver could work and use his skillset is with the Templars. Or go back to mercenary/smuggling work.

And Aveline doesn't even have a real answer for him. No suggestions, no encouragement, nothing. Just "Fine, let's crawl down some holes. Good bloody luck for your sake."

Also, if you do the Mark of the Assassin DLC in Act 1-

Aveline: You should see if any of the noblemen are looking for new men-at-arms. Carver: Are you trying to get rid of me? Aveline: It's a role with some autonomy. A good fit with your training and... tendencies. Carver: After serving King Cailan? You want me to suffer some poncy git who needs two servants to wipe his own ass? I'll find my own way, thanks. Aveline: I wish you would.

You wish he would?? Aveline, he was trying to find his way into the guard, a position he'd make a good fit for, and you helped deny him of it because YOU didn't think he would be good enough, I just-

If I haven't made it clear yet, I firmly believe that Carver would've made a great guard. He wants to help people, to be a protector. He's loyal, and despite what Aveline claims, he can follow orders and take his duty seriously. We see him do incredibly well with the Grey Wardens, after all. If he were a guard, he wouldn't have to go down into the Deep Roads with Hawke, and I think he would've been okay with that! He's so hurt and bitter when you leave him behind because that effectively tells him, "I don't need you." Carver's spent the whole first act telling you he wants to go on the expedition aka that he wants to be needed.

But if he were a guard, he would be needed elsewhere. He'd be in training as a recruit. He'd look after Leandra while you go. He wouldn't be backed into a corner with no income and only the templars left as his chance at forging his own path and providing for his family.

He doesn't get that opportunity, though.

By the way, if he becomes a warden, you can get this banter:

Aveline: I'm glad you found a place with the Wardens. Carver: Well, it's not the city guard, but it'll do. Aveline: Carver... it wasn't the place for you. Carver: No, it's all right. It is. It cost a lot, but I get it. I really was a bit of a tit those days, wasn't I? Aveline: Well...

This banter makes me want to scream.

Aveline's just... she's so insistent that she's right. She's someone who will double down rather than entertain the idea that she's wrong and it's not just with Carver and the guard, it's with everything. The "my beef with Aveline" list gets longer and longer every time I replay da2, I swear.

Say what you will about Carver, whether you think he would've been a good fit or if Aveline's right and it wasn't for him, he was denied a chance and it cost him so much in the end. He either dies, or he joins the templars where he deals with Chantry's bullshit trying to brainwash him with "mages aren't people" and "magic is a cancer in this world", or he's infected with the blight and becomes a Grey Warden, forced to serve the rest of his life fighting darkspawn, tormented by voices and nightmares.

I will never not be bitter about this.

#dragon age 2 #da2 #dragon age #carver hawke #aveline vallen #aveline critical #oh and also forever bitter that hawke doesn't have the option to talk to aveline about this #because listen my hawke would be on this #carver would be annoyed and all 'i don't need your help >:[' but that's not gonna stop ed from turning on Big Brother Mode #this is just one of many reasons i can't do the friendship path with aveline #i hate the thought of doing rivalries for all my other companions but i feel like aveline's rivalry route is the only chance to shake her #of her unwarranted over confidence and make her realize that she's not this lawful good 'i stand for all of us' guard captain #she still stands with me in the end but at that point i wouldn't be surprised if she was just doing to because she still feels she owes ed #for getting her outta fereldan and into kirkwall rather than because we're loyal best friends y'know?#she's certainly not doing it for the mage rights #but anyway i never miss an opportunity to defend carver #that's my baby brother and i love him

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coleszzzworld · 2 months

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Baby daddy Keigo Takami (hawks) x fem reader (she/her pronouns.)

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Author’s note ✰~(hey guys!:) , I really don’t have much to say , but I think I’m going to make a baby daddy series ! , so lmk some characters you would like to see! Enjoy!) ✰~

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TRIGGER WARNING,~ ✰ cussing , suggestive content, reader is a mom , and hawks is a dad , hawks is a douche in this Ngl , definitely Yandere story:)~ ✰ POSITIVELY DO NOT READ IF EASILY TRIGGERED. -✰Enjoy the fall.✰-🐇♦️🖤

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-✰”I love you so….But why I love you, I'll never know.✰-

✰-Baby daddy! Hawks who loves you and his and yours son very much , like he would lay down his life for you both , he would blow up the sun if you or his child asked.

✰-baby daddy! Hawks who doesn’t think the break up between you and him was mutual, I mean yes you wanted to break up , but he didn’t , you say he’s to “clingy” , yeah whatever he thinks , but trust me when I say this , even tho you two aren’t together, you can never truly get rid of him. He’s your baby daddy , the father of your son, your first love , I mean for god sake ! You two are child hood best friends ! No matter how many people you try to get to replace those roles , you can never get rid of him , he’s like a stain that’s permanently stained in your life!.

✰-Baby daddy! Hawks who spoils the hell out of yours and his child and spoils you too!, that kid gets what ever he wants , new iPad ? He has it , new Nikes and Jordans? He has every pair , even the expensive ones , oh your kid wants the newest iPhone? , it doesn’t matter that he is five years old , he’s getting that new iPhone 14! , not gonna lie , hawks lowkey stalks you while your out shopping, you see a purse you like , but you can’t afford it? , don’t worry hawks got you , you’ll be walking around the city with the newest parda bag , oh you want those new Jordans?! , don’t worry hawks will get you every pair and the new ones on top of it oh you like that 500$ necklace don’t worry he got you it but… he wants you to get it engraved with your and his initial’s!!, he wants you to show off , let the world know who you belong to…

✰-baby daddy! Hawks who definitely has your and y’all’s kid name tattooed on his neck , on the left side of his neck , right above his collarbone he has your name tattooed with a heart , and on the right side he has y/c/n (your child’s name) tattooed with a dove! , you think it’s pretty…dramatic? , but then you remember when you two were a thing you had got his name tattooed on the side of your middle finger , and when your son was born you got his name tattooed on your shoulder….with a dove , well now you both have matching tattoos.!

✰-baby daddy hawks! Who basically lives at your house , like no lie , this dude lives at your house , when you both broke up , he some how convinced you that living in the same house would be beneficial for y/c/n , obviously it doesn’t work y/c/n knows you two aren’t together but he questions it …. “Mommy?, if you and daddy aren’t together….then why do you guys live together?..” he asks you , looking up at you as you get him ready for bed , you inhale looking down at your kid … questioning what to say , your child looks like you , I mean he has some of hawks features like he inherited hawks quirk ! , and he has the same eyes as his dad , but mostly your child is a spinning image of you , as you breathe out feeling the awkwardness of the question, “i don’t-“ hawks cuts you off , “because even tho we aren’t together, I still love you and your mother very much kid.” Hawks says as he enters the room , “well… mommy do you love daddy?” He says as he looks back up to you smiling, ouch you don’t know what to say , you don’t want to crush your own child’s spirt ! , you do still love hawks , but your annoyed of his presences he’s so… overprotective. Hawks then looks up at you , curiosity in his eyes , he genuinely wanted to know your answer, you breathe out “i do…now let’s get you to bed hun.” You say as you pick y/c/n up , looking at hawks as you walk out of the room.

[✰-nsfw below! ✰-]

✰-baby daddy! Hawks who doesn’t let you go out on tinder dates , you could get hurt! That’s his excuse, I mean it’s valid but still , you can’t even go out with your girls unless hawks with you , I mean yes it’s to much the overprotectiveness… but when you two do go out , he knows how to have fun , so here you both are drunk as hell, and y/c/n is with your family for the weekend and you two are having a heated make out session in the back of the taxi , and your on top of him grinding your cunt into his hard on , you two only stop when the taxi driver stops at your house , of course you tip the driver greatly cause he was force to endure that .

✰-baby daddy! Hawks who fucks you so hard after that, actually you guys didn’t make it to the bedroom or any room at that… you guys just start going at it in the kitchen… so here you both are on the kitchen island him on top of you , thrusting in and out of you , clothes thrown on the table and the bar stools near the kitchen island , you can’t help but moan out , well actually whine out , yeah hawks was annoying but damn … his dick definitely wasn’t . As he keeps thrusting in and out of your tight pussy , he grabs you by the neck lightly choking you , “f-fuck I missed this pussy… h-how would you feel if I got you pregnant again …hmm? Fuck I bet you would like that.” He says as kisses you , he then lets go of your neck , letting you respond, “yes p-please… f-fuck I’m about to cum.. fuck hawks please harder !!” You say as your toes curl from the pleasure, your thighs shaking your on the brink of your high , “yeah , you want my cum?…..you want my babies ma?…god your such a good girl for me baby..” he says , and almost immediately you cum , and he wasn’t far behind, his thrust get sloppy , he groans as he puts his face into the crook of your neck , breathing in your scent , “I love you so much y/n… I’ll never let you go. Your mines …” he mumbles in your neck.

✰-baby daddy! Hawks who buys you a pregnancy test , let’s just say he won’t be moving out anytime soon, and let’s say you and him had some celebration sex later that night.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

A/n - Ik this was mad short but no kidding writers block hit me while I was writing this 😭 but let me know who else you want to see as a baby daddy!

Love y’all !🫶🏼

#Spotify #yandere #yandere blog #yandere x reader #yandere hawks x reader #baby daddy #yandere mha

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hotwings-incorrect-quotes · 8 months

Text

*party night in the lov hideout*

mr. compress: *looking at hawks and dabi* hey guys, i’m not saying anything but i bet you wouldn’t do the dragon together

hawks and dabi: *a little bit drunk, exchanges knowing looks*

dabi: hold our sake

*a few moments later*

hawks: *flying over the city and holding dabi in his arms* IT WAS THE BEST IDEA EVER!

dabi: *throwing blue flames on the city below* HIGHER BIRDIE! HIGHER!

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welkinsky · 1 year

Note

Hii dear friend, It's me again ♥️😊

I had a new idea about our lovely boys from Boku no Hero.

What do you think about stargazing with them? It's kinda sweet,right? With some comfort and cuddles

♥️♥️

I was thinking on Hawks, Bakugou,Dabi and Kiri

♥️♥️♥️ Thank you

MHA Boys X Reader | Stargazing Date ♥️

Warning: Some Spoilers, You're good if you've seen the latest episodes though. A/N: I know this is probably way too late but I'm trying to balance the new work with the old requests. I hope you like it! <3

Hawks

It is obvious that this guy will know the best location in the town for stargazing.

I can see him going there by himself when he just wants to quiet his mind from all the thoughts of the hero commission or paparazzi or his work.

The place is not accessible to everyone since it is the highest point of a private building so only he or someone who has a flying quirk can get there.

He always thought that he will keep this place his little secret so that when things are bad, he has one place where he can get away from everyone.

NOW he has you. Naturally, he has the urge to show this place off to you. One day you get a random text from him. "I was wondering if your highness would like to go on a date with a peasant like me?" Obviously, you giggled to yourself and said yes. The fact that even now, he always finds new ways to ask you out makes your heart flutter.

He asked you to meet at your balcony at 6. These dates are the best because you know that he'll fly you both to the date with you in his arms which is one of the best feelings knowing that you are completely safe and happy right now, quite literally flying in the clouds and no one can disturb that.

"Oooh Y/N close your eyes CLOSE YOUR EYES," he said excitingly and you obliged when he asked you to open them, it was one of the prettiest sunsets you have ever seen in your entire life.

Even for him, this was pretty and he fly high every day. You both just sat there for a couple of minutes without saying anything and admiring the view.

You both ended up staying there for the entire night stargazing and had dinner on that rooftop.

His arms were wrapped around you the entire time as your creased his forearms with your hands. You both loved doing this. This was your way of saying "I'm here".

Bakugou

Bakugo is not the type of guy to plan anything cute because HE HAD the idea. But that doesn't mean that he won't seek them from somewhere else heh.

He and the gang were hanging out when Kaminari was talking about this girl who he is taking out and he was asking for ideas for a date. Everyone was giving ideas as Katsuki was silently taking notes of them and one that struck him the most was Stargazing.

He had his eye on you and knew how much you loved the sky in general. He thought to himself that when or IF he ever took you out on a date it has to be a stargazing one. And he went ahead making scenarios about your date and ignoring others.

And the time has finally come when he is actually taking you out. He knew JUST what to do. He asked you to meet at the dorm's back gate. He took you to the storage building that was at the back and entered through a secret door that you never knew even existed.

It felt so scary to do this because it was UA's property and was off-limits for students but as soon as you two reached the top all the worry washed away. You could see the entire city. UA was on top of a hill and this building was quite high so that gave you an even better view.

You two just talked for hours and THAT is when you realized that Kutsuki can be very gentle when there aren't things or people to trigger him. The entire time he was smiling and laughing with you.

It might sound mushy but you loved seeing him more than the night sky and the lit-up city. His smile was just so bright, gentle, and genuine because he wasn't someone who would do something for the sake of doing it.

So you knew he was happy when he was smiling, the cutest thing was that out of habit he'd take a sip from his water bottle and would pass it over to you too and make sure that you were hydrated too.

When you two came down the building, he gave you his hand everywhere there was a huge step. He knew you were more than capable of taking care of yourself but still couldn't help it.

"Care to explain?" Kaminari said the next day with a smile as he showed you two a picture of you, sitting with your head on his shoulder and hugging his arm closely.

He didn't tell anyone about your date you figured and laughed wholeheartedly when Katsuki was at Kaminari's throat WHILE AT THE SAME time embarrassed and had a slight blush on his face.

"What have you done to him" Kirishima said laughing as he caught Katsuki's blush too.

Dabi

You both came back from a long mission and wanted to see each other as soon as you can because just being in each other's company was enough for you two to get through the day.

You two were not dating officially because of the uncertain path of life that you both had chosen. You were a rogue hero and he was... well DABI.

You two didn't want to put a label on it but LOVED to spend time together as much as you could. You heard that he was back and he did that too about you. Rooftop was a secret spot for you two since the staircase led only from Dabi's room's balcony. And who'd dare to disturb him?

"Rooftop, whenever you get time." you texted him. You got a reply with a picture of him already there waiting for you.

As you climbed up the stairs you could see him sitting limping and not moving at all. You got worried that he might have hurt himself again but to your relief, it wasn't the case.

As you approached him, busy analyzing if there were any burn marks on his body he hugged you, tightly. This has never happened before. At max, he pats you on your head. But he hugged you and said softly, "Just stay"

You obliged. You two stargazed the entire night and shared your pasts brutally honestly. He told you that he saw Shoto today. He thought that when he will see his brother after so long he MIGHT just feel something. Bits of love would have also been good. But all he felt was hatred.

You were the only one keeping him sane and making him feel SOME feelings.

That explained the hug.

Kiri

Kiri is a HUGE planner let's be honest. He plans most of the things that you two do. It's not like he likes to have control over things, he just loves to do them for you and absolutely loves to see your reactions.

And most of the time they go as planned buuut this time nothing was going as planned.

He decided this time to go for a sunset date to this park that had one of the best views of all with loads of flowers. Since villain activities have been on a rise recently security has been so tight.

So students don't usually get permission to go out. And he somehow convinced Aizawa to sign the pass for you two.

And the only problem was that nothing went as he intended it to and after so many tried to make the best out of it things were not going well.

By the time you two came back to UA his usual high spirits were so low that you felt bad for him. After you two went back to your rooms you decided to do something for him.

With a little help from the gang, you set up a cute setup on the rooftop. By the time he came out of the shower, you were all done.

"Meet me at the rooftop" you texted him and as soon as he saw it, everyone went back to their rooms wishing you the best of luck.

When he saw the cute mat with the candles lit and the leftover food that you two never got to eat from the earlier plans all lay beautifully. You could see how emotional he was all of a sudden when he hugged you so tightly.

"Sorry I ruined our day," he said nuzzling into your neck as he hugged you.

"Kiri how could you even say that! It is the efforts that matter to me my love" you said taking his face in your hands. You could see how drained he was.

You two had dinner there while watching a movie and stargazing the entire night. You both did all that he planned for and... ahem more.

_____________________________

Thanks For Reading and for the ask! Here is BNHA Masterlist <3

If you liked it you can check out the masterlist too!

A-Z Headcanon

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dabisqueen · 1 year

Text

Rockstar Dabi (Touya) x fem!Reader

⇢ word count: roughly 6.9K

⇢ series plot: after receiving a VIP ticket to a concert of the most popular rock band, you go and it proves to be a life-changing event.

⇢ current plot: With you being back at home again, Dabi is spiraling out of control. And then one day, you receive a mysterious phone call.

⇢ warnings: 18+, minors DNI, kissing, fellatio (m receiving), fingering, kind of dubcon, a*** sex, creampie, orgasm, substance abuse, angst, hurt, major character... oops,.did ì say this??

Personal note: it's been half a year since i started this series and it has finally come to an end (maybe). I don't know how to feel. Sad, happy… all of it actually. I am so glad you all joined me on this Rollercoaster ride of emotions and hurt. Hope you enjoyed it.

Thank you @/hunajan for being my beta again!

It was late at night when Tenko came back and shuffled his way down on the plush carpet of the hallway. He was just unlocking the door when he heard a rhythmic thumping and muffled moaning coming from Keigo's suite.

It happened often enough that Keigo had groupies over. So without thinking much about it, Tenko stepped into his suite and locked the door behind him.

The next morning came way too early, with the band having to move on to the next city. After packing his bags and ringing for the luggage boy, Tenko opened the door and stepped outside into the hallway. He was surprised to see Dabi and Hawks entering the hallway together from Keigo's room.

It took a few moments before realization was hitting him. Hard.

"Dabi, what's going on?" Tenko looked around, not seeing you.

"Well, what did it look like," Keigo laid his arm around Dabi's shoulder, a pleased grin spreading on his face. "We spent the night together."

"Dabi, what the fuck did you do?" Tenko looked at him, his crimson eyes glowing behind unruly bangs.

But the lead singer scoffed in response, "C'mon Tenko, don't play innocent."

“What are you talking about?” He replied with a frown.

"That you were trying to steal my girl!" He spit back.

"Stealing...?" Tenko’s eyes were large in shock, "Dabi, what the fuck is going on?"

"Don't pretend, Keigo showed me the pictures!" His finger dabbed in Tenkos direction, his face starting to contort with anger, "You fucking kissed!"

"We kis—what?" Stunned for a moment, he then turned to Keigo, rage in his voice, "Keigo, you idiot, what have you done?"

Keigo shrugged, "Just showed him the truth."

"What truth?" The drummer narrowed his eyes.

"That she's just another girl trying to get some dick.” He grinned, but his smile never reached his eyes.

Tenko’s eyes flicked back to Dabi's bright azures, "She didn't kiss me, for fucks sake! It was me who gave her a peck on the cheek!"

Dabi crossed his arms on his chest, cocking his head. "Oh really. What about taking the cab together?"

“I hopped off before she reached the mall." He growled. " I can't believe this shit. Dabi, I asked her for advice regarding this girl I'm dating!"

"You're… dating someone?" He looked baffled, "I thought you and her–"

"Yeah, what did you think? That we were cheating on you?" His crimson eyes glared at Dabi from underneath his pale bangs. "How lowly do you think of me?"

His words stroke like a jolt of lightning, leaving Dabi swaying on his feet, a crippling cold gripping his heart. He stayed voiceless, letting the silence take over.

"But Keigo said…" he finally muttered.

"Keig– what the fuck!" Tenko rasped through gritted teeth, "What have you done?"

"Whatever, this is annoying. He's better off without her anyways, see ya later," and he pecked Dabi on his cheek, squeezing his butt before walking off.

"And you think you're better for Dabi than her?" Tenko yelled after him, "Keigo, I swear to God, you're gonna fucking pay for this!"

Then he spun around to face Dabi, who stood in front of him, pale, all color drained from his face. His chest heaved up and down, his mind having a hard time processing what just happened.

"Dabi," Tenko rasped, growing impatient. "What mindset were you in when you did this?"

"I–I think I had a few drinks." He stammered, still trying to wrap his sober mind around the news.

"Just a few drinks, huh?" Tenko cocked his head, pale locks falling off to the side.

"M-Maybe a few more. And I took some…" Dabi's eyes flicked to the floor and back to his band mates.

"Goddammit Dabi, you need to stop taking this shit." Tenko was slowly losing his composure. "It's gonna ruin your life. It's gonna ruin you!"

Dabi lowered his head, his stomach in knots.

"Man, you need to lose your insecurities. She only wants you!" Tenko inhaled deeply before continuing, "She told me so herself."

And Dabi knew his band mate was right. He felt the truth like a hard punch in the gut, shocking and painful enough to make his stomach acid rise to his tongue.

"I'm so fucking stupid." He started to clench his fists.

"Where is she anyways?" Tenko looked towards Dabi's suite.

"She left last night." The black haired male admitted quietly.

"Fuck." Tenko dug in his pants to retrieve his cellphone. "Ok, lemme call her."

Dialing your number he held it up to his ears. After a few moments, he hung up and stared at Dabi, expressionless. "It says the number is unavailable."

"Shit–" Dabi breathed shakily and pulled out his own phone, repeating the steps.

He cursed under his breath, his heart descending to his stomach when he heard the robotic message saying that the number was no longer in service as well.

"She blocked us." Tenko groaned, raking his hand through his coarse hair, "Fuck man, you really messed up big this time."

Dabi's pupils were blown wide as he moved his eyes over the screen of his phone. Silence engulfed both men again as they looked at each other.

"Cmon, there's no use in standing here. We need to leave, the plane's waiting." Tenko squeezed Dabis's shoulder in reassurance. "We'll find a way, ok?"

And with one last look into Dabi's face, Tenko turned to strut off, stuffing his phone back in his back pocket, leaving Dabi behind, head hanging low.

He knew he fucked up this time. For good. He turned frantic, panic arising within him. A panic that was numbing, like a cold heat spreading through his body and gripping his heart tightly. His hands started shaking, it felt like he was gonna explode, that he was gonna go crazy, a dull pain and tightness spreading through his chest.

He gasped for air as he pressed the flat of his hand over his heart, cold sweat starting to spread on his forehead. His legs started to tingle and he dropped to his knees.

With sweat dripping down his temples, one hand still pressed to his chest, he started rummaging around in his bag. He continued wheezing until he finally found what he was looking for.

With trembling hands, the pressure on his chest still increasing he retrieved the pouch with a saccharine looking powder in it, ripped it open to dust the powder on the back of his hands.

Dropping the sachet on the plush carpet, half its content spilled on the long soft fibers, he lowered his head to snort up the powder – first in one nostril, then in the other.

It instantly hit the back of his throat, where it dripped down, while his nose and back of the mouth turned numb.

Relaxation spread through his mind and body and he leaned his back against the wall, head falling back as his eyes closed shut. A warm euphoria consumed him, all fears, all worries fading until there was nothing there anymore.

A weary smile crept across his face, that soon turned into a wide grin as he started chuckling, his entire body soon shaking with mad laughter before he brushed his nose off with the back of his hands, got up on uneasy legs and grabbed his bag.

Sachet of powder laying on the plush carpet long forgotten, he turned towards the elevator, preparing to meet up with the others.

When you finally stepped in front of the front door to your apartment, it felt like a major relief.

Setting the small suitcase on the floor, you lifted a hand to gently knock against it, too exhausted and tired to search for your keys.

Your roommate found you standing on the other side of the door, eyes red and puffy as you looked up at her.

“Oh baby, what happened? Are you okay?” She took your luggage and helped you inside, assisting you with getting your coat off.

“I am…” Your voice tipped.

Your eyes grew hot again, while you wondered if you even had any tears left to cry. But then your lower lip started to tremble and you sank your teeth into it – but the dam broke nonetheless and tears started streaming freely down your cheeks. Your roommate reached out to squeeze your hand and pull you in for a warm embrace.

She didn't say anything but the gesture was enough. She patiently waited until you found the strength to speak.

“We—split. This time for sure…” You sobbed as she squeezed you tighter against her.

She nodded, trying to comfort you with a reassuring smile.

"Cmon, Don’t cry. It's not worth it." She guided you towards the couch, stuffing a pillow under your arm after you sat down and turned to drape a warm blanket over you.

The couch slightly dipped in when she took a seat next to you, wrapping her arms around you for an embrace, palms stroking reassuringly over your back. She didn't say anything, simply held you, her chin resting on your head as she let you cry.

She stayed like this until the turmoil inside your stomach had subsided before getting up to prepare a hot tea for you both.

For the duration of the next few days and weeks, you stayed inside your apartment. Your roommate was your pillar of hope, your strength. She took care of everything, the cooking, cleaning as well as comforting you whenever she could. At night, she would sleep by your side, stroking your face when you had woken up again, crying over him.

By the time the crying bouts were over, you were left hollow inside - only loneliness, shame, fear, and hurt left. It felt like you had a gushing wound in your heart, like you were suffocating. And it hauled you down deeper into a frozen lake of emotions with every day passing by.

Regardless of how often he or Tenko tried to call or write you a message, there was no reply. Everything was answered by silence, and Dabi knew he deserved it. Still, he missed you so much, missed your voice, your laughter, the way your warm body felt when you leaned against him. He knew he had found the one person who could save him. Who he truly had fallen in love with.

Realizing that it was too late for all this, a deep feeling of hatred overcame him – one towards himself. The pain and rage inside him grew so deep and dark, it was like a black hole that consumed his soul, leaving him empty and without the energy to live.

Distraction came in form of a variety of pills and crystalline powder which were easily handed to him whenever requested. They helped him forget the agony he was feeling, helped him forget who he was. Taking them made him feel less worthless, even if it was just for a short period of time. Not being able to cope with the resurfacing heartache he was feeling when they wore off, he started requesting them more frequently.

And they were handed to him more than willingly. Because a rockstar in a constant state of haze and fake euphoria was better than one in distress.

The burn still lingered in his nose from the cocaine, the pungently bitter taste of it dripping down the back of his throat before he chased it down with a bit more whiskey. Alone in his dressing room, he didn't even hear the chanting of the crowd outside, not caring about them anymore.

Even the cigarette he had lit did nothing to calm his nerves and he considered taking another gulp from the bottle to numb all the emotions he didn't want to deal with.

Sucking in his cheeks, he took another drag, letting the smoke billow out of his parted lips.

Fuck this shit. Flicking the cigarette carelessly to the floor, his trembling hand reached out for the prescription pills sitting in front of him on the vanity. He noticed how boney his fingers had become. He didn't recall them ever being this thin, but at the same time he didn't remember having eaten I relentless days.

He chuckled to himself, and tried screwing open the orange prescription pill bottle. His fingers slipped and he grabbed the lid tighter, ripping it off in one hectic movement. The bottle toppled over, its content spilling on the counter. Plucking up several of the pills, Dabi laid them into his open sweaty palm, rolling them around a few times.

Wrapping his free hand around the neck of the whiskey bottle, he popped the pills into his mouth and lifted the bottle to take a few deep gulps, washing them down with the amber liquid.

Slamming the bottle back on the vanity, he stumbled back, stopped swaying before grabbing his guitar and kicking the door to the hallway open.

The tour was overall plagued by repeated instances of rough performances on Dabi's behalf, with him swerving around the stage or staggering his way through the concert and stumbling through the vocals.

Standing on the stage, Dabi's eyes peered cold and emotionless into the black void of the sky. The sounds of his own voice, the ones of his bandmates and the instruments barely reached his ears.

He wasn't even sure which song they were playing, and Keigo continued to steal concerned glances at him.

At one point, the bassist turned toward him and asked: “You need a break, man?"

But Dabi only clung onto the microphone stand and mumbled into it, not even looking at his bandmate, "No man, I need a fuck."

The crowd didn't even notice Dabi swaying, they were too immersed in screaming, too frenzied over his comments, not noticing the severity of the situation.

After the concert, Tenko and Keigo rushed Dabi back to the hotel, avoiding the waiting paparazzi, hungry to see yet again another rockstar spiraling towards their demise.

After they arrived and parted, Keigo draped his arm around Dabi's neck and guided him out of the elevator.

"Cmon, let's celebrate," he cooed, placing a chaste kiss on his temple.

"I want to sleep—" Dabi grunted in response, arms hanging low at his sides as he let himself be led to his suite on shaky legs.

Arriving at the room's bar, Keigo pulled out a bottle of whiskey and poured the amber liquid into two glasses.

"Here, have some, it'll make you feel better." He nudged Dabi before bringing one glass to his own lips.

Dabi took the drink and lifted it into his mouth, taking a big sip. His gaze had become hazy, staring off into the distance as he finished its contents.

Setting the glass back on the counter, the blonde leaned in closer and grazed Dabi’s ear with his lips whispering, "Did you mean what you said onstage, Dabi?'' before sucking his lobe into his mouth.

Dabi closed his eyes, a shaky exhale leaving his lips, while Keigo continued his eager ministrations.

"Keigo, what are you doing," he growled, his focus unsteady.

"Just giving you what you requested," Keigo's hand weaved into his bandmate's soft raven hair, pulling him closer as his lips started trailing down his pulse, placing soft little kisses on his skin.

When he paused, he muttered "I want you," before cupping Dabi's cheek and turning his face, lips hovering over his.

Then the bassist's mouth was on his, firm lips pressing against Dabi's as his tongue slipped in, tasting him, the burn of the alcohol on his tongue.

Visions of you flashed before Dabi's eyes and his stomach churned while he tried so hard to forget you. He just couldn't. Not your smile, your scent, your everything. There was only one way to end this nightmare.

Plagued by the pain in his chest, he gave in to Keigo's advances, lazily working his mouth against his bandmate's before he was pulled off the stool. He started stumbling towards the bedroom in Keigos embrace, his bandmates hips pressed against his body, making him feel the hard erection he was having because of him.

On the bed, Keigo was quick to remove Dabis shirt, latching his lips onto his nipple and starting to suck on it while the other started moving back and forth over the growing bulge in Dabi's pants.

"Keigo–" Dabi had his eyes closed, panting heavily while Hawks sat back on his heels, taking his own shirt off.

"Shush, lemme make you feel good, " Keigo cooed, moving to scoot his own pants off.

He stared at Dabi lying below him, dick straining against the fabric of his pants.

Placing his palms on Dabi's stomach, he started to brush up and down, savoring the touch, Dabi's warm skin underneath his palm.

"I always fucking miss ya," Keigo breathed, leaning down to start peppering gentle kisses on the skin on Dabi's stomach. "Every minute…"

The dark haired man stayed quiet, his forearm draped over his eyes. But the bulge and his strained breathing told Keigo what he needed to know – that Dabi wanted him too.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good, I'm gonna make you forget it all." He paused and added quietly, "And forget her."

It sent a pang through Dabi's chest, but it was quickly gone, the drugs and alcohol taking over, clouding his mind.

He felt Keigo's fingers swiftly undoing the belt and buttons of his pants, calloused fingers sliding underneath their hem and pulling them down.

Keigo was enthralled by what he saw in front of him. Even though they'd been together many times before, he'd always held his breath when he saw Dabi's cock. Girthy, slightly curved and adorned by metal piercings, it was simply mouthwatering pretty.

Sliding the pants off Dabi's legs, he went back up, gulping once before dipping down to kiss Dabi's length.

"Oh fuck," Dabi sharply inhaled between gritted teeth, eyes still closed.

Keigo took Dabi's length into his mouth, bobbing his head up and down a few times before releasing it with a wet pop, continuing by spitting on his fingers.

With his hand resting on Dabi's thigh, running soothing circles in it, two of his fingers spread his spit around Dabis' pink hole.

With a hiss, Dabi felt Keigo's finger slide inside him, past the tight ring and he arched his hips, trying to ease away from the stretch.

While Keigo kept muttering "Doing so fine, I know you can take it," he kept sliding his finger in and out, first one, then two, scissoring them to try to stretch the tight muscle. Keigo spit on Dabi's hole before plunging inside again, adding a third finger.

"I can take care of you," Keigo slurred, totally enthralled, "I will make you happy again. You will be happy with me again…"

Dabi threw his head back, a hoarse whimper leaving his lips as he felt so utterly stretched out. By now, he was a panting mess below Keigo, his thick cock throbbing and twitching on his abdomen with every slide of Keigo's fingers.

His bandmate pulled out and spread Dabi's legs apart, kneeling in between them.

"Are you ready, babe," Keigo purred, pushing his boxers down to free his aching cock.

But Dabi couldn't answer, his arm falling off to the side, his empty gaze fixating the ceiling, his breath coming out in short puffs.

"Ok," Keigo took his cock in his hand, letting a glob of spit fall on it to lubricate himself.

Lining it up with Dabi's entrance, the tip pressed against his hole. And bracing himself to either side of the other man, he slowly started slipping past the tight ring.

"Oh shit,” Keigo muttered, his head falling forward, eyes screwing shut when he felt Dabi's tightness around him.

Dabi's brows knitted together as he choked on his gasp, his hands fisting the bedsheets till his knuckles turned white.

Keigo pushed inside a bit more, then pulled back out. It was torture for Dabi, who moaned and groaned as sweat beads formed on his forehead. Deeper and deeper with each push it slipped until Keigo was buried balls-deep inside of him.

"Fuck, how I missed this." He panted, "How I missed you."

Looking up, he was worried seeing Dabi with his head turned, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes screwed shut.

"Dabi," he whispered, "I promise, I'm gonna make you forget," and with that, he started moving.

It was heavenly for the bassist. Not a pussy on earth could compare with the tightness and the heat of a man and Keigo groaned as he continued moving. With every thrust forward, Dabi's head bobbed against the headboard, his eyes staying closed.

Keigo increased the pace, the urge to make Dabi feel good so overwhelming — he wanted it to be like it was in the past, having his bandmate lay underneath him with lust blown eyes, the pleasure so intense for both of them, that they couldn't hold out for long.

He wanted to make him his. Smacking his hips forward, he grabbed Dabi's pierced dick and finally got a response when the man underneath him gasped for air, his eyes flying open.

"Hi there, pretty," Keigo cooed and started pumping Dabi's cock, letting a glob of saliva run off his tongue to drip on its tip, smearing it around for lubrication.

"Fucking feels so good – shit," Keigo grunted, leaning down to place a sloppy kiss on his neck, then latching onto his nipple.

He continued rocking back and forth, the sound of his balls slapping against Dabi's ass as well as of his dick sliding in and out of him echoing through the room.

Sweat beaded off his forehead as he felt himself hurl towards his high, feeling Dabi's cock starting to twitch in his palm, seeing his balls tensening up.

"Fuck, I'm close," he groaned, addicted to this all – to Dabi.

He leaned back, pistoning inside of Dabi now, mouth opened into a silent groan as his balls suddenly tightened. A deep growl left his lips, his hips stuttered and he came, filling Dabi's insides with hot ropes of cum while he continued pumping Dabi's cock.

Dabi bit his lips so hard it drew blood as he also reached his high, thick ropes of hot cum spurting onto his abs, shooting up all the way to his throat.

Keigo panted heavily as he leaned down, starting to drag his tongue over Dabi's chest, lapping up the salty cum while he kept pumping his cock, squeezing the last drop of his essence from its tip.

He continued licking all the white cream off Dabi's body, slowly softening inside until he slipped out with a soft pop.

Collapsing next to him, his flaccid cock rested on his thigh, glistening with cum in the dim hotelroom light.

"Fuck, I love this." He turned his head towards Dabi, reaching out to grab his hand, "I love you."

But Dabi didn't respond. He laid there, empty gaze staring at the ceiling.

After a few minutes he started to stir, scrambling off the bed and stumbling towards the bathroom.

"Hey, need me to–" But Keigo's question was cut short as Dabi disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Keigo sat up on the bed, eyes wide. He didn't know what to feel, what to think when he heard the sounds of his bandmate gagging into the toilet.

He continued sitting there, color draining slowly from his face while the continuing noises of Dabi vomiting were muffled by the closed door. When it went quiet, Keigo climbed out of bed and stood up to approach the bathroom door.

It was locked and Keigo sighed, hesitating a few seconds before turning and getting dressed.

One last time he knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He heard a movement and the toilet being flushed. Keigo's eyes closed for a second, contemplating before turning towards the door towards the hallway.

Just as he opened the door to step outside, he paused, raking a shaky hand through his blond hair before muttering, "What have I done…"

Dabi stood in the bathroom, the sound of the door falling shut behind Keigo reverberating through the room.

He looked into the mirror, azure eyes staring back at him. They were empty, there was no life in them. And that's when the words sounded through his head.

You're worthless, a nothing.

The glass shattered as his fist hit the mirror. He panted heavily, his fist repeatedly slamming into the mirror before he sank to the floor.

Worthless, nothing.

Dabi wailed out, as he scrambled to his feet, naked, stumbling into the bedroom.

His chest tightened again, the room spinning around him as he fell to his knees. Closing his eyes to block out the turning room, he pulled open the drawer of the nightstand, rummaging around in it until he found what he was looking for.

With trembling fingers, he popped open the small orange cylinder and lifted it up, several pills dropping into his mouth and he strained to swallow them dry.

Then he leaned his naked figure back against the bed frame, waiting for the drugs to kick in.

It had been weeks now, the pain had dulled out, and you had found your way into regular work life as well.

Your roomie was the best support you could hope for — always there to turn off the radio or TV once the LoV music was played or news about the band was distributed. She protected you from anything that would remind you of Dabi and the time with him.

Yet, she couldn't shelter you from the multitude of billboards splattered all across town announcing the upcoming special end-of-tour concert taking place in your town. They went up one day, thousands of led lights flickering to show the brilliant blue logo of the LoV.

And with that came back the memories. You caught yourself more than once with your eyes growing hot, telling yourself over and over again that you shouldn't cry, that this wasn't worth it.

[With your roommate being at work on this Saturday, you were left at home alone, with the knowledge of it being just another day of busying yourself and trying to keep your thoughts revolving around one topic. Him.

You sat on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, too afraid to go outside, too afraid for the memories to resurface again. Burying your face in your arms, you thought about how to survive yet another day of loneliness when suddenly your phone rang.

It chiming seemingly endless before it stopped and frowning, you checked your screen. An unknown number. Ignoring it, you placed the phone back on the table– when it started ringing again. It was that same number and with a deep sigh, you slid your thumb over the green icon, lifting the phone to your ear.

“Who is this?” you greeted.

"Please don't hang up, it's me, Keigo." A low, melodic voice spoke.

Your heart started running a thousand miles per hour and you needed a moment to steady yourself.

"Hey Keigo." You simply answered.

"Please - please just listen. I know this comes as a surprise, but…" You could hear him taking a deep breath, composing himself. “I— I need your help. Dabi needs your help.

Silence engulfed you, the ticking of the kitchen clock echoing like thunder through the room, pounding against your skull. You had to take a moment to process his words.

"Are you still there?" Keigo asked with a breathy voice.

"Yeah, I—I’m here.” you sighed, your nails digging into the fabric of your jeans.

"Please, I'm begging you…" His voice broke, and he had to clear his throat. "Dabi… he's not doing good."

"What do you mean?" You tried to keep your heart from skipping a beat at his words.

"It's bad. I'm—I'm scared." You heard his tone turn panicked.

A cold pressure constricted around your head as you rubbed a hand over your face. "Ok, tell me everything. But Keigo–"

"Yes?" His answer came timid but immediate.

"I want you to be honest. No more lying. No more pretending." There was no room left in your heart for more betrayal, "Understood?"

"Yes, anything you want." He whispered.

You closed your eyes, another storm starting to rage inside your heart. "Ok, now, what happened?"

Keigo didn't leave out any details — how he miscalculated everything, never expecting it to go down this bad.

You heard him break down when he uttered under his breath, "Dabi was literally the only person who knew me, and how I felt."

He continued explaining how he felt all alone when his friend replaced him with you, "It was selfish of me, I admit. I am sorry that I thought it was the only way for him to get back to me."

He paused and you let him.

"I've had a bad past, just like Dabi. We were each other's only pillar of support. I needed him so badly–" you heard him choke on his own words, heard how he teared up.

You heard him swallow and closed your eyes for a second, trying to process all he was telling you.

"But I didn't want him to be like this!" There was pure agony in his voice. "I realized that Dabi needs you."

And then he added quietly, "Not me."

The sounds of fabric rustling in the background could be heard as he moved, followed by silence. Several moments passed in which you could only hear the quiet breathing of him on the other side of the line.

"Keigo, it's a good thing that you realized you did wrong and learned from it." You paused before continuing. "I get that you felt lonely. Still, what you did wasn't ok."

"I know." Keigo said. "I am so, so sorry. I did wrong and I realize that."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you heard him silently starting to sob. You stayed mute, waiting for him to say something and he did.

"I'm scared. Dabi withdrew himself completely and his condition has gotten worse." He swallowed down another silent sob, "I—I have a bad feeling about tonight. Can you please come to the concert and speak to him?"

You were not surprised as tears started stinging your eyes with all that you just heard. It was a lot and you needed some air to breathe.

"Keigo, I need to think about it, ok?" You said with a shaky voice.

"Yeah, I understand." He exhaled, "But I'm begging you – you're the only one who can help him."

After he agreed to send a courier with the ticket and pass, you said goodbye and hung up. Your hands rose to hide your face in your hands. Because even though it was silent, the knots inside your stomach twisted harder, the heat in your eyes almost unbearable.

All the memories — moments and images – everything came crashing down on you. The pain in your chest turned numbing and you bit your trembling lips, your breathing turning ragged.

You kept telling yourself that it couldn't be that bad, that you hadn't heard any bad news about the LoV in a while. But then again, you hadn't really followed them either.

A feeling of unease rose inside you and you started pacing back and forth in the living room. A message notification sounded and you hastily picked up your phone, seeing that Keigo had sent you a message.

Courier dropped off the envelope. It's in your mailbox.

Followed by a picture and the following text:

You can still hate me but please help him.

At first you didn't recognize the person depicted in the blurry photo. But then your hand darted up to clasp over your mouth. It was Dabi. Except it wasn't him, rather a mere shadow of himself, skinny, with eyes and cheeks sunken in, skin pasty and pale.

It was night when you finally arrived at the venue, the concert already halfway over. Showing your ticket and pass to the staff, you were led backstage. It felt weird, like in the old times. Except this time it was different, somehow.

Your heart was beating out of your ribcage, palms sweaty as you entered the fenced off security area in front of the stage. The last song was just finished and the stage went dark. You stopped halfway down the stairs, too taken aback by what you saw in front of you.

The lights went back on and it was only Dabi being illuminated by a circle of light. There was hardly anything left of the once handsome, rugged lead singer of one of the most notorious rock bands alife. He looked more like a shell of his former self - thin, dark shadows lining his eyes, his movements shaky. His unhealthy paleness drastically stood out, even more so in the harsh stage light.

Stepping up the microphone, he waited for the cheers to shimmer down into silence.

Once they grew quiet, a hand naturally grabbed the mic before he started to rasp into the speaker, his voice lifeless and dark, eyes heavily lidded.

"This song…" but his voice broke and he trailed off.

Taking a shaky inhale, he started again, "This song's for someone special. Someone I loved – and lost too soon."

He closed his eyes, the stage lights making his contours pop out in stark contrast. Laying both hands on his standing microphone, he took a few deep breaths, before he started to sing.

(Listen to the song here)

"Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh, oh no, no

Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh, oh no

Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh, oh no, no, no, no…"

His voice was low and gravelly, so full of hurt and pain it sent blazing chills cascading down your body. His eyes were closed, eyebrows knitted as he sang.

"I look and stare so deep in your eyes

I touch on you more and more every time

When you leave, I'm begging you not to go

Call your name two, three, times in a row.

It's such a funny thing for me to try and explain

How I'm feeling, and my pride is the one to blame

'Cause I know I don't understand

How your love can do what no one else can."

You stood there, frozen on your feet while repeating the lyrics in your head, eyes glued to every movement of his lips.

"You got me looking so crazy right now

Your love's got me looking so crazy

You got me looking so crazy right now

Your touch has got me looking so crazy right now."

You realized probably as the only person in the entire venue that this was a serenade that came from his heart, turned into a confession.

"You got me hoping you'll page me right now

Your kiss, you got me hoping you'll save me right now

Looking so crazy in love, you got me looking

Got me looking so crazy in love…"

His veins showed at his neck when he sang, sweat pearling down his face and neck. It was so subtle, that you almost didn't catch it but for a second, a painful expression jolted across his face, a hand darting up to clutch his chest. But then it was over, his hand drifting back to the microphone stand.

When he opened his eyes, they never look bluer than this, brilliantly glowing in the bright stage light. Yet, the usual spark that made them beautiful was gone. And as his eyes roamed over the crowd—

They fell on you. And his face went slack, all expression gone without a trace, suddenly drained of all energy. It was like the world stopped, all noises around you vanishing. It was just his brilliant azures meeting yours, and you felt a connection to him that was stronger than anything you've ever felt. Something invisible, a bond that still existed, far too deeply rooted to ever be severed.

And as his gaze never left yours, he continued singing.

"Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh, oh no—"

He skipped over a tone, paused before he started again.

"Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh, oh no, no

Uh-oh, uh-oh…"

And then he started losing his voice. You felt panic rise inside you when you saw him becoming breathless and starting to sway. It was as if his eyes were pleading for you to help, to stop the suffering.

Keigo had noticed Dabi's predicament and asked into the microphone, “Hey, you okay there man?”

But Dabi didn't answer, his eyes never leaving yours as a dark foreboding gripped your heart tightly. Everyone around you seemed to be oblivious to the fact that something terribly wrong was happening onstage.

He used his microphone stand to support himself, his beautiful azure eyes glued to you and you watched in horror as they slowly dulled over.

Oh my God you thought, your heart racing, beating a thousand miles per hour, oh my God, this isn't happening.

Dabi started swaying on his feet, taking a step sideways, catching himself before his eyes rolled back in his head… and he dropped to the floor.

The entire stadium fell into an eerie silence.

"Touya!" Your chilling scream cut through the quiet as you started running down the remaining flight of stairs.

Everything around you erupted in an instant. Keigo dropped his bass and ran over to Dabi, as Tenko jumped over his drum set to kneel down at his side.

Above all the noises and frantic screaming of the crowd you heard your own voice breaking, screaming Touya's name over and over again.

Panicking fans were jumping the fence and the security had their hands full trying to push back the crowd. Elbowing your way towards the front, your gaze didn't avert the lifeless body on the stage that now paramedics with First Responder bags on their backs were running towards.

You were almost at the front, just a few more feet, screaming Touya's name over and over again as Keigo's head flicked up and he saw you stuck in the crowd.

Jumping to his feet, he ran down the stairs of the stage to where you were caught in the frantic shoving and pulling of the people.

Your heart was beating so fast, it felt like you were running out of oxygen. But then a pair of strong hands gripped yours and pulled you up the stairs and onto the stage. Raising your eyes, you stared right into Keigo's golden ones, wide with fear and glossy with tears.

Stumbling to your feet you started running, slipped and fell, got up again. Hot tears cascaded freely down your cheeks as you finally dropped to your knees next to Dabi.

He looked so peaceful like this despite his pale complexion and sunken eyes.

Paramedics were now charging the defibrillator and you watched in horror as they placed it on his chest. His lifeless body arched up with the first high-energy electric shock surging through him. He slumped back and the men checked his pulse before placing a respiratory mask over his mouth and nose, pumping air into his lungs. Another medic started charging the defibrillator again, its high pitch cutting through the deafening noises around you.

Repeating the procedure while checking his pulse and breathing, other paramedics came running towards where Dabi laid, pushing an ambulance stretcher on a wheeled frame towards them, their free hands holding more medical equipment.

They stopped next to the lifeless singer, adjusting the height of the stretcher to the lowest setting as the other paramedics continued trying to revive him.

The world around you disappeared, the only thing you saw was Touya's limp body, the butterfly needles being stuck in his arm, the breathing mask on his face. As they lifted him onto the stretcher and pulled the straps tight around his body, you knew that it was over. That there was nothing you could do anymore.

And you went numb, a feeling of emptiness overcoming you.

You didn't feel Keigo pulling you up into an embrace as they pushed Touya off the stage. You didn't feel Tenko joining you, following them down the emergency exit to where the ambulance was waiting.

It was like all life had left you, all thoughts and emotions. Even your heart had become lifeless. You didn't feel Keigo setting you down in the Mercedes van, not the door closing, not the car starting to follow the ambulance through the gate down the street.

And you didn't feel the world tilting and turning dark as you lost the battle with exhaustion and fatigue, going limp in Keigo's embrace and slipping into unconsciousness.

#dabi smut #rockstar dabi #rockstar dabi smut #dabi #mha smut #bnha smut #dabi todoroki #bnha dabi #mha dabi #dabi my hero academia #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #bnha #mha #my hero academia smut #my hero academia #dabi x you #dabi x reader

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syngoniums · 1 year

Text

Text is from the Center for Biological Diversity:

For Immediate Release, February 27, 2023

Contact:

Tierra Curry, (928) 522-3681, [email protected]

Rare Milkweed Gains Endangered Species Protection, Critical Habitat

Plant Is Crucial for Migratory Monarch Butterflies in South Texas, Mexico

RIO GRANDE CITY, Texas— The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service today protected the prostrate milkweed as endangered. Only 24 populations of the plant survive, in south Texas and northern Mexico, where they serve as an important food source for pollinators like bees and imperiled monarch butterflies.

The Service also protected 661 acres of critical habitat for the plant in eight south Texas units in Zapata and Starr counties. Recent border-wall construction degraded another 20 acres of habitat that were proposed for protection last year to the point that they were unsuitable for the plant and withdrawn from designation. All populations of the milkweed in the United States are within nine miles of the border, making it one of hundreds of species threatened by wall construction.

“Protecting prostrate milkweed is a big deal for the monarch butterflies who lay their eggs on these plants as they fly through Texas after spending the winter in Mexico,” said Tierra Curry, a senior scientist at the Center for Biological Diversity. “For the sake of the milkweed and all the pollinators who rely on it, it’s a relief that this important native plant finally has the safeguards of the Endangered Species Act.”

Construction and maintenance for roads, utilities, and the oil and gas industry also destroy the prostrate milkweed, and additional border-wall construction on the Lower Rio Grande National Wildlife Refuge threatens to uproot more of them. These activities and livestock grazing foster the spread of invasive buffelgrass, which is planted as livestock forage. Buffelgrass displaces native plants and is very difficult to control.

Under natural conditions the prostrate milkweed is thought to be able to persist at low densities. It produces so much nectar that far-flying pollinating insects such as tarantula hawks and large bees are so juiced up after visiting it that they can fly farther and pollinate other relatively distant prostrate milkweed populations. But as prostrate milkweed numbers and densities have declined, the plant is also imperiled by lower reproductive success and loss of genetic diversity.

Just 24 populations of prostrate milkweed remain in Starr and Zapata counties in Texas and in Tamaulipas and eastern Nuevo León in Mexico. Nineteen of those populations are rated in low condition, the remaining five are in moderate condition and none are in high condition — indicating acute imperilment.

The Endangered Species Act has been successful in keeping more than 99% of species under its protection from going extinct. But long delays in adding animal and plant species to the endangered list have heightened the perils and made recovery more difficult and expensive. For example, the Service must decide by the end of 2024 whether to protect monarch butterflies as threatened, 10 years after a petition seeking to protect them under the Endangered Species Act was filed.

The prostrate milkweed listing comes in response to a Center lawsuit to gain final decisions on protection for 241 plant and animal species threatened with extinction, including the prostrate milkweed and more than 35 others in Texas. The prostrate milkweed was the subject of a 2007 protection petition by WildEarth Guardians.

The prostrate milkweed’s low and sprawling leaves and stem wilt during droughts. But the plant’s subterranean tuber stays alive and after soaking up moisture from occasional tropical storms sends up stalks and pink and yellow flowers.

#apocynaceae #plantblr #texas natives

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devieuls · 1 year

Text

Where’s your mind?

Keigo Takami x Fem Reader ¡ angst/fluff !

Warnings : fluff/angst story, toxic love, words inherent in death, reader and Hawks suffering, swear words.

Synopsis : you have just been left by your boyfriend for another girl, your heart is broken as you run away from what was your home to end up in a corner of the city to suffer in silence, hidden from prying eyes, not knowing that someone would find you by chance...

Length : 2k+

Part: 1/2(?)

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You didn’t know how you found yourself crying in a seedy corner of a remote street in the city center, you didn’t really understand how you got there. Perhaps the tears had dazzled your eyes to the point of not understanding where to go to stop you.

Your chest was so sore you could barely breathe properly; your heart was pounding, you almost thought you were having a heart attack as the rain wiped your tears from your face. You held your sweatshirt close to your heart as you tried with all your strength to stifle the sobbing and the small desperate cries that came out from the neurosis of crying.

Why? Why me? What did I do wrong? It’s my fault... I’m so stupid.

Words like that sounded in your head.

You felt like a total moron asking questions like that while your now-ex-boyfriend is definitely staying with the other woman. He had left you after four years of relationship, four years where you had given every part of yourself; your heart, your love, your body, the attentions, the affection... all of yourself. You were torn apart in a relationship with a Leech who sucked your life from your lips. Four years where you accepted his screams, his outbursts, his insults, his violence, contempt and disinterest.

By now you were a doll with which he used to vent his cravings sometimes, until he got tired of you and found a new toy to have fun with.

He didn’t need you anymore, and your efforts to look as beautiful as the first day were in vain. You had started putting on a lot of makeup, going to spas, hairdressers and shopping more often, but nothing had worked.

He didn’t look at you, he didn’t love you for a long time now, just enduring and cold.

Stupid.. STUPID. STUPID! You used to say to yourself while you were hitting your head with your hands, like to drive away the idea of him and everything you did for his sake. You were hoping to be sucked in by those cold walls and the concrete, totally disappear off the face of the earth, never to be found again.

You were now crouching, letting the rain swallow you, as memories of you resurfaced in your mind, wounding you more than the situation itself was. You were hating yourself so much, finding yourself sobbing as pathetic as you seem to be on the ground like a homeless, and crying like a baby.

You didn’t even hear footsteps approaching you, much less the presence of someone who had stopped in front of you, if it wasn’t for a voice that had just come to your ears you definitely wouldn’t have given it any attention.

< Hey... All right? Can I help? > A soft, low, worried voice hit your ears, taking you away from your thoughts.

You looked up slightly, as if to look at the person who had stopped for you and you hardly recognized him. Maybe the last person you expected to see in a situation like this was Keigo, your best friend. He usually didn’t come out in the night rain, he didn’t particularly like to get soaked when he came home, so it was strange to see him standing in front of you.

Your eyes swollen with tears, face plump, hair ruffled and disheveled, surely you were not a beautiful sight.

His wing was already above you, acting as an umbrella to keep you from getting wetter, and then offering his hand to stand, remaining silent and looking at you with concern.

< Who did this to you, my angel? > he said when he found you standing in front of him, still sobbing and shaking. He took a strand of hair behind your ear, caressing your cold cheek with extreme delicacy, wiping away some of the tears falling from your eyes

< I-I am such a fool.. > you answered between sobs to the other, and then hugged the boy, hiding your face on his chest, letting him caress your hair.

< No, you’re not, my sweet angel. Let’s go home, you’re soaking and shaking, you’ll get sick if we’re still out here. >

< I don’t want to go back to my house, please, don’t make me go back there... > you begged in the sobs on his chest. He sighed and began to doubt to why you were in those conditions.

< All right, princess. Let’s go to my house, okay? > he said, getting a motion of approval from your head and then took off his waterproof jacket and gave it to you, carrying you to his house in his arms, covering you with his wing and letting the rain wet him.

You didn’t know this, but that boy was madly in love with you since kindergarten, where he first met you and found you beautiful. He never dared to go beyond friendship with you, he respected you too much to be so selfish as to ruin a good friendship for "his stupid feelings".

He had never made you miss anything and treated you like a Queen, never once he had discredited you or raised his voice, always remaining genuinely enchanted by you, remembering how fantastic you were. He never hid his admiration for you, always giving you compliments and sweet nicknames.

But you couldn’t see, you couldn’t see how much love you could get from someone like him.

How could you not notice his loving gaze? How did his heart accelerate against your ear when you hugged him? When he blushes slightly to see you smiling carefree and babbling about your day. How he enjoyed your perfume those times you fell asleep in his bed after a movie. His smiles at seeing you with his baggy clothes on, finding you pretty damn pretty. How he looked after you and defended you from everyone.

No, you didn’t understand, you never would have understood... But he accepted it, he only needed to see you happy... even if this happiness was due to someone else.

Once you arrived at his house he made you sit on the sofa and fetched towels to dry you, even though there was little left to dry since you were completely soaked in water. Nevertheless, you wiped your face and covered yourself with the soft towel that was full of his perfume. Keigo was gently drying your hair while your forehead was resting on his shoulder.

< You want to talk about it? What happened? I-I know it’s none of my business, but I’m worried about seeing you like this... > he started, with his usual calm and sweet voice, that made you feel so... calm.

< He left me, Keigo. And it’s all my fault, I’m such an idiot! Pathetic and insignificant... > exclaimed in tears. It hurt you to say you were left, but you couldn’t understand the pain you caused in him when you addressed such offenses to yourself.

Keigo stopped drying your hair and pulled you from your chin, making you raise your head until your eyes crossed. With his free hand he took off some locks of hair that covered your face and gave you a comforting smile.

< My angel, you are neither pathetic nor insignificant. You don’t know what a wonderful person that asshole left behind. You’re perfect and he doesn’t deserve your tears, mhm? > he said, stroking your wet cheek.

< Y-you’re just saying that b-because we’re friends... you don’t know h-how it feels to be broken up... it hurts, Keigo. It h-hurts so much, please make it stop... please... make it stop> Your voice was broken and pleading, you wanted so much to stop suffering, rip your heart out and throw it into a ravine, but you couldn’t. You were in tears again, feeling so insecure about yourself, horrible.

Keigo remained silent, his gaze became saddened and instinctively embraced you, caressing your back with extreme delicacy.

< I too... suffered for love, you know? she was so unreachable... you don’t know how many times I found myself like you. I was suffering like a dog, Hoping that one day she would reciprocate my feelings... but it never happened. But I’m here, I’m fine and I’m moving on. > said whispering. < it’s normal suffer for this, a sweetheart like you could not do the opposite. But it will pass, I promise you. It will not hurt so much > continued as he held you to his chest.

< Who’s the d-dumb ass who didn’t realize what a w-wonderful boy she lost? > you asked to change the subject and not think about your ex anymore.

The boy smiled sadly and looked at you. How could he tell you that you were the fool?

He sighed slightly and stroked your wet hair.

< No one you know... but never mind, it was just an example to make you understand that all is not lost, my angel. > he said.

< Why doesn’t he love me...? I did everything for him, Keigo, I-I swear. Everything... but-but for him I was never enough... Never pretty enough, never attractive enough, never good enough. Why am I not like her? She’s so beautiful, beautiful eyes, wonderful body, sweet voice, handsome hair, she dresses like a model.... she’s perfect, so perfect. So much better than me... > you looked down sobbing, feeling a total mistake < I hate myself so much... > you concluded by letting yet another tear twist your face.

You pulled your hair slightly and scratched your head slightly. Keigo took your hand to stop you from hurting yourself, holding it firmly and taking your other hand.

He felt a stab in the heart for every tear you shed, every bitter word to yourself. He would have wanted to give you his eyes to see how magnificent you were

< Y/n, that’s enough. You’re beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the world! You’re smart, beautiful, funny. You have these eyes... these beautiful eyes that are just so... and this hair, wow. And that wonderful smile... ahhh... Your voice so sweet that it could melt even the coldest heart, your wonderful personality, your...> he stopped for a second when your shiny eyes met his < Fuck. You’re just so... beautiful, my angel. Why don’t you realize you’re perfect just the way you are? Any sane guy would want to be with a woman like you. > he said blushing immediately after, realizing too late the words he had told you.

You didn’t expect such a confession from him and you were speechless, you didn’t really know how to answer and you blushed with a dry face.

After a few minutes of silence, you began to speak again in a trembling tone.

< Oh god, you must think I’m a crybaby... I’m so sorry to Ruin your night with my problems... I’m such a fucking mess > you said changing the subject and pulling your hands away from his grip. Your faces still red for the previous conversation

.< I would never think that of you. You’re perfect, even when you cry for an asshole, birdie. > pinched your cheek and made you smile slightly. < Exactly what I wanted to see. Smile, princess, 'cuz there is nothing more beautiful than you. God, I would kill that bastard who took this wonderful smile from your lips. > he concluded, making you blush again.

< Thank y-you Keigo, you are a wonderful best friend > you answered, not knowing that you had just thrown yet another arrow at his heart, hurting him with that "friend". He smiles slightly, suppressing the pain that was being born in him.

< Anything for you, you know. > The blond ruffled your hair. < Are you hungry? > he asked after a few minutes.

You nodded slightly and he retrieved an envelope with fried chicken inside, offering you half, which you accepted with great pleasure.

< He w-wouldn’t let me eat fried chicken... he said I’d get fat. > you laughed sadly.

< That’s because he’s an asshole. You’re beautiful and you can eat whatever you want. > He sighed back. he always hated that guy who treated you like a trophy to be displayed and to vent his sexual cravings.

< How sweet... i-is really good this chicken > you concluded while you pulled up with your nose, giving more bites to fried chicken.

Keigo looked at you lost in your movements, smiling at your ways, finding you so genuinely beautiful. Yet another look in love crashing into you that you didn’t notice, it was almost frustrating for him.

Because you didn’t see him, he was there, in front of you, madly in love despite everything. You could have been so happy, the solution to the pain you were in because of your ex.

< You’re special, Keigo... no one could stand me as long as you. That’s why no one will ever love me, I’m such a bore. > You said turning towards him, making your noses collide.

< I don’t have to put up with you, it’s a pleasure to help you, my angel... > he said blowing words on your lips, making you wince. < ...and only a fool wouldn’t fall in love with you, you’re perfect. >

He once again carried a lock of hair behind your ear, always staying close to you. You didn’t really understand what he was doing, and neither was he, lost in your eyes as he did it, almost hypnotized. Meanwhile the air between you two became more and more dense and tense, breathing each other.

< Keigo... what are you... > you said in a low voice and then looked at his lips so close to yours. You didn’t know why but you approached him, remaining for a breath distant. You looked back into his and laid a hand on his cheek, taking the blond boy back from his hypnosis.

He walked away from you and sighed heavily, red in his face and evidently embarrassed. He took his hands in his hair, ruffling them and then looking down < I... sorry, I’m such a fool. Forgive me y/n, I don’t know what I was th- > you stopped him approaching him again, took his face in your hands gently, and then laid a sweet kiss on his lips.

He was surprised, staring out his eyes and standing still, then kissing back, letting go for once. His heart was pounding as he hugged your hips with a delicacy foreign to you, you were accustomed to rough strokes from your ex, but he kept well away from your ass, limiting himself to caress your hips.

The kiss got wetter because of you and he had to break away from you. You weren’t clearly in your right mind and he didn’t want to take advantage of your moment of weakness to get something out of you. He wasn’t that guy, and he couldn’t do this to you, not after so long that he kept it all inside himself so he wouldn’t ruin anything.

< We shouldn’t... You’re not yourself, you just broke up and surely this is not something you would do with a clear mind. I can’t take advantage of you like this... > he sighed, his heart still racing.

Your eyes were lost and you couldn’t tell if it was a gesture of kindness or rejection. < I-I'm so sorry... sorry.... I shouldn’t have kissed you, I’m so embarrassed, God. Forgive me... I- > You said away from him, red on your face.

< No, it’s all right, you’re not yourself, I understand. > he said kindly

< I-I should go now, it’s getting late. > you answered and then you got up and left the towel on the couch.

< It’s pouring, please, stay. > he said taking you from the wrist, holding you there.

< It doesn’t matter... really. > you didn’t look at him, turning your back to hide your embarrassment.

< Really, stay, nothing bad happened... if you go out you’ll get cold, you better take a shower > he proposed < At least take off your wet clothes, please. > He went on with a delicate tone and managed to convince you.

You ran away from his grip, without saying anything, and you went to the bathroom to wash yourself, leaving him alone in the living room.

Keigo scratched the back of his head and re-curled his hair, calling himself mentally stupid. He felt a profiteer on the one hand, for continuing your kiss and allowing you to start something wetter; but on the other hand he thought about how soft your lips were, on the good cherry flavor they had and the way they looked for his with such impatience.

He didn’t know what to think.

Now if on the one hand you were suffering from your recent breakup, on the other hand you were confused about your true feelings for your best friend, on the other hand you always liked Keigo, he had always treated you well, but as a friend ? You couldn’t have feelings for your childhood best friend. You were just friends... just friends... just... friends?

Friends don’t kiss, do they? Not even when one of them is emotionally unstable... right? Maybe it was just a mistake of the moment. His lips were so close to yours... so inviting and soft. It wasn’t so wrong, just a fleeting mistake, it wouldn’t have happened a second time...

...but maybe a third and a fourth yes, who could know?

Maybe you were confused by the situation or you were starting to see that guy with other eyes, because you liked that kiss more than you should have.

---------------------AUTHOR'S NOTE-------------------------------------------------------------

This time I leave you with something different, an angst a little fluff.

I’ll probably make it two parts to make it more sad and painful for you and poor Hawks, but I’m not entirely sure.

See you next time!

- Mel

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mystistyx · 2 years

Text

let’s talk about hawks

mini headcannons of the good, the bad and the sexy

special thanks to the biggest hawks simp i know for helping me out @gardenofdreams ❥

the good

❥ the best medicine: with hawks’ natural ability to be flirty, witty and charming, you often find yourself in laughter when being blessed by his presence. whether it be a borderline dad joke or a highly intellectual one, hawks’ never fails to place a smile on your face. it’s an added bonus for you, always catching his bright smile and cheery eyes. both of you aren’t strangers to literal laughing pains and the unfortunate second hand embarrassment of onlookers when they have no idea why both you manage to sound like dying hyenas in the middle of public. even on your worst of days, it’s extremely difficult to stay mad or in sorrow when your favorite bird brings you utter goofiness.

❥ by land, air or sea: the commission has hawks on a tight rope when it comes to work as being comfortable with traveling and sometimes covering at different agencies are mandatory. with that though, hawk’s has become accustomed (and frankly spoiled) when it comes to traveling. on both of your off days, he’s quick to snatch you up and take you somewhere new. could be a new restaurant, a new city, old park to pick up some nostalgia, or even a light walk around the block. he’s always in motion and if you can, he adores it when you’re able to experience it with him. while you won’t always be allowed to take a picture for memories, you and hawks both enjoy little keep sakes. while you mostly have the shrine of memories in your own home quarters, hawks likes to have his scattered around, always finding the perfect memory whenever he looks within his home.

❥ pathetic but cute romantic: as much as a smooth talker hawks is, he really doesn’t know how to make the lovey dovey moves. he just simply struggles on every aspect that isn’t clear and cut. but however, that does not stop his determination on the matter. occasionally, you’ll both have to air out the kitchen from him leaving the chicken in the oven for too long and deciding to stick with takeout. more frequently, you’ll have to remind him that while you appreciate the flowers, him adding too much flower food to the water actually kills the flowers faster rather than keeps them alive for longer. and unfortunately, to enjoy a bubble bath with candles and wine, floating wine glasses only works when he doesn’t flap his wings within the water, making the floor a slip and slide. as mentioned, pathetic.. but the effort on his part will never die just like his love for you.

the bad

❥ workaholic: a driven and hard working man is attractive and will never not be. but there comes a point to where it can be an obsession, unhealthy, and dangerously addicting. it stresses and scares you, let alone hawks himself. he knows he has an issue but with the commission ingraining the work load into every fiber of his being, no one, not even himself, can stop hawks. one of the worst days of both of your lives was you waiting up until 4am in your bed, terrified of the news. a massive bombing in the inner city, taking out multiple buildings and destroying countless streets. your heart exploded with every update the news and social media gave. it almost seemed hopeless. but with hawks finally walking through the door, covered in ashe, tattered clothes and that almost war zone look, and saying he just had to stay and help.. it made you question whether he even cared about his safety at all. hawks may be a hero, but unfortunately will never be able to save himself from disarray.

❥ self care: due to hawks’ workaholic ways, basic self care and hygiene can slip his mind easily. unlike him knowing he has a work problem, still to this imaginary day, knowing when his funk is lingering doesn’t process in his brain. you really try your best to tell him lightly. suggesting a shower together, offering some gum in the middle of the day, asking which fragrance of yours he enjoys the most by subtly spraying more than one. this issue really does hurt the both of you. you know deep down that everyone can struggle with this issue, and seeing your love go through it constantly can put a damper in your mood.

❥ family struggles: whether you want children or not, hawks mindset on the topic is troubling. for the readers that have a functional uterus, this might hurt you the most. if you ever find yourself pregnant, you know you have to let hawks know. he’s overall a reasonable man and having the knowledge would make him happy. it just becomes concerning to you that when you do tell him, he simply has no words. he’s stuck on what to say and how to act. but eventually he does something. and what is that exact thing? he takes time to himself and flies into the city to clear his head. that absolutely breaks your heart into a plethora of pieces knowing that could have ended your relationship. hawks does come back to his senses and returns to you to talk it out, but would you still be in love with him when his first instinct is to run?

the sexy

❥ foreplay: foreplay is a majorly overlooked thing in the realm of sex. but honestly? it can be just as good as an orgasm and when it’s good, you may even have an orgasm before the real fun begins. hawks’ favorite type of foreplay is long makeout sessions and mutual masturbation. both of you on your knees on the bed, lightly fighting to stay risen up while attacking each others lips with your hands edging and toying with each other’s sex? it’s truly an ode to the younger teenage years, just desperate for feeling each other in the closest way without going all the way.

❥ sensory play: feathers are everyone’s first idea when it comes to hawks, it’s only natural when he holds hundreds of them on his luscious body. but other options are more favorites of his, especially blindfolds. if the blindfold is on you, he gets thrilled over huffing hot air around your limbs and neck. seeing your squirm and not know where it’s coming from next. if hawks has the blindfold on, he loves the feeling of hot wax. hawks has always had the idea of temperature play, but anything too hot or cold would ruffle his feathers in the worst way. wax gives him a good middle ground to explore and be free.

❥ the spring rut: in fanon lore, ‘spring hawks’ or ‘rutting season hawks’ is when hawks has the unnerving urge to heavily breed once spring begins, since he is part bird. if you don’t think about the actual science of birds and how off putting it can be, there is a some truth to how accurate it could be. being in a full rut would disturb his work flow entirely but the idea of him being more sensual during the season changes would be apparent. you would get all the blush worthy texts during work, never a moment alone with your home, and evenings out to dinner would have to take place more in the bathroom or car.

❥ begging: one of hawks’ guilty pleasures is hearing you beg. he won’t admit it but it fuels his hero hunger ego. knowing that you need him desperately in anyway possible? the man could cum alone just hearing your whimpers for him to touch you, your pleads for him to make love or fuck, any words really. hawks will never not love whatever you have to say… or moan senselessly.

masterlist // hawks’ feather pile

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bearhugsandshrugs · 2 months

Text

Chapter 2

Read M.A.D. on AO3 | All things M.A.D. Previous Chapter | Next Chapter Explicit | Gortash/Tav

Tav

It had been two months since the defeat of the Netherbrain. Two months that Gortash had spent running the city while she had tried turning down the appointment as co-ruler again and again; until she finally relented for her family’s sake a few weeks ago. He was less than enthusiastic to bring her into what he considered his work. Not to mention the fact that Tav didn’t even want to be there, most of the time.

Still, she gave it her all, trying to remember how her family had run things, and then consciously deciding to do it differently in many ways. All while Gortash watched her like a hawk, furrowing his brows whenever she argued something in a meeting, grimacing whenever she asked him about his reports.

The first two weeks in office had been exactly as dreadful as she had expected. Her days were structured and pre-planned to the last minute: Briefings, meetings one on one with important partriars or in groups, lunch and even dinner appointments, and what little time she didn’t have to spend with others she had to utilize to read through the many many letters, reports, and intel she received. It was rare for her to meet her co-ruler in individual sessions, and today would be the first time in a week that they had time to speak alone.

Not that she didn’t inform him on her actions: Every day she wrote long briefings for Gortash, a short summary on the first page in very rough bullet points, before going into detail on the pages that followed. She would retell encounters and discussions she had, thoughts on certain partriars’ motivations, gossip she picked up, conclusions she drew from that, even ideas and plans and questions for him. Every day she handed those briefings to his assistant. Every day Gortash ignored them, not referring to anything she put in there, let alone replying.

At this point she wasn’t even sure he read them.

Anyway.

Between the political games of the partriars and nobles and Gortash’s reluctance to cooperate, Tav found herself more and more desperate for a reprieve; some friendly, authentic face that wouldn’t try to trick her into promising something or fawn over her in awe.

A friend.

Walking into the dining room, Tav took a deep breath in when she saw Gortash still at breakfast, scribbling into one of his notebooks. His hair looked damp and he was wearing a loose shirt, neckline opened deep down his chest, as he seemed to prefer, and she saw that his throat was covered in hickeys.

Still, apparently he had been working since the moment he got out of bed – at least that’s how he looked, deeply focused on his writing. Tav faintly remembered the stack of documents she still needed to go over, and sighed. She’d never have a normal life again.

“Good morning”, she greeted, sitting down opposite of him. “Do you ever stop working?”

Gortash shot her a glance over his notes, then brought his focus back to writing.

“Morning”, he replied, sounding like he was holding back a scoff, but barely.

Tav reached for the coffee, drowning out the black with milk until it had a soft brown color, then tried again.

“I’m serious Gortash, do you actually have a life beyond working? I’ve never heard or seen you do anything other than work. Do you have a… hobby? Friends?”

She tried to sound as neutral as possible, curious even. Maybe if he had one, she’d be able to as well.

He raised his eyebrows while she was speaking but didn’t take his gaze off his hand, finishing the sentence he was writing before closing the book and leaning back in his chair, looking at her with an annoyed expression.

“Since you take offense to my private life so much, even giving me a lecture on whom I chose to spend my time with the other day, I opted not to share too much of it with you”, he scoffed, crossing his arms while he spoke.

“You’re sharing plenty”, Tav quipped before she could stop herself, eyes falling onto his bruised neck.

Gortash saw where her eyes took her and chuckled. “Is that what you want to know? The exploits of last night? I could draw you a picture.” He nodded towards his notebook and Tav suppressed a smile.

“I was asking for me, actually.”

For a split second he looked confused, but he got back to his smug persona in no time.

“Hells, do I have to teach you how to find something to do as much as I have to teach you how to rule a city?”, he mocked her, and Tav wanted to wipe the arrogant look off his face. Did he misunderstand everything on purpose?

“Nevermind”, she grumbled and rolled her eyes, filling her plate with bread, cheese, and eggs. No use trying to have a conversation with this one.

She began eating in silence, hoping the Archduke would choose to finish his work somewhere else instead of here so she wouldn’t spend the entire meal in this tension. But he kept his eyes on her, only interrupted by him reaching for his coffee.

“I have a standing agreement with the Blushing Mermaid”, he suddenly began, tone more forgiving than before. “Which is where I go when I need a change of scenery. They make sure that nobody bothers me, give me a corner to myself and my acquaintances, and in turn I’ll make sure their paperwork remains… in order.” He nodded curtly.

Tav looked at him, pleasantly surprised about hearing something constructive for a change, then nodded in agreement. “Sure, makes sense. Thanks.”

“No scolding?”, Gortash teased, voice low. A servant behind him refilled his coffee cup, and he nodded a short thanks to him.

“Look, I don’t really care if you sleep with the entire public of Baldur’s Gate as some sort of goodwill campaign, but I do care if you’re being careless about it. At least, politically.”

She saw him think over her words before he decided to ignore them. “If you’re bored, I’m sure the Mermaid would be glad to host you, too.” Taking a long sip from his coffee, his eyes met hers, silently sizing her up.

“I was counting on it”, Tav sighed and Gortash seemed to approve, gaze softening. It was weird how he could watch her so intently only to pretend she didn’t exist the next moment.

“But seriously, Gortash, do you have any other hobbies than sleeping around?” She gave him a smile as a peace offering. “Any friends?”

He grimaced, his face hardening again as quickly as it had relaxed just moments before, and he stood up from the table abruptly.

“I have to finish this”, he said, grabbing his notebook. “I’ll see you later, in the morning brief.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving Tav sitting by herself, feeling lost. Had this been a fight? Or a small form of reconciliation?

Fuck if I know.

Gortash

He was about to lose his patience with her.

Their morning briefing had barely started when he’d asked her about the meetings she had the day before. Gortash had put considerable thought into who she could meet, which noble would likely fawn over her, and had even given her discussion points to cover. Now that he’d asked her about it, however, Tav just shrugged.

“It’s in the briefings I gave you”, she said, sounding annoyed.

“You can hardly call them briefings”, he replied angrily. The one-pagers with a few bullet points on them hardly counted as anything more than a child’s scribbles.

“And what would your Highness call them?” Her voice cut sharply across the desk they were sitting at, in his office today, and she crossed her arms in defiance while she glared at him.

Gortash rubbed the back of his hand.

“Trash”, he stated flatly. And truthfully. The loose, single pages lacked detail and information. He usually threw them away after a quick glance.

But Tav didn’t seem to agree: A red rash spread on her throat, her anger bubbling underneath the surface.

“Trash?!” She repeated the words, outraged, tone pitching upwards. “I spend over an hour every day writing them!”

He snorted, unwilling to believe what she told him. There was no way it took her more than a few minutes. But then again, he was already over the topic. If she wanted to try to mock him or play some sort of weird game, he wouldn’t let her. He had a city to run.

I don’t have time for this.

“Let’s move on, shall we?”, he therefore offered, trying to change the subject. But Tav shook her head, her pride clearly hurt.

“You not reading or replying to my briefings or the questions or ideas in them is one thing”, she stood up, grabbing the stack of documents she had brought with her. “But insulting me?” She rolled her eyes. “We agreed to work together, Gortash. Don’t be such a sour loser.”

He chuckled, amused by her outburst, though he was still confused if she was actually being serious.

“Who says I’ve lost anything?”, he smirked, and Tav groaned in response.

“Fuck you”, she grumbled, throwing a dozen or so pages of document in front of him. “Here’s today’s report. For your trash.”

She was out of the door before he could reply. Sighing with frustration, Gortash gathered the pages, then looked them over: Notes and notes, separated into sections by subject. Questions were underlined, ideas marked with an arrow. There were headers and summaries, all of it neatly written. And then, in between all of them, a one-pager with bullet points summarizing the entire thing.

Shit.

—

He spent the rest of the meeting alone, reading through her report. It was… elaborate. Helpful. Informative. And anything but trash.

A quick and angry chat with his assistant revealed that the damn man thought he was helping by only showing him the summaries, filing the rest of the reports away into binders. Gortash all but fired him on the spot, then reconsidered when he remembered that it had taken him months to find someone he could barely tolerate. So he decided to yell at him until the first tears pricked the corners of his assistant’s eyes, then sent him off.

Gortash decided to read the rest of the reports later and instead focused on the most recent one. Three pages in, a paragraph addressed him directly, and he raised his eyebrows, trying to picture Tav writing this with the little frown on her face that she made whenever she was skeptical of any of his decisions.

I’m not sure why you asked me to meet Duke Portyr. He wouldn’t stop talking about my family using absurd metaphors that I’m too tired to repeat. Anyway, he fucking hates your guts. He didn’t say so explicitly, but he asked me five times how elections were held in Athkatla. Told him to ask Nine Fingers as I’m sure she’s well acquainted with the Shadow Thieves. But maybe that was the point of sending him to me?

Gortash grinned. Absolutely. She was correct. Having her instead of him tell the grudge-keeping duke off was better in every way, but especially politically. He hastily wrote a reply in the margins:

Yes. Well done. Thank you.

Further down, another section caught his eye:

Heard whispers about a Gondian network being reestablished in BG. New research, too. Something about intersections of thermodynamic and magical properties? Beats me but I’m sure you’ll know. If it’s relevant I can reach out.

You know some interesting mouths that speak such luring whispers. Reaching out would be much appreciated.

Shaking his head to himself, he couldn’t help but smile. This was exactly what he had hoped to get out of this partnership. More than that, actually. Plus, if she could indeed help him get his hands on a Gondian design…

What a pleasant surprise.

On the last page was another paragraph, seemingly written in a hurry and with a different quill. It looked like it was added last minute:

Well, you’re not reading any of this anyway, but if you do, let me know how you do this? Have a private life, I mean? I haven’t left this building in over a week while you’re covered in hickeys as if you just worked a double shift at Sharess’ Caress. PS: Stop being such a dick at breakfast. Either eat like a normal person and socialize, or work in your office. It’s depressing. – Tav

Gortash realized she’d written it after their encounter this morning. He had been short with her, sure, but mostly because he didn’t want to talk about his private life. It wasn’t any of her business. Besides, if she thought she could sit there and judge him with her noble nose turned upwards, she was wrong. But maybe… it seemed like there was more to it.

Scratching his head, he wondered if she was being sincere when she asked him for advice. Him. But why? She could ask her family. Or their lackeys. He was sure they’d love to give their input.

Still, the question was directed at him. And he was in a good mood after reading through the entire thing. Gortash decided she deserved an answer. This time.

Ask your assistant to block time out for you. Cancel things if necessary.

Chuckling, he tried picturing her at the Blushing Mermaid, downing a drink after another lecture from Portyr. She’d scowl and pout and it would be delicious to tease her there. Probably wouldn’t be more than two drinks until she’d be too tipsy to be fun, though. However… He hadn’t forgotten that he’d fucked Provoss while imagining Tav’s face. How could he? The orgasm had been one of his better ones recently.

He started writing before he could think, the smirk on his face widening:

PS: No notebooks at the table. Noted. But don’t pretend you don’t like dicks for breakfast. – E

He hovered over the page, staring at the letter of his first name. He nearly signed off with “Enver”, but that would have been a horrible idea. Having her call him Gortash was preferable overall, as was more distance between them. While he did enjoy winding her up, he did not want to imply familiarity. At least not unless he wanted her to pry even more into his personal life. Which he didn’t.

Definitely not.

Gortash rolled his eyes at himself. The last sentence sounded almost flirty. He shouldn’t have added it… but he had not been able to stop himself, almost high on the euphoria of discovering his co-ruler was competent after all.

Sighing, he turned the “E” into “E.G.”.

Better.

Setting down the quill, he called for his assistant, asking him to take the report back to Tav, explicitly mentioning the added notes. Then, he glanced at the time: If he hurried with the rest of his work for today, he could go out later.

The Blushing Mermaid was lovely that time of night. Maybe he would catch her there?

Next Chapter

#M.A.D.#my writing #enver gortash #tav #gortash x tav #tavtash #bg3 fic #post game AU

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greypetrel · 10 months

Note

For the opinions meme - how about Varric, Krem, Zevran and Sten?

WOOOOH it's a lot! Thank you ask some more. 👀

SOOOO let's spill some tea, shall we. *crack knuckles*

Varric:

First impression: "Omg that's some chest hair." Of course. Nah it was like at first sight even without those, give me an unreliable sarcastic narrator and I'll be content.

Impression now: After reading some analyses and writing him... I still like him a lot as a character, but it's true that he's for sticking with the status quo and is terrified of changes, BUT he changes his mind if you push him enough (a lot), so that's ok. Leave Bianca dude seriously I'm suffering for your sake.

Favorite moment: The fake solo EPIC fight at Bartrand's. Iconic, you go man. Also, the descriptions on ships in Hard in Hightown without a hint of research. He just doesn't care and it works and it's a best seller. You go, Varric.

Idea for a story: I don't think anything about him will ever top the fic "Ask Varric" but I'd love to be proven wrong of course. (It's the fic I read when I'm sad it just sparks joy). I'd just love to see him coping with a Spirit Cole and learning that it's not the end of the world, he's still him. Alas I tend to focus more on my OCs. Maybe I'll try it one day or another, but it's not that day (and if you are reading this and find it a good prompt, be my guest, write it and please tag me)

Unpopular opinion: A centrist character that doesn't want change is actually a good counterpoint for Hawke.

Favorite relationship: *looks at DadWolf AU* AH-EHM. No, joking, I love a good fic that ships him with Cassandra.

Favorite headcanon: Bisexual in the closet, clearly had a one-night with Solas when they both got drunk I read the comic panels and listen LISTEN no homo bro

Krem:

First impression: I think I thought he looked very cool and had a very nice voice, I liked how professional he was and the dynamics of the Chargers from the start, the more he spoke the more I liked him.

Impression now: As above, I can't say much on how it was written but I like him very much as a character, I wish we saw more of him in game and that he was a romanceable option but alas

Favorite moment: I live for his dynamic with Bull they're just... The ultimate found family and they melt my little dark heart.

Idea for a story: Oh damn... Anything exploring his character more, honestly. I will be honest and say I'm not really shipping him with Maryden (I don't like Maryden much...?). Maybe something having him and Dorian in the same room. Add Fenris for the perfect Tevinter reunion and just dig in the chaos. Hateful Eight style. (Sorry Dor I don't think you're surviving this in one piece)

Unpopular opinion: Is there an unpopular opinion about Krem? No, I think my opinion on him are pretty average.

Favorite relationship: Chargers the ultimate Found Family all the way. With Bull, as in platonic. Or you know what. He makes plushies. Josie plays with them. KremxJosephine??? (it's farfetched and I really thought of it right now and with a beer in my belly. But...)

Zevran:

First impression: "Dude who gave you the assassin licence, Elmo?" No listen Zevran is the epitome of the character I like most. Cocky, histrionic, there for show, very charismatic. I was there and I liked him from the start.

Impression now: Same as above, it didn't change much. I only love him more after knowing all of it, he deserves all the love and praise he can get and some more.

Favorite moment: His recruitment is honestly an iconic epic fail come on what's there not to love. But also his banter with Alistair.

Idea for a story: I will write it sooner or later: Zevran and the Warden making spritz in the camp with what they could find/distill themselves. Listen, Antiva is Venezia, hence it's a SHAME that one of his gifts is not a glass of Spritz (the most typical cocktail from the... City or region I won't say or Ali will beat me with a newspaper if I get it wrong). In my mind the Dalish can and will distill alcohol with everything, as good old south mediterranean old people, the Arlathvens are basically a big reunion to share drinks. I will sooner or later write Alyra missing some good homemade liquor, him missing spritz, and the pair combining forces to recreate something with the resources they have. Raiding a tavern, Alyra distracts the host and Zevran slips behind the counter and steals Aperol.

Unpopular opinion: Not really an unpopular opinion but he's Italian not Spanish. The name also sounds from Veneto, if you read it with the accent on the a. Zevràn. It's me being picky, tho, I really don't have ANYTHING against people portraying him as Spanish and using Spanish for Antivan! I saw some very nice iterations. I don't think I have opinions about him that are really unpopular tho.

Favorite relationship: I'm a sucker for a good Zevalistair fic. I said it.

Favorite headcanon: Even in a platonic relationship, he still checks in regularly with his friends from the Blight. They all have a discount.

Sten:

First impression: I was pretty cold about him? Like ok, I'll free him just to piss the Nun off, but meh it sounds like a character I don't really like, too much a boring Paladin for me, meh.

Impression now: He likes cookies and he approves when you disagree with him? OMG I STAN *badum tsssss* Jokes beside, I think he's kind of… A missed chance? He's an interesting character and believe me I generally find his kind of character extremely boring, but… He doesn't have as much insight as the others have, it would have been nice to see more, have some more cut scenes with him or a more complex personal quest that wasn't just a "find the missing object".

Favorite moment: The cookie admission.

Idea for a story: Him and the Warden meeting again, with him as the Arishok. A good old reunion.

Unpopular opinion: I think the real missed chance in romancing a Qunari is not him but the Arishok in DA2 and I will die on this hill.

Favorite relationship: He and the Warden. Or with Morrigan.

Favorite headcanon: He didn't use "Kadan" for nothing, he sincerely had feels for the Warden.

#characters opinion meme #dragon age #varric tethras #krem aclassi #zevran arainai #sten dragon age

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spicywarl0ck · 1 day

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Happy Friday! Prompting “we’ll get through this” kisses for Fenhawke 💖

Thank you so much for the prompt <3 I had a lot of fun writing this for @dadrunkwriting Pairing: Fenris/male Hawke Length: 622 Rating: G

The world seemed to become more dangerous with every breath they took.

He had watched many things falling apart, Lothering, his family, Kirkwall and finally the circles. He witnessed the deaths of hundreds and had heard the cries of a thousand oppressed souls even before he had made his choice.

Hawke remembered every minute he fought in the burning streets of Kirkwall.

It was almost ironic that it was so far behind them right now. He could swear that he still smelled the smoke hovering above the once so prideful city while his muscles burned from running.

Both he and Fenris had left the city as soon as they could.

They were refugees once more, just after they had built a home for themselves. Hawke felt bad for bringing Fenris into this position and he offered more than once for the elf to stay behind but he had refused.

A smile twitched on his cheeks at the mere thought of Fenris's scowl just after he made his proposition.

He knew that Fenris would follow him to the end of the world if he needed to, which was more than he could ever ask for. And no matter how bad he felt for the elf’s sake, he also was glad to have the company of his lover.

“This looks safe enough to make camp.” Fenris had scouted out a small and seemingly abandoned cave. “We shouldn’t be noticed as long as we don’t start a fire.”

“Meaning we need to keep each other warm through the night.” Hawke couldn’t help but grin, his innuendo met with a firm hit against the unarmoured part of his arm. But even the grumpy Tevinter elf couldn’t hide the hint of the half smile showing on his lips.

“I’m sorry.” The mage added once they had settled and he held his lover safely between his arms.

His cloak covered them both to keep each other warm, and they had both gotten rid of the outer parts of the armour to make things easier. He had insisted on taking the first watch, knowing that Fenris must have been incredibly exhausted.

And as far as Hawke knew, the elf was already asleep but he should be proven wrong.

“Sorry for what?” The gruff voice sounded tired as Fenris's head shifted back to lay on Hawke’s shoulder. He felt the softness of the white elf’s hair brushing against his neck before the tired gaze of green eyes met his.

“For waking you?” Hawke offered with a rough chuckle, knowing it was a poor lie. It didn’t even sound convincing to him.

“For being responsible you need to run again after just finding a home.” The mage added as Fenris kept staring at him silently. “I know you had a hard time settling in. I feel as if I ripped you away from home once more. For mages no less.”

“You promised to take me to weird places.” The elf answered without hesitation.

Fenris shifted slightly in his arms, eyes gazing intensely at his as his lips twitched into that sexy smirk again, sending Hawke’s brain into turmoil. “I knew what I was signing up for,” he added, leaning just a tad closer to be within range of Hawke’s lips.

“We got through things worse than this. We’ll get through this too.” Fenris's lips touched his lightly, close enough that Hawke felt the elf’s breath against his skin.

“And I’ll never leave your side,” he added, his voice almost too quiet to be heard before his lips got caught in a breathless kiss. It was truly remarkable how one person could make Hawke feel so at home.

And no matter what would come, he would make sure they’d return home again.

#dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #writing #prompt #fenhawke #dadrunkwriting #dragon age 2 #my writing #Fenris #male Hawke #mage Hawke #male hawke/fenris #kisses #fluff

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interv4ls · 1 year

Text

Miracle Aligner l Eddie Munson X Fem!Reader

Summary: When everything is stressing, Eddie might be the miracle aligner that (Y/N) needs to get away from life.

pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader / Fluff (platonic, i can fix that in another one if you’d like, hehe)

warnings: mentions of smoking (the illegal stash) and slight language. Use of (Y/N) and a made-up character as her friend.

word count: 2,556

A/N: Hello, everyone! It’s been a while since I last posted around here! I came back with an old piece, this time with Eddie, my love! I don’t encourage smoking, it’s not good for you, don’t do it! But for the sake of the plot, I made the mention and story all around it - not glamourizing at all! I really hope you guys like it. Remembering that English is not my first language, I did some beta reading but if there any mistakes, please, forgive me. I hope you guys enjoy this one, constructive critics are welcome :)

There were three things (Y/N) could never trust in her life: the weather, Hawkings and her memory. She no longer trusted the flashbacks that once in a while replayed behind her empty eyes during math classes, especially the ones about her childhood. Hawkings being the little egg that it is as a city, (Y/N) could always check her memories with the other people that were there with her, but nobody remembered – the thing wasn’t like they didn’t remember as detailed as she did – they didn’t remember at all. Sometime in her life, she started to think she was crazy and made up all those things, but they were so vivid and so real to her that it wasn’t possible to be all imagination.

And when you live in Hawkings, it’s not like a considerate number of good memories could be made – especially if you were a forgettable person in High School. (Y/N) had friends but they were much like her, not as popular, they would never be the ones to sip beer late Friday, go to a gas station to do nothing or throw massive parties while someone’s parents were traveling. (Y/N) saw herself kind of revolting about her same boring chores everyday – until she went once to California with her cousin and tried weed for first time. It was not as demonic as her father made up to be all her life, actually, it was the perfect escape from her boring small city life.

When she returned to Hawkings, she swore not to smoke again just because it would take so much work – finding a dealer, sneaking out to smoke or even smoke inside the house and fake the smell – but one day, she missed the relaxing sensation of just inhaling the smoke and laying down. She was in the middle of lunch, not even touching her food, heavy eyes from nights of insomnia and all the noise from other people’s conversation – her friend, Veronica, was right in front of (Y/N) – looking rather curious about her friend’s recent behavior.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The girl said out loud and (Y/N) seemed to snap back to reality. She sighed and tried to find the words.

“Do you know who…” (Y/N) started but realized she was talking loudly. “Well, how am I supposed to say this?” She and Veronica never talked about those things, (Y/N) was beginning to think she would be judged.

“Just shoot, you’ve been freaking me out the entire lunch with this face of yours.” (Y/N) looked at Veronica even more seriously. “Sorry, girl. But you look like you’ve been drained the whole week.”

“Well, the feeling is just as close, believe me.” (Y/N) snorted. “Do you know someone who sells weed?” Veronica opened her mouth but (Y/N) stopped her. “Don’t lecture me about anything, I’m not being unhealthy or anything. It’s just, the school just started and my mom’s being a crazy wench these days. I miss the days in California and the ‘no worries’ mood.”

Veronica always felt she never really met (Y/N)’s mother. Like, she met the person she wanted her to see, but not the woman (Y/N) had as a mother – and the last years, (Y/N) have been complaining a lot about pressure at home. Ever since she decided to go to a college out of the state, her parents had been resisting a lot to everything related to it and God knows how this can be frustrating in their last year of High School.

“Well, I suppose it’s not like you’re asking for cocaine or heroin.” Veronica shrugged and looked around just to ensure nobody was listening – like someone ever was. “Look, I heard a time or another that Eddie Munson knows something about it. A guy from the Drama Club made the deal to share the room with Eddie for his game club in exchange for something that, and I quote, makes him incarnate Shakespeare.”

“Well, I would love Shakespeare to live this living hell for me.” (Y/N) said and Veronica laughed. “It’s been a while since I last talked with Edward. Wouldn’t it be weird to show up just to ask a thing like that?”

“Well, you are the only person I know he accepts calling him Edward. And, if he is the one messing with this kind of stuff, you’re just one more costumer. Not big deal, right?”

Veronica’s logic was right. But (Y/N)’s last memory with Eddie was in middle school and they argued about something. Was it about her preferring Dio over Ozzy in the vocals of Black Sabbath? Or they were just differing in phases of life? Again, she couldn’t – for the life of her – remember why. In the end, she just hoped that whatever it was about, it wouldn’t get in the way of her deal.

“You don’t have drama club today, right?” (Y/N) pointed with her fork to Veronica.

“Nop. That’s his today.” (Y/N) nodded her head slowly, tracing all the possible plans for her to reach Eddie.

(Y/N) spent the rest of the day in the library – not only waiting for the Hellfire Club meeting to end but also, to escape her mother’s babbling or whatever. It was a good, silent and distracting place – she read, took a little nap and helped the librarian returning the books to their right shelves – that was actually the script of her day for several weeks - which only made her think even more about how she needed an urgent “chill” feeling. She played with the sleeve of her coat while waiting at the corridor, until she heard the screams, giggles and “good-bye’s” from boys getting out of the room. None of them were Eddie, for (Y/N)’s luck. She took a deep breath and exhaled the oxygen.

“It’s just Eddie. Get yourself together, damn it.” (Y/N) told herself before entering the room. She didn’t know if it was the foggy memories of their friendship or what she was about to ask the boy that was making her so nervous. All the time in California, she was never the one who spoke to dealers – hell, she just received the joint between her fingers and smoked. She went in and Eddie was with his back to the door, gathering chairs to their right place.

“I am already leaving, Matthew. I’m just…” He turned to her. “Oh, (Y/N). Didn’t expect to be you.” He seemed astonished. “Like, at all.”

“Yeah, I gather that. It’s been a while.” She closed the door behind her and took little steps closer to him. Although they grew apart, Eddie could never forget those eyes of hers. He even questioned if in the future, they would be his cure to an amnesia or something like that, he knew that as long as he remembered those eyes, he would be okay. “Look, I will cut the small talk. I need something from you and if you’re not the right person, I expect no judgement.”

“You really think, from all the people in this place, I would be the one judging you?” He crossed his arms. (Y/N) pouted and realized he was right, she could never expect that kind of thing from him. “Tell me, then.”

“Well, someone told me that you…May sell weed.” She was afraid she spoke so low that he didn’t hear and the look on his face reassured her of that. “Someone told…”

“I heard, princess. I’m trying to make the synapses to understand why you’re asking me this.” He looked puzzled. “Someone asked you to get that? I don’t make bridge dealing, that can be dangerous, you know? Cops and shit.”

“It’s not for someone, it’s for me.” (Y/N) licked her lips. “Look, I’m just having a shitty week, well, shitty month actually. And I just need a little relief.”

“I can’t believe it! You’re a smoker? A weed smoker!” He had a little grin on his face and (Y/N) arched her eyebrows. “Since when? Who gave it to you?”

“My cousin…During my summer vacation.” She was kind of bothered with all the surprise. She wasn’t so uptight, right? Like, she wasn’t a stoner like the kids she met in California but she clearly wasn’t a prude. “So, do you have it? How much is it?”

“I’m not selling to you.” He shook his head side to side and (Y/N) stood there with her mouth opened.

“What do you mean not selling to me? What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie could see that she was starting to get mad and God! How he missed her frowning and nose scrunching, the red face and incredible big eyes.

“You’re a talker. One pressure from your mother and you’re telling whoever wants to hear that I deal with this kind of stuff.” She seemed shocked with the assumption. Eddie took a few steps closer to her, until her eyes were in the height of his nose. “I think you don’t even know how to roll.”

“I forgot how infuriating you are, Edward.” (Y/N) commented. “C’mon, you’re really denying money?”

“Let’s do this. You smoke one joint with me, you get high and I don’t get snitched. Sounds like a deal?” He offered his hand to shake. “It’s all or nothing, darling.”

“What guarantees you that I won’t snitch you got me high? Like, what’s different from the scenario of selling me the weed?”

“You won’t have weed laying around your room for your crazy mother to find. One smoke with me, I got some snacks and perfume in the van and you return home like nothing happened. Your mom might even be pleased with you returning home smelling like boy’s cologne!” He joked and (Y/N) rolled her eyes.

“Well, it really seems like I don’t have other choice. Is this or completely freaking out.” She shook hands with him. “I’ll help you clean up here, then.”

“It’s a pleasure making a deal with you, (Y/N).”

After finishing the clean-up, Eddie stopped by his van to “get the holy grail” as he said and suggested to (Y/N) for them to smoke in the woods, considering the sun would set and it was an open-air place. The girl just agreed to anything he suggested, at this point, she couldn’t make any preferences – his denying in selling the thing to her was still scratching her brain. Was she really that much of a snitch? What made Eddie think that low of her? Maybe some years apart from each other could really change someone’s perspective about the other.

“There you go. I’ll let you light it up first.” He delivered the rolled joint to her along with the lighter. A white one.

“Thanks.” She put the thing between her lips and lit it up. Eddie was expecting the girl to cough and inhale wrong but she really seemed to have had some good training while in California. She exhaled the little amount of smoke and a little smile appeared on her lips. “Can I ask you something?”

“Full of questions today, huh?” He supported his two elbows on his knees while she was sitting with her back against the wooden table. They were both facing west, waiting for the sun to go low. (Y/N) gave him an annoyed side eye. “Sure, (Y/N). What is it?”

“Why did we stop hanging out? Like, I have a terrible memory and I’ve been questioning myself this the whole day.” She passed him the joint and took a clear look at him. His long hair and raglan Hellfire Club shirt, (Y/N) couldn’t help but think he grew up to be a good looking boy. She didn’t remember if she had any attraction to Eddie when they were little but right now, she would understand if she did.

“You have a bad memory and you’re smoking weed. It won’t get any better, if I’m really honest with you.” Eddie knocked the joint against the wood for the ashes to fall. “You were the only person I told when I thought about making Hellfire and in the next day, everyone was calling me a freak and all the satanic shit.”

“What? I never told anyone about that!” She looked incredulous. (Y/N) tried to replay the occurring and she remembered making the pinky promise in the video room, in the middle of a history class. A promise to wait for Eddie’s plan, the one where she would be the first in the campaign of his new club. (Y/N) didn’t even understand a thing about D&D but she would support Eddie in whatever he suggested at the time, she really didn’t tell a soul about it.

“Well, who did it then? You were the only one!” Eddie looked at her in a mocking way and saw the girl making the mental puzzle.

“We did the promise in the middle of a class, do you really think nobody heard us? This is Hawkings, for fuck’s sake! This place is a nightmare.” She fixated her look on some tree in the distance. “Is that also the reason you think I’m a snitch?”

“Can you blame me for that? A second ago, I gave you the first credit for making my school life a mess!” Eddie passed her the joint. “I guess someone could have heard us. You made the pinky promise after all.”

“I exchanged the spit one for the pinky promise! I am very offended right now, Munson!” She smoked and Eddie gave out a little laugh.

“I guess I’m apologizing well when giving you some of that to relax.” He pointed to the joint between her fingers. “Why are you smoking anyway? I mean, I love to smoke but I would never recommend it to anyone. Ever.”

“My mom is being, well… A mother. Ever since I told her about the plans of going out of the state for college, I think she didn’t like the idea and then, everything is about how ungrateful I am and a terrible daughter because I’m abandoning them. You get the picture” (Y/N)’s voice suddenly lost the mocking tone and got replaced with an upset one. Eddie nodded slowly with his head. “I just wanted to feel away from these comments and well, I knew this!” She looked at the rolled cigarette.

“She will accept, eventually. Just don’t give up on your plans for her. It’s not fair to you.” Eddie said and (Y/N) looked at him, her eyes had the same warm when in middle school. “I’m sorry for not giving you the benefit of doubt. I just went logically into the thing and got mad. It was unfair to you and to me, because I really liked you.”

“Thank you! Not sure of how much I remember of everything, but I liked you too.” And I’m rethinking if it was more than a friendship way, she thought to herself. She handed him the blunt for him to finish smoking.

“We could this more often, if you want.” He pointed to the both of them.

“Sure! I would love to.” She smiled at him and Eddie thought he would faint right there. “You can be my miracle aligner more often.”

“I think I like that title.” He said smiling at her and thinking he could finally take his shot with her now they were grown up and more mature than years ago. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddiemunson #stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x femreader #eddie munson x #st4 #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #stranger things fanfiction

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