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eepwtf · 4 months ago

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PUNISHABLE—soldier boy x catholic boy part 2

find part one here ⤷ part numero uno

warnings; religious guilt and themes, power dynamics, somnophilia, degradation and humiliation kink, jerking off to underwear (i think my boy has a fetish for that, ben lock your underwear drawer), handjobs, jerking each other off, blowjobs, (not lasting even a minute because first time blowjob, ben being a little shit about it) wc: 5.5k

“you’re such a fucking perv,” benjamin continued, his tone light, almost conversational, as though discussing the weather. “jerking off into my underwear like some desperate little bitch. did you think i wouldn’t notice?” he pressed harder, his hand gripping you through the fabric, and you couldn’t hold back the quiet whimper that escaped your lips.

“liar,” he sing-songs, his tone dripping with regalement. “you act like such a good little saint, all those prayers, all that piety—s’just a cover for the filthy little pervert hiding underneath.”

after that night, you couldn’t look at benjamin the same way. the memory of his hands on you, his voice low and coaxing, lingered like a brand burned into your skin. it churned in your gut, twisting and gnawing until it felt like your insides were corroding, eaten away by the acid of shame. each time you saw him—his easy smirk, the casual way he draped himself over the furniture, the faint smell of him that hung in the air—you felt your stomach turn, the shame rising thick and bitter in your throat.

you couldn’t stay in the room. the air felt too close, too full of him, his presence pressing against you like a weight you couldn’t bear. so you fled. the small catholic temple on campus became your refuge, though it offered no comfort. it was little more than a cramped chapel tucked into an old building, the stained glass faded and chipped, the pews scarred with years of scratches and carvings. the faint smell of candle wax and incense clung to the air, mingling with the scent of mildew from the damp stone walls. the temple became a tomb, and you were the corpse, rotting from the inside out.

you spent hours there, more time than you did in class or the dorm. you’d sit in the shadow of the crucifix, its weathered wood warped and splintering, staring up at the lifeless eyes of Christ as if begging him to look back. the silence was oppressive, heavy and suffocating, but it felt right—like the weight of your sin, tangible and inescapable. you sat for hours in the shadow of his body, staring at the weathered wood, splintering and warped, as if waiting for him to come alive and condemn you. his hands were outstretched, pierced and bleeding, his face frozen in agony. you imagined he looked at you with that same pain, that same accusation, and it broke something inside you.

you tried to pray, the rosary beads dug into your palms, leaving angry red marks that faded too quickly to feel like real penance. you clutched them tighter, grinding the crucifix into your skin until it almost bled, muttering the Act of Contrition until the words blurred together, but the guilt remained, festering like an open wound.

o my God, i am heartily sorry for having offended Thee... the words came out cracked and hollow, meaningless, swallowed up by the suffocating silence of the chapel. …because i dread the loss of heaven, and the pains of hell... but it was too late for heaven. ...but most of all because they offend Thee, my God...

the guilt felt like chains around your chest, tightening with every syllable, dragging you down into an abyss you could never climb out of. …who art all good and deserving of all my love. You didn’t deserve his love. you didn’t deserve anything.

you took to kneeling on the cold stone floor, refusing the comfort of the pews. the sharp bite of the stone against your knees felt like punishment, the only tangible way to feel the weight of your sins. sometimes you stayed there until your legs went numb, until the pain turned into a dull ache and then into nothingness. other times, you pressed your forehead to the ground, curling into yourself like a body at a wake, wishing the earth would swallow you whole.

your whispered prayers became desperate, broken things, half-choked with sobs you tried to silence. “i’m sorry,” you’d mutter, over and over, your voice cracking. “God, i’m so sorry. please, forgive me.” but no forgiveness came. only silence.

at night, you dreamt of fire. the memory of benjamin played on an endless loop in your mind: his hands gripping you, his voice low and coaxing, the heat of his breath against your skin. it burned you from the inside out, an inferno you couldn’t escape. when you closed your eyes, you could still see the smirk on his face, the way his gaze had locked onto yours in the mirror. “such a pretty mess.” the words echoed in your skull, a taunt, a curse, a brand seared into your very soul. you felt it sinking into your flesh, carving itself into your bones. you’d wake up gasping, clawing at your skin, trying to scrape it away. but it was always there, a stain you couldn’t wash off.

you thought about confession, about spilling your sins to the priest behind the screen. but the idea of speaking the truth aloud, of hearing it in your own voice, made your stomach churn. The words “i touched myself, i wanted him, i wanted it” felt too filthy to utter, even in the privacy of the confessional. so you stayed silent.

the darkness festered inside you, growing like a sickness. you began to wonder if this was your punishment—not the fires of hell, but this slow, quiet decay. a part of you hoped it was, because it meant God was still watching, still listening, even if only to damn you.

and yet, no matter how much you prayed, no matter how deeply you knelt, the memory of benjamin lingered. his touch, his voice, his scent—they wrapped around you like chains, dragging you down. you were no longer yourself. you were a sinner, a vessel for guilt and shame, rotting in the shadow of the cross.

each day bled into the next, the hours merging into a haze of suffocating monotony. time slipped through your fingers like sand, gritty and coarse, leaving only the weight of your sins behind. the chapel became your entire world, a dim, crumbling sanctuary where you sought absolution and found only torment. you avoided your dorm, your classes, even the dining hall—anywhere benjamin might be. the thought of facing him, of seeing his smirk twist into something cruel or indifferent, made your chest seize.

still, he haunted you.

he was in every shadow, every flicker of light that danced on the stone walls. his voice lingered in the back of your mind, a low, mocking drawl that you couldn’t silence no matter how many Hail Marys you whispered. and the worst part? it wasn’t just shame you felt.

in the deepest recesses of your mind, where the guilt couldn’t reach, a darker truth festered. you wanted him. you still wanted him. the memory of his hands on you, the sound of his breath in your ear, the warmth of his body pressed close—it didn’t just torment you; it consumed you. late at night, you found yourself replaying it all in your mind, over and over. your body betrayed you in the quiet, a burning need rising up that you couldn’t suppress no matter how tightly you clutched the rosary, no matter how fervently you prayed for absolution.

the shame was unbearable, searing hot and cloyingly thick, but it wasn’t enough to stop the betrayal of your own body. your cock ached, straining against the fabric of your sweatpants, a constant reminder of your weakness. you rolled onto your side in your bed, clenching your fists, digging your nails into your palms until they left crescent-shaped marks. you whispered prayers under your breath, begging for the ache to subside, for your body to stop betraying you. but it didn’t.

it never did.

and then there was benjamin, sleeping across the room. the rise and fall of his chest, slow and steady, filled the small space with a rhythmic calm that only made your torment worse. the soft sighs he gave in his sleep, the way his hair fell across his forehead, the way his lips parted slightly as he breathed—it was maddening. you hated him for being so effortlessly beautiful, for existing in a way that made it impossible for you to look away.

your hand found its way to your cock before you could stop it, the need too overwhelming to resist. you pressed your face into the pillow, biting down hard to stifle the shameful sounds threatening to spill from your throat. your other hand clutched the rosary still tangled around your wrist, the beads biting into your skin as you stroked yourself, slow and deliberate, trying to stay quiet.

your eyes stayed fixed on him, on the faint glow of moonlight that traced the curve of his jaw, the soft shadows that played across his face. each breath he took seemed louder than the last, each shift of his body under the covers like a whisper meant only for you.

it was wrong. it was so fucking wrong. but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t stop. the crucifix above your bed seemed to watch, its lifeless eyes boring into you as if condemning every shudder, every gasp, every sinful thought. you imagined Christ’s agony, his blood dripping from the crown of thorns, his body nailed to the cross for your sins—and here you were, defiling his sacrifice with every stroke, every filthy thought. it should have stopped you. it should have made you fall to your knees in repentance. but instead, it only made the guilt more unbearable, the shame more suffocating, until the pressure inside you broke. your lips moved in silent prayer even as your strokes quickened, the contradiction tearing you apart. "forgive me, Father," you whispered, your voice choked and broken. but even as you begged for absolution, your body craved release.

your gaze flicked to benjamin. he had shifted in his sleep, one arm flung above his head, his shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of skin. the sight made your mouth go dry, your hips bucking into your fist as a low, shuddering moan escaped you. you imagined his hand replacing yours, his voice a low, mocking drawl coaxing you to give in. the thought alone sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your breaths coming faster, more desperate. “ben,” you whispered, the name slipping past your lips before you could stop it. the sound felt sacrilegious, an invocation of something dark and forbidden.

the beads of the rosary dug deeper into your wrist, the pain grounding you even as your strokes grew frantic. pre-cum slicked your fingers, the wet sound obscene in the silence. the shame was suffocating, a thick, rancid weight that settled in your chest, but you couldn’t stop. your gaze stayed fixed on him, on the soft curve of his jaw, the soft fluttering of his lashes. the ache inside you swelled, sharp and consuming, until it was too much to bear. your body convulsed, thick spurts of cum spilling over your hand, your hips jerking against the mattress as you bit down hard on your pillow to muffle your cries.

the shame was instant and suffocating, crashing down on you like a wave. you froze, your body trembling as the reality of what you’d done settled over you like a shroud. benjamin stirred, a soft murmur escaping his lips as he shifted again, his face relaxing back into the peaceful stillness of sleep. you watched him, your heart pounding in your chest, and the weight of your sin crushed you.

you wiped your hand on the sheets, bile rising in your throat as the reality of what you’d done sank in. you whispered a broken prayer, the words cracking in your throat, and vowed never to give in again. but deep down, you knew the truth. you would.

the shame should have stopped you. it should have dragged you to your knees, should have compelled you to throw open the chapel doors and confess everything—every sinful thought, every wretched desire, every stroke of your hand that mocked the sanctity of your faith. and yet it didn’t.

the guilt had only festered, growing into something dark and rotten that you couldn’t contain. and now, hidden beneath your blankets in the suffocating quiet of your dorm, it had led you to this. benjamin’s underwear was clutched in your trembling hand. you’d stolen it—there was no other word for it—plucked it from his laundry basket earlier that day when the dorm was empty, your chest pounding with adrenaline and revulsion. you had told yourself you wouldn’t do anything, that you just wanted to hold it, to feel the weight of him, the scent of him.

but now, here you were, your cock throbbing in your palm, slick with pre-cum as you wrapped the soft fabric around yourself. it was warm from your grip, but not nearly as warm as you imagined it would be if benjamin were still wearing it. the thought sent a shiver through you, your hand tightening as you began to stroke yourself again, this time slower, more deliberate. the waistband of the underwear brushed against the sensitive head of your cock, and you bit down on your lip to stifle a groan.

in your mind, benjamin wasn’t asleep in his bed across the room. he was here, standing over you, wearing nothing but the underwear now wrapped around your cock. you imagined the way it would cling to him, the fabric stretched taut over his hips, his cock outlined against it. you imagined the heat of him, the weight of him pressing against your palm as you slid your hand beneath the waistband, your fingers brushing against his skin.

you imagined him smirking down at you, his voice low and mocking. "you couldn’t help yourself, could you?" he’d say, his tone dripping with condescension. "you’re so fucking desperate for me." your hips bucked at the thought, the motion jerking the fabric tighter around your cock. the shame clawed at you, hot and suffocating, but it only made the pleasure more acute, more overwhelming.

you closed your eyes, the image of benjamin vivid behind your eyelids. you imagined his cock hard against the fabric, slick with his own pre-cum, mixing with yours. you imagined the way he’d groan, low and guttural, as your cum spilled over the fabric, soaking it, staining it. your hand moved faster, the friction of the fabric almost too much, almost unbearable. the scent of him clung to your skin, faint but intoxicating, filling your lungs with every breath. it was wrong—God, it was so wrong—but you couldn’t stop.

"ah—fuck, ben," you whispered again, the word slipping out unbidden, dripping with need and desperation. the sound of his name on your lips sent you over the edge, your body convulsing as your cum spilled over the stolen underwear, thick and hot and endless. for a moment, you couldn’t move. the shame was immediate, cold and biting, sinking into your chest like a blade. the crucifix on the wall seemed to loom closer, its lifeless eyes staring down at you in silent condemnation.

you looked at the mess in your hand, at the fabric now stained with your sin, and bile rose in your throat. you felt filthy, wretched, unworthy of the air you breathed. but even as the shame suffocated you, even as the bile threatened to spill, a darker thought twisted its way into your mind. you imagined slipping the underwear back into benjamin’s laundry basket, unwashed, unclean. you imagined him putting it on, feeling the dampness against his skin, not knowing—never knowing—that it wasn’t his sweat, but yours.

the morning light filtered through the blinds, casting golden streaks across the room. you pretended to sleep, curled beneath your blanket as benjamin stirred in the bed across from you. your body felt heavy with the lingering weight of guilt, your stomach churning as the events of the night before replayed in vivid, shameful detail.

you could hear him moving around—footsteps padding softly across the room, the faint rustle of his laundry basket as he dug through it. your pulse quickened, a sick sort of dread rising in your chest as you realized what he was doing. you squeezed your eyes shut, your breathing shallow and uneven, your entire body tensed as you waited for the inevitable moment when he would find it. the underwear, his underwear. covered in your mess.

the sound of fabric being shifted stopped abruptly, and for a moment, there was silence. your heart pounded in your ears, so loud you were sure he could hear it, but you didn’t dare move. “fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath, and your stomach twisted into knots.

you risked the smallest glance, peeking through your lashes just in time to see him holding the underwear up, his brow furrowed as he inspected the faint, crusted stains on the fabric. your breath hitched, panic clawing at your throat. he knows, you thought, the words ringing like a death knell in your mind. but then he shrugged, tossing the underwear onto his bed. “guess it’s just detergent or something,” he said to himself, his voice casual, unconcerned.

relief flooded through you, hot and dizzying, but it was short-lived. because then, to your absolute horror, he began to undress. you turned your face back into the pillow, your entire body trembling as you tried to feign sleep. but no amount of self-control could stop the way your breath quickened, the way your cock stirred traitorously beneath the blanket as you listened to the soft rustle of his shirt being pulled over his head, the faint thud of his sweats hitting the floor.

and then, the sound of him slipping on the underwear.

you couldn’t see him, but you didn’t need to. the image was burned into your mind: benjamin, his toned body half-dressed, the stolen underwear hugging his hips, clinging to him. you imagined the fabric pressing against his cock, damp and sticky with your dried release. “shit,” he muttered suddenly, a note of irritation in his voice.

and then, benjamin turned. you quickly shut your eyes, feigning sleep as your heart hammered in your chest. the sound of his footsteps grew louder, closer, until they stopped right beside your bed. “you awake, perv?” his voice was low, teasing, but there was an edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine.

you didn’t move, didn’t so much as twitch, praying he’d lose interest and go away. but instead, benjamin chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through the quiet room like a taunt. “yeah, that’s what i thought.” you felt the blanket shift, a slight tug as he pulled it down just enough to reveal your growing bulge. the cool air hit you, making your cock twitch beneath the thin fabric of your sweats, and you cursed yourself silently. “look at this,” benjamin murmured, his tone dripping with amusement. his palm pressed harder, rubbing against you through the fabric. you bit down on the inside of your cheek, struggling to suppress the gasp threatening to escape.

“can’t even keep it down in your sleep,” he said, palming you through the fabric. “what were you dreaming about, huh? was it me?” you wanted to die. you wanted to disappear, to sink into the mattress and never resurface. your hips shifted involuntarily, just slightly, into his touch. it was instinct, pure and pathetic, and you hated yourself for it. and oh, benjamin didn’t miss it. “oh, you like that, don’t you?” his fingers curled around the outline of your cock, stroking slowly, teasingly, as if to prove his point. the friction of your sweats and the heat of his hand made your entire body tense, a shudder running down your spine.

“bet you’d like it even more if i used my mouth,” he mused, his voice laced with cruel amusement. “or maybe my hand. would that make you feel better, freak?” your breaths came faster, shallow and uneven, as his hand moved with deliberate, maddening slowness. you could feel the heat of his palm, the friction of your sweats against your sensitive skin, and it was driving you insane. “you’re such a fucking perv,” benjamin continued, his tone light, almost conversational, as though discussing the weather. “jerking off into my underwear like some desperate little bitch. did you think i wouldn’t notice?” he pressed harder, his hand gripping you through the fabric, and you couldn’t hold back the quiet whimper that escaped your lips.

benjamin froze, his smirk audible even before you opened your eyes. “oh,” he said, dragging the word out, his voice dripping with mockery. “so you are awake.” you couldn’t help it; your eyes cracked open, just barely, and you met his gaze. his green eyes were bright with amusement, his smirk sharp and predatory. “figures,” he said, his voice soft and cutting. “couldn’t even keep up the act, could you?” before you could think of a response—or even move—benjamin’s hand moved again, his strokes deliberate, slow enough to make you squirm. you hated him, hated yourself, hated the unbearable heat pooling low in your stomach, but most of all, you hated that you didn’t want him to stop.

and then, to your shock and mounting arousal, he slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of your sweats, his touch hot and unforgiving against your skin. benjamin’s smirk only widened as his fingers curled around your bare cock, stroking with a firm, teasing grip that made your breath hitch. he watched your face, his green eyes sharp with predatory amusement as he took in every twitch of your features, every shudder of your chest. “look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and taunting. “so fucking hard for me. bet you’ve been dreaming about this for weeks, haven’t you? jerking off into my underwear, imagining my mouth on your cock.”

the words sent a fresh wave of shame crashing over you, burning hot and stifling in your chest. the guilt churned, twisting your stomach into knots even as your hips bucked into his hand, completely betraying you. you felt trapped between the two warring parts of yourself—the part that wanted to resist, to run, and the part that wanted nothing more than to give in, to let him ruin you completely. “you know what your problem is?” ben said, his grip tightening just enough to make your vision blur. “you’ve been holding back, keeping all that tension bottled up. you’re so fucking repressed it’s almost sad.”

your throat tightened at the accusation, the words hitting a nerve you didn’t even realize was raw. he wasn’t wrong. every day spent in the chapel, every whispered prayer for forgiveness, every shame-fueled confession—it had all built into this. the weight of your own guilt loomed heavy over you, wrapping around your chest like a vice even as benjamin’s touch ignited a fire deep in your core. “you probably think this is a sin, don’t you?” he whispered, leaning in close enough that his breath was hot against your ear. “some terrible, shameful thing. but you don’t look very sorry to me.”

his voice was like a devil on your shoulder, coaxing you further into the abyss. your lips parted, a faint, broken sound escaping as his hand moved faster, slick with precum now, the obscene sounds of his strokes filling the air. “you’re not gonna pray your way out of this one, baby,” benjamin murmured, his tone mockingly sweet. “but don’t worry—i’ll take care of you. all you have to do is let me.” before you could process what was happening, he dropped to his knees, his smirk softening into something almost reverent as he looked up at you. the sight was enough to steal your breath—benjamin, kneeling between your legs, his hands on your thighs as he tugged your sweats down just enough to free your cock completely.

“fuck,” he muttered, his eyes darkening as he took you in. “look at you. so hard, so desperate. you’re fucking dripping, sweetheart.” you wanted to deny it, to shrink away from his words, but the evidence was undeniable. precum beaded at the tip, glistening in the soft morning light. benjamin’s thumb swiped over it, smearing it down the length of your cock, and you couldn’t hold back the broken sound that escaped your throat. he gripped your cock at the base, his hand firm and unyielding as he guided it toward his lips.

the first touch of his mouth was almost too much. his tongue flicked out, teasing the tip, before he took you in slowly, inch by maddening inch. the heat of his mouth was overwhelming, soft and wet and perfect, and your hands clenched the sheets in a futile attempt to ground yourself. “ben—” you choked out, your voice cracking as your head fell back against the pillow.

he hummed around you, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. his eyes flicked up to meet yours, sharp and teasing, as he took you deeper, his throat constricting around you in a way that made your vision blur. “relax,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to speak. his lips were slick and red, glistening with saliva and precum. “let me take care of you, sweetheart. just let go.”

you wanted to. God, you wanted to. guilt clawed at your chest, sharp and suffocating, as your mind flickered with memories of whispered sermons and fire-and-brimstone warnings. this was wrong. every touch, every flick of his tongue, every obscene sound he made was a nail in the coffin of your soul. but benjamin’s mouth was so hot, so wet, and his hands gripped your hips with a strength that kept you grounded, kept you present. “you’re thinking too much,” benjamin said, his voice low and commanding. “stop fighting it. just let me make you feel good.”

he didn’t give you a chance to argue, his mouth enveloping you again with a renewed determination. his hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he worked you over, his pace slow and deliberate, savoring every moment. you barely lasted a minute. the pressure built too quickly, the heat coiling tight in your stomach and shooting down your spine. your breaths came faster, shallow and desperate, and you tried to warn him, tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let you.

“don’t you dare,” he murmured, his voice muffled around you. “i want it. cum for me.” the command was your undoing. with a choked cry, you shattered, your hips jerking as you spilled into his mouth. stars burst behind your eyes, your entire body trembling as the release hit you like a tidal wave. benjamin didn’t pull back, didn’t flinch. he took everything you gave him, his throat working to swallow it down, his hands steady on your thighs as he held you through the aftershocks.

when he finally pulled away, his lips were swollen, his smirk impossibly smug as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “damn,” he said, his tone full of mockery and amusement. “came so fast i barely got started. guess all that religious repression really does a number on you, huh?” you buried your face in your hands, your cheeks burning as fresh waves of shame crashed over you. But benjamin wasn’t done.

benjamin didn’t hesitate, tugging his sweats down in one smooth motion. the sight hit you like a punch to the gut. he was hard—thick, flushed, and straining against the fabric of the underwear you’d stolen just last night. your stomach churned when you noticed the faint, crusted stain near the waistband, the humiliating evidence of your lack of control.

“unbelievable,” benjamin said, his lips curling in disgusted amusement as he ran a hand over the bulge. “you actually came in my underwear.” he let out a short, derisive laugh, holding the elastic band out so you could see the stain more clearly. “for this?” He shook his head, the smirk tugging at his lips making your stomach flip. heat rose to your face, shame and arousal twisting together into a nauseating cocktail. you tried to look away, but your body betrayed you again, your cock twitching faintly despite the raw, overstimulated ache still pulsing through you.

“oh, no,” ben said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low timbre. “don’t you dare act embarrassed now. not after everything.” His green eyes locked onto yours, sharp and unyielding. “you’re into this, aren’t you?” you shook your head weakly, your voice caught in your throat, but benjamin wasn’t buying it. “liar,” he sing-songs, his tone dripping with regalement. “you act like such a good little saint, all those prayers, all that piety—s’just a cover for the filthy little pervert hiding underneath.” before you could muster a response, Benjamin grabbed your sweats and yanked them the rest of the way down, leaving you completely bare beneath him. his gaze swept over you, predatory and hungry, and your stomach flipped at the way his lips curled into a smirk. “you’re hard again,” he pointed out, his voice thick with amusement. “didn’t even give yourself a minute to recover, huh? you really are desperate.”

benjamin stepped back just enough to hook his thumbs into the waistband of the said stolen (and stained) underwear, dragging them down his legs with an exaggerated slowness that had your pulse hammering in your ears. when his cock sprang free, flushed and leaking, your breath caught. “Jesus Christ,” you muttered without thinking, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“close,” benjamin quipped, his grin widening into something wicked. “but i don’t think He’s gonna save you now.” he wrapped a hand around himself, his thumb swiping over the head to gather the bead of precum there. his gaze flicked to you, his smirk deepening when he saw the way your eyes lingered.

“guess i can’t blame you for wanting me so bad,” he said, his tone almost mocking. “look at what you’ve done to me.” he gestured vaguely to his cock, his hand stroking slowly, deliberately, as if to taunt you further. the heat of his body was overwhelming as he climbed onto the bed, his knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your thighs. the heat of his body was overwhelming, his cock hovering just above yours, so close you could feel the faint pulse of it. the sight of him straddling you, his lips twisted into that infuriating smirk, was enough to make your breath hitch.

“i should make you clean up your mess,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, sending a shiver down your spine. “wouldn’t that be fair?” you swallowed hard, unable to respond. your mouth was dry, your mind spinning, every nerve in your body alight with tension. “but,” he continued, leaning down until his face was only inches from yours, “i think i’ve got a better idea.”

before you could process what was happening, benjamin reached down, his hand wrapping around your cock again. his grip was firm and confident, his thumb brushing over the sensitive head in a way that made your hips jerk involuntarily. then, to your absolute shock, he shifted, pressing his cock against yours. the heat of him, the weight of him—thick and pulsing beside you—sent a bolt of arousal shooting through you so intense it made your vision blur. benjamin hummed, clearly enjoying your reaction, as he wrapped his hand around both of you, his fingers curling tightly to hold you together.

“fuck,” he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice low and strained as he began to move. his hand stroked the length of both of you in a slow, maddening rhythm, the friction electric. the slick mix of precum made the slide effortless, each stroke sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body.

your head fell back against the pillow, a choked sound escaping your throat as the pleasure built quickly, overwhelming you. benjamin’s gaze stayed locked on your face, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk as he took in every twitch of your features, every broken gasp that slipped past your lips. “look at you,” he murmured, his tone thick with mockery. “so fucking desperate. you’re not even trying to hold back, are you? just letting me ruin you completely.

you tried to shake your head, to deny it, but the words caught in your throat, tangled up in a mess of shame and arousal. your hips bucked helplessly into his hand, chasing the friction despite the raw ache of overstimulation. “s’not true,” you choked out, your voice weak and trembling.

ben laughed, low and derisive. “no? then why are you fucking into my hand like a goddamn slut?” his words cut deep, but the pleasure was overwhelming, drowning out everything else. the tension coiled tight in your stomach, building faster than you could control. benjamin’s grip tightened, his strokes growing firmer, rougher, as if he could sense how close you were. “pathetic,” benjamin said, his voice a low, teasing growl. “you’re gonna cum already, aren’t you? can feel it—feel how close you are.” he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “do it. make a fucking mess. show me how much you need this.”

his words pushed you over the edge. with a low groan, your body tensed, your release hitting you like a tidal wave. hot, sticky ropes spilled across your stomach and benjamin’s hand, the sensation so intense it left you trembling beneath him.

but he didn’t stop, his hand stroking both of you through the aftershocks, drawing out every last ounce of your pleasure. his own breathing grew heavier, his pace quickening as he chased his own release. “fuck,” he muttered, his voice tight as his hips jerked forward. a moment later, he came, his cum mixing with yours in a sticky mess across your stomach and his hand.

for a long moment, the only sound in the room was the sound of your ragged breathing. benjamin sat back slightly, his chest heaving as he looked down at the mess between you. “well,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “guess you weren’t the only one who couldn’t hold back.” you groaned, your cheeks burning as you turned your face away, but benjamin only laughed, leaning down to press a kiss to your jaw. “don’t worry,” he murmured. “i think it’s cute.”

#eepwtf’s works ! ( •)▄︻テحكـ━一💥#x male smut #x male reader #top x bottom #soldier boy smut #soldier boy x male reader #catholic guilt #religious trauma #catholic boy #soldier boy x reader

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twi-liight · 2 years ago

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Hi! I suffer from Baldur's Gate brainrot. I just stumbled upon your blog and love your writing! Could you do some Astarion, Gale and Karlach headcanons for taking care of Tav after they're badly injured in battle?

Reckless Attack ❣

Grieve, weep, and agonize over a corpse - but know that death is never final in Faerun. The burden of injuries will instead always be present: pain is eternal, no matter how numb. ❥ Astarion/Tav, Gale/Tav, Karlach/Tav. ❥ TW: Descriptive mentions of injuries and gore. ❥ Act 2 spoilers. ❥ They/them pronouns for Tav. ❥ Tav is the nickname for the reader/oc insert. Their real name is up to you!

An Absolutist cult has gathered deep in the bowels of the forests of Rivington. Nothing out of the ordinary... Other than the sheer numbers they possess, creating a dense population of Absolute extremists gathered in stone ruins.

Adventuring parties that dare to end their machinations perished slowly and painfully. Their corpses - what is left of them - are displayed pierced from the gnarled branches of the trees, where they bleed out on the forest ground.

Tav, Astarion, Gale, and Karlach had a plan: throw a barrel full of smoke bombs into the middle of the ruins, firebolt, and profit. Except things didn’t go according to plan (they never do). That barrel was supposed to be at their rendezvous point, but the cultists found it before they did and thought it a gift from their Goddess.

Trapped in hiding, Tav decided to do what they do best: attack.

A potent necromancy curse was successfully cast on Tav, negating any healing spells thrown their way.

Well.

Fuck.

ASTARION

"As always, you refuse to listen to me. And now look at you: a mess. What did I say about running afool to the vanguard?" Astarion does not wait for their response. “Don't do it. It is smarter to be in the shadows in this instance. And what did you do? Ran alone into a quarry of cultists with no sense of self-preservation!”

Anger, pure anger, is present in his voice, sharpening his typical melodic lilt into daggers. If he cared about the present company - Shadowheart, Halsin, and Gale crowded into a tent, surrounding Tav upon their cot - it is nonexistent in his wine-red eyes. They could get lost in those bloody depths for hours. But not now. Not when seething rage roils off of his body like a cloud of darkness.

They look away.

"Nothing to say for yourself, darling?” he mocks. Astarion’s visage twists into a sneer, sharply turning his face away from them. He finds an unused rag, wets it, wrings it of excess water, and then moves past Shadowheart. “Allow me,” he murmurs to her, gentler.

Shadowheart’s inquisitive green eyes understand the depth of the situation immediately. She sighs, clearly annoyed he has taken over her job, but is dissuaded by Astarion’s next string of words: “I’ll clean them up. Magic and healing and all that wonderful nonsense are not necessarily my area of expertise. A firebolt here and there, surely, but I wouldn’t know where to begin with a curse that... Negates healing magic.”

“Sure,” Shadowheart replies, eyes flicking to Tav. Worry is evident over her features. Worry hangs heavy around everyone. Emerging out of battles victorious and grievously injured is commonplace; nothing a mass healing word couldn't fix along with a good night’s rest. Open wounds would be closed scars, ailments would be cured, and broken bones would be unbroken. Rinse and repeat.

This time, it is different.

They, and they alone, were cursed with a necromancy spell that makes all healing magic useless to their wounds.

Their wounds are appalling: Broken ribs evident with the pain swelling in their chest and labored breathing, purple and black blotchy bruises from the hammer blows they took to the shoulder, an open laceration across their chest, their ankle snapped in two, burns on their left leg crawling up their thigh. Blood all over their face from their own and from the enemies they felled.

“Hey, it’s fine,” they wheeze out. "Nothing I can't handle. The cultists are down and dead and buried - everything else can come after."

Hesitantly, Gale opens his mouth to reply, but is abruptly cut off by Astarion snapping out: "No."

"No," they echo. Their brows furrow.

"What a saint you are," Astarion snarls. His lips are down-turned, fangs bared as he speaks, but his ministrations upon their face are soothing. Gently, he rubs off the blood with a cool washcloth, eyes focusing on the task at hand as he cannot bear to look at them.

"Throwing yourself into the heat of battle like that, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Tell me, my dear, do you enjoy watching rational fly past you when you make your impulsive decisions?"

They flush with humiliation and hurt. Broken and battered, they dig their elbow into the cot to prop themselves up and face Astarion head-on, but Halsin presses a hand into their shoulder and pushes them down.

Fuck. Their head spins in circles.

"You're one to talk. Impulsivity is your middle name; you said yourself that planning is not your forte." Even raising their voice hurts but they do it anyway. Their eyes, threatening to slip into oblivion, flood with frustrated tears. "What the fuck is your problem, Astarion?"

"Must I really spell it out for you, sweetheart? You go around, telling everyone exactly what they need to hear. You tell them they aren't alone. That you will help them, that you will ensure they see the future that they want." The words are venom: petty and spiteful and yearning to be understood. "You," Astarion hisses out, "are so blind."

Tempers rising to fever pitch, Halsin tenses from his spot at the foot of the cot. From the corner of Tav's eye, they see Gale murmur something to him, something like, Let this play out. Astarion would never hurt them.

"I am the only one who will take the first step!" Tav cries. The words explode out of their broken chest faster than they realize, flying like an arrow straight toward Astarion's unbeating heart. "I risk my life - every day - for all of YOU! For all the people that need me! For all that I am because-"

"Because what?" He taunts. "Because it is the right thing to do? Look at yourself, Tav! You are on death's door if not for everyone in this room!"

"Because no one else will do it! Not anyone in this damn camp cares enough to- to help the people we could-" They cough violently, but they slam their elbows into the cot to prop themselves up. No one stops them this time as they meet Astarion's burning eyes. "No one cares but ME-"

"WE care about you!" Louder. Vicious. Astarion's voice splits in the air in two in one fell swoop, striking them down like lightning into silence.

He's breathing heavily, panting, as if exhausted. The adrenaline pumping in his veins is begging him to swoop Tav up and run away with them. Away from all of this bullshit and into hiding within the shadows. Maybe the Underdark. Maybe the Shadowcursed Lands. They can descend into madness together.

At least there, they will be safe.

"I care about you," Astarion chokes out before he can stop himself. "More than anything. Do you know that? I hope you know that."

Their mouth forms the words to reply, Of course I do, but it doesn't leave their throat. Instead, it stays stuck there like a fluttering butterfly, forced into silence. It hurts to speak. It hurts to talk. It hurts to see him like this.

He calls out their name so quietly it could have been a trick of the wind.

"Astarion," they plead.

He shakes his head, stubborn and unconvinced. "You don't owe these people anything. You certainly do not owe them your life for their burdens. I," he breathes out, voice as shaky as a leaf in the wind. He screws his eyes shut and clenches his fist around the rag, where their blood stains his palm.

"I almost lost the sun of my life today."

When Astarion opens his eyes, they are steeled with resilience and fury as they gaze into theirs. It is hypnotic. It is lonely. They yearn to comfort him.

"It will not happen again."

GALE

"Easy," Gale murmurs, a strong arm laying them down in his tent. Soft blankets and pillows meet their back, and the cushy grass beneath makes for a cool and comforting sleep. Their breath stutters, but Gale gazes at them so fondly as he pushes their hair from their face that the pain eases.

He does not miss their labored breathing. "Shhh shh shh. I've got you. Just focus on me."

His thumb lingers on the swell of their cheek. His eyes flutter close. A gentle glow of purple surrounds him, and eventually, that gentleness extends to Tav. The agonizing, piercing sensation in their chest numbs into a cool, muted nothingness. They gasp - then exhale in relief, slower than their panicky, short breaths from before.

"That's it," he encourages. "Well done, my love. How are you feeling?"

"So-so," they reply. Their voice aches and croaks, but for some reason, it makes Gale smile.

Oh no. He knows that look.

They study his handsome, tired face, looking for any signs of alarm. Is he hungry? Does he need to feed on another artefact? Was there an envoy telling them they missed another Absolutist hideout? Did they miss something? Did they do something wrong?

No. Nope. "Enough of that." He takes their hand, kisses their knuckles, then sighs. "You're the last person who should be worrying about someone. Such a pest, hm? Always buzzing around me like I'm seconds away from disappearing in front of your eyes..."

"You are," they say. Their brows furrow, and they pant out, "The-- your burden to carry, the--"

"The orb, I know. I know." His heart twists. It aches. He failed Mystra before and that was painful. But this is another subject entirely; it couldn't come close. Watching sheer heartbreak in their expression because of him? Oh, Goddess forgive him, he has failed them.

Gale can scarcely celebrate his victory, too. He undid the damned curse that affected Tav's ability to receive magic. The necromancy spell was so potent that Tav rejected any healing spells thrown at them. Late into the hours of experimentation, he, Halsin, and Shadowheart considered allowing the effects to wither and die rather than exterminating it outright. It was Jaheira who told them it would be inefficient, because how long would they have to wait in camp while Tav rode out the effects of the curse? Ideally? Hours. But days? Weeks? Months?

He spent the long night following and feeling out the curse with the Weave. It was a complicated hex - a tangled knot of magic that had to be unwoven carefully, thread by thread. Every connotation, every intent was traced back to the heart of the curse, and he followed it with abandon.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble, then," they whisper.

"You should be," he jests. "Nearly made my heart collapse, seeing you like that."

The image is still burned into his mind. He can't stop thinking about it. His mortality has always been a dreadful afterthought pushed into the further recesses of his tadpole-addled brain, but was he so taken with Tav that he never realized how mortal they were, too?

No. No. Gale tightens his grip on their hand, giving them a comforting squeeze as they breathe in and out, in and out. It's not that he never realized how susceptible they are to death and danger. He just never wanted to confront it.

"You are changing the very premise of my life," he says softly. An exasperated chuckle leaves him as he shakes his head, adding, "as always. I don't know what I would have done if I actually lost you, back there." What wouldn't I do? "No scrolls of revivifies, no Withers to bring you back. I wouldn't be able to accept it."

He understands Ketheric Thorm all too well, now.

"Come here," they whisper. Gale lets their hands press into the back of his head. He thinks, absently, that he would let them do much of anything. In their care, he is no grand wizard with a plethora of achievements under his belt. No. He is as humble as the Weave itself, and their hands compose music and art for him to simply bear witness to.

They rest his head upon their chest, where his ear can listen to the comforting sound of their beating heart.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud thud.

"Good night, my love," Gale says, when their breathing evens and they have finally fallen into peaceful slumber. He does not sleep at all.

KARLACH

"Oh gods. Oh gods!" Karlach clasps Tav's left hand between hers, holding tightly and vowing to never let go. Their blood stains her hand and chest and clothes. It's everywhere. Sickly sweet and sticky, drawing all of her attention from the room to the sensation of it dripping down her skin.

They've lost so much blood. It's nauseating, like an unsettling reality has just settled in her stomach.

"Tav!" She exclaims, helpless and pathetic. "Why did you do that, you big idiot? You seriously could have gotten killed out there, why-- why aren't you..."

Responding? Where are their quips, their sass, their brightness she fell so fast and hard for? Tav lays there upon the cot, broken and battered. Karlach has seen the remains of her enemies after she has slaughtered them and has barely flinched. She can barely stomach the sight of them bloodied, bones twisted in the wrong way, bruises so purple they're as black as a chasm.

All they can do is breathe. Their eyes focus distantly above them to the roof of the tent, but nothing else.

Panic seizes her faster than she can control it. "Are they breathing?! Are they going to survive this?! Fuck," she growls, running a frustrated hand through her dark hair, matted with blood. "I should have made those sons of bitches suffer."

"Karlach," Shadowheart says, firm but gentle, her hands bloody too as she applied pressure down on Tav's wounds, "it was important that you returned them to camp as fast as you did. Sometimes, we do not have the luxuries to let our enemies die in pain."

Right. Right. Karlach watched an Absolutist barbarian slam his warhammer into Tav's back. Once to knock them down. Twice to keep them plastered on the ground. Once more to keep them unconscious. She saw red, then: the rage she slipped into boiled her veins so hot, the howl she let out sent her surroundings enemies into a frightened frenzy. She hacked her great axe into the barbarian over and over and over until he was nothing but a bloodied pulp of a man, more gore than flesh.

She scooped Tav up from the ground. Karlach never let anyone else touch them. She snarled and snapped at the others who tried to come too close and dead sprinted as fast as she could back to camp.

She heard their choked sobs of pain in her arms. They choked out her name, and Karlach couldn't offer them much of anything other than an, "We're going home, bubs, just hang on. 'Kay? You just focus on me."

"Can I stay here?" She begs Shadowheart. "I won't get in the way. Just let me hold their hand, please."

Shadowheart exchanges a conflicted glance at Halsin. He nods, and she sighs. "Fine," she says. "But - I need you to stand to the side for now. You can hold their hand after we're done figuring out how to undo this curse."

"A fine specimen of a curse, really," Gale adds, his hand curled under his chin. "I'm almost impressed."

"I would be too," huffs Shadowheart, "if our reckless leader wasn't caught up in this mess. Really, what were you thinking?"

"Right?" Karlach shoves off into the corner of the tent, doing her best to keep herself as small and as out-of-the-way as possible. Tears flood her eyes, and she chokes out, "Of all the things to do, why did it have to be that? I thought you said you trusted me! To have your back! I have your back, don't I? Don't I?"

"Of course you do," Halsin croons. He hooks his finger into a bottle of salve, and spreads it on Tav's burns. Tav visibly winces and tenses, whimpering in pain.

"Stop whatever you're doing right now!" Karlach wails. "You're hurting them! I'll kill you, Halsin, I swear it!"

Gale exchanges a look with Shadowheart. He ponders deeply for a moment as Karlach sobs devastatingly behind them. He opens his mouth, then shuts it promptly.

"Just say it," Shadowheart urges impatiently.

"We should play a game," he suggests. "The quiet game."

"No way," Karlach hiccups. "I'm dogshit at that game. Anyway, focus on Tav or I'll gut you, seriously."

❥ Additional links: kofi | ao3

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 x reader #bg3 x you #baldur's gate 3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 x you #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion #astarion x tav #gale x reader #gale x you #gale x tav #karlach x reader #karlach x you #karlach x tav #shadowheart #halsin #halsin is always just there. like. yeah ok guys. whatever

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aurmisery · 3 months ago

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- a little death -

ronin b. x gn! reader !!

inspired by a friend of mine in the rose's rot discord, vanity! @vanitywoo

hi erm this is my first time putting down a killer chat! work of mine on here uhhhhhhh

cw // mentions of sh scars on mc -

please tell me if anything else in here can be considered triggering !!

okay enjoy!!!!!1!!1!!!!2! sorry if this is ass and or ooc for ronin bro i TRIED MY BEST I TRIEDMYBEST

1878 word count!!!!!!!

FUCKIFORGOT THIS US FLUFF BTW

you know when you walk into someone's room, you can immediately tell what kind of person they are? what posters they roll on their walls, what decor they line the edges of their room with- if they have LEDs, what merch they willingly buy and if they have a whole shelf for said merch, etc?

if you were to walk into ronin's room with no idea of who he is other than his oh so charming looks, you might just say "typical, makes sense given his aesthetic." even if the jars of human remains seemed a bit too hardcore and realistic.

it all fit though, the color palette ranging from all hues of red, black, and white, the masks, the lava lamp, the VHS tapes, the illuminated 'KORN' sign hung in the corner of his room matching the 'still alive?' frame with a cartoonishly drawn heart- it was all him- it screamed ronin.

the plainest thing in his room was probably his bed- and he knew that. it was just a black headboard and footboard, with a red duvet and pillows with a white blanket overtop it. it did match the color scheme, which was enough for now, but it was missing something.

but as his pupils grazed over your steady form, warm and breathing, he realized something.

the slight flush of your cheeks, the way your eyelids fell heavy over your unblinking stare, the hazy glare of his TV burning a light glow over your side-

the ruffle of your hair, your legs snaking awkwardly with his, fingers mindlessly tracing invisible doodles over his forearm, and the slight quirk of your brow as your eyes retrace back to his.

"what's up?" your lips curl upwards slowly as his eyes noticeably fade from the trance he planted himself into, brows slanted upwards as he slow blinked.

"...youuuu good?" a small giggle slewed unevenly from your grin, and he scoffs, a playful jab at the side of your waist following the roll of his eyes.

"'m fine, jus' thinkin'. what about you, darlin'? feelin' comfortable in the devil's den?"

you flop over on your right side, facing him rather than the TV, propping yourself up on one elbow with your other arm tracing the angle of his jaw.

"for a devil, you're rather accommodating, i'll give you that," you tease, and he revels in it; in your warmth, in the fiery trace of your finger along his jawline, and for once, his hell is starting to feel a bit hot.

"in a literal sense, if i'm laying in your bed, wearing your shirt, cuddled up with you, watching old slashers, i think i'm as comfortable as i can ever get."

it's his turn to grin, moving his hand from its resting position on your hip to the small of your back, letting a small exhale he didn't even know he was holding fall from his lips.

his downcast eyes flicker from the graphic tee bagging low under the curve of your shoulders to the width of your thighs, and he couldn't help but feel a little warmer.

you did look good in his clothes.

and as your hand caressed his cheek, his head melting into your warmth, he spots something along the flex of your arms.

his blackened irises almost narrow at them, but they reverted back to whatever you would call normal as his hand drags from your back to the base of your arms, fingers gently rubbing over the faded marks of your pliant skin.

at this, the knitted furrow of your brows came together, a slight wrinkle in your expression as you awkwardly chuckle, a defensive grin uneasily firming itself on your cheeks.

"what's this for?" you question, a wry smile on your face as you realize the implications of his stare, and the look on his face...was just blank.

"no reason, just glad you don't...do that anymore, i guess."

with a shiver up your spine, you firm up your lips into a sheepish smile, nodding with a creak to your voice. "aww, c'mon. can't even say that without the 'i guess' at the end?"

and then he laughed, the tiniest hue of cherry blending into his ivory skin, his onxy irises filled with amusement.

"is it like me to carve open my chest and bare it fresh? i'm not that much of a romantic, darlin'."

it was your turn to scoff, turning over onto your stomach and reaching out to cup his chin with the flex of your fingers, thumb lolling over his bottom lip.

"'i'm not that much of a romantic, darlin'," you mock, voice whiny and pitchy before you deadpanned, eyes narrowed at him.

"oh please, cut the bullshit, ro. not that much of a romantic my ass."

ronin weaved a palm through the plum tresses sitting upon his head, a dismissive hum resting in his throat as he looked you over. "i'm not really, i mean- i kill people?"

"yeah- abusers. usually, anyway."

you then fanned out your hands, your digits extending with each gesture you were about to point out, pupils darting upwards into your lashes as if recounting your times together.

"our motorcycle dates? the shirts you give me each time i come over? the way you snuggle against me while we watch movies, when you complain about being cold to get me closer to you, when you crack cheesey jokes about how lonely your lips are, how-"

"okay, okay, i get it."

and as you took a glance at your boyfriend, a bead of sweat brimmed at his forehead and neck, face flushing a hue of carmine as his words spewed out in an exasperated rush.

you grin.

"oh, and that time you rushed me through your front door after i got drenched by the rain despite the fact that you were also soaked. when you prepared me soup in worry that i would get sick, and while i didn't get ill, you did the next day."

you were trying to be subtle, but with how his pupils were blown out and watching your every move, he was probably more aware of your slow crawl over to him than you were, the mattress making a small dip where your knee paused.

"then, i stayed over the whole time and nursed you back to health while we watched your favorite movies? or when i stopped by your job and you purposely wiped your face with the front of your shirt to flash your-"

"okay, fine! fuck, you win!"

his face was hot and covered by a thin sheen of sweat, a hand flayed out over his jaw to hide his most-likely embarrassed expression, brows arched downwards into a glare. he couldn't even look at you.

ronin beaufort, flustered? ronin fucking beaufort, embarrassed?!

you just made the devil bow his head.

a boisterous laugh bounced out of the pits of your stomach- jesus christ, you've rarely never seen him like this before, all shy and flustered.

your arms snake over your own abdomen, trying to pat down the rumbling giggles orchestrating from your gut with a roll onto your side, and you feel his elbow butt between your ribs playfully.

"give ya an inch and you take a mile, huh?"

he grumbles, giving you a nudge as you only cackle further, slapping a palm over your eyes to smear the tears pearling at your lash line.

"god, your face is fucking priceless when you're embarrassed! geez, i shoulda taken a picture, would've been amazing to have that spammed in mai-"

without skipping a beat, he reeled you into his arms, before turning and slamming you down right in the middle of the bed, hands jabbing and feverishly dancing over your sides.

all the sudden, your laughing increased tenfold- tears springing out of your eyes like sprinkles as you jerked, bucked, and kicked in protest of his tickling, but you couldn't do anything against his iron grip.

you felt like you were dying, stomach exhausted as you guffawed and blabbered, hiccups along the lines of "i can't-" "wait, my stomach hurts-" "have mercy-" following between the tears pitifully steaming down your reddening face.

he lets out a soft-hearted snicker, his body over yours and his knees pinned on either sides of your hips. his plum locks tickles your forehead, reminding you of the teasing grin on his face as he mercilessly dug at your sides- before his fingers traced upwards to your collarbone, and-

his fingertips padded over your neck, before your head jerked instinctively and you could only cackle further. is he trying to kill you?

and finally- you fought back, hands reaching up into his shirt.

he stiffened, eyes widening as your hands snaked up into the black fabric and wandered over his lower waist, making him jump and bubble his cheeks- as if that would quiet his laughter.

but you powered through the pain in your gut from laughing your vocal cords out and frenzied your hands up his abdomen, he gave out, falling pathetically besides you as you took your sweet, sweet retribution.

his arms flexed over his head in defense, lashes clenched shut as his face buried itself into the pillow besides him, almost as if taking cover from your violent antics.

you curl over against him, hands jabbing and frantically scurrying up his shirt as his laughs and pleas muffle besides you, and then-

your hands seemingly touched a sore spot, his laughs dying out and his breath hitching, as if he was in pain. finally taking a second to feel the skin below your palm, you handle it with deft, and...

it's smooth, slightly arched in size, extending from the middle of his chest to the side of his pecs. you lift up your head to look up his already hiked-up shirt, and...

it's his scars. a cringe forms in the side of your gut, fuck- did you piss him off?

"sorry," you usher lowly, withdrawing your hands, only for his to grab your wrists, placing them back right back on his chest.

his thumbs roll over your wrists, reassuring your tense frame back into ease, and you eye his facial expressions carefully.

his eyes are beady, sucked into the way your thumbs navigate the faded discoloration of his torso, brows furrowed and watching with a slight quirk in his lips.

and then his eyes harden.

"do you, uh," he begins, tone devoid of that usual bite he has to it, gaze wandering away from your hands on him, from your face and to the corner of his room.

"do you see me as, y'know, uhm-"

"the devil? hell yeah."

he smiles.

it was so... genuine, so adoring, blooming through the erasure of his doubts, of your validation- even as his soft hair messily spiraled into his vision, he couldn't take his eyes off you.

and as you slink besides him, letting your head sink into the pillow conjoined with his- he realized something, and this time he took full joy in memorizing it.

your touch, your voice, your sweet, sweet lips- even the messy, unbothered display you shroud around.

the way you smile at him in the dim light of his room, the warmth radiating from your body as your lips brush against his.

you're all the decoration he needs.

okay hi i hope you liked itsorry for the words being kinda clunky here n there???? ok bye

#killer chat #kc!#killer chat!#ronin beaufort #otome game #visual novel #killer chat ronin #x reader #okay bye thank you

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pretend-theres-a-name-here · 2 months ago

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Everybody at the party seems to know somebody (who’s not me) pt. 2

Continuation of Part 1

2919 words | Set before the events of s3 | Rating: G (maybe T&up) |

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next time Steve runs into Brown Eyes he’s freezing in an itchy, too small pair of shorts.

He hasn’t seen him in—well he doesn’t know how long because keeping time after inter-dimensional shit goes down for the second time gets pretty difficult for him, but he knows he hasn’t seen him in long enough to forget what shade of brown his eyes were or maybe it was just dark and he never really got that good of a look in the first place but that didn’t really matter because he thought he would never see him again, he was supposed to never see him again.

Steve’s parents came back for all of three days to lecture him about hospital bills, bills he only had because the kids couldn’t tell their parents about the Upside Down. They didn’t ask about the scar that ran down his left arm, they didn’t ask why he was wearing medically prescribed glasses to numb the headaches they didn’t know he got and they didn’t ask if he was okay. The conversation ended with his father telling him that if he wasn’t going to college then he had to get a job to pay back the bills.

So here he was, elbow deep in ice cream that dried in flakes on his skin and pulling at the hem of shorts that couldn’t be his own. Robin must’ve mixed them up again. Hers fell to her knees and she had to pull them up with a huff whenever she moved.

“Hello and welcome to Scoops Aboy!” She chirped at the kid standing in line, only just able to hide the dead eyed stare she’d had on a second ago, “What flavor can I get for you today?”

The kid stared before pushing one sweaty finger against the glass at the chocolate bin. They were out of chocolate.

Steve sighed because he knew he would be the one who would have to get it from the back freezer when the kid threw a fit and he knew he would be the one who had to clean the glass back to shining.

Robin was desperately trying to sell any other flavor to the kid, “It looks like we’re all out of chocolate, big guy. How about some banana extravaganza?”

The kid shook his head, “Chocolate!” He shouted, voice squeaking. Steve rubbed his temples.

“Hey, dingus, do we have chocolate in the back?”

Steve trudged over to the freezer, bracing himself for the chill, and threw open the door. Carefully arranging the leg of the break room chair to wedge between the door because it got stuck when it shut and the inside handle was frozen over.

Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. Exactly one tub of double chunk-o chip chocolate ice cream sat on the shelf. Frozen to the metal, because of course it was.

“Okay, you can do this, just go out there and…be ice cream.” Jesus Christ. Talking to ice cream, Steven, talking to yourself in a dingy freezer.

Steve shook his head, rubbing his eyes to dispel his father’s voice. Steve blew into his hands, rubbing them together so he didn’t get freezer burn for a week—because that was something that happened when the ice cream sat on the shelf for too long—and tugged the bucket down.

When he managed to pry the tub of ice cream off the shelf Robin had already convinced the kid to get another flavor.

“Thank you so much, Steve,” He dropped the tub on the counter, rolling his eyes, “It means a lot that you go into the freezer with all your migraines and concussions for nothing.” Stop whining, Steven, Harrington’s aren’t babies.

Robin just stared at him, deadpan, and Steve scoffed, grabbing a scooper to replace the chocolate ice cream. It wasn’t like he didn’t like her or anything, she was just weird. That was mean, he wasn’t that guy anymore, he was better than some high school peaking idiot now. He should apologize. He should apologize for a lot lately and so far he can’t say any of it, maybe he’s not so different from the asshole who stood by while his friends—

Robin dropped her scooper and shrugged off her vest, tossing her hat onto the table in the back as she walked past it, heading for the door.

“Hey, wait, where are you going? You can’t just leave me here.” Steve called.

“Lady problems, dingus.” She didn’t even have to look back for Steve to know she was smirking.

Can’t even take one shift alone, Harrington men are supposed to be independent, Steven. He could—he would be fine on his own, he could handle this, it was just a few kids in a line that got longer and longer and—he was fine.

“Hello and welcome to Scoops Ahoy, what can I get for you today?” He droned on, customer after customer.

It was nearing the end of his shift when it happened. Steve was grumpy and the lithonia lighting really drills into your eyes, goosebumps dotted his arms and legs.

He was seconds away from filling his hat with ice cream and throwing it over his eyes to combat the headache forming and to top it all off some kid had dumped their banana split down the front of his shirt because it was ‘too cold’. The scratchy material of this stupid sailor costume was sticking to his chest, sopping wet and catching on the scar on his shoulder as if he needed another reminder that it was there, as if it didn’t already throb every few days just to show him he’d never really be okay again and he wanted to cry—if he hadn’t been in public he would’ve been sobbing on the floor. Get yourself together, Steven, you’re a working man not a pathetic little girl.

The bell rang again and he gave himself a second to prepare before lifting his head and facing the customer.

“Hello and welcome to Scoops Ahoy, how may I help you on this fine—” Steve looked up, breath catching when he saw a familiar face, hazel—they were hazel, “—day.”

“Uh…” Brown Eyes’ eyes darted around, avoiding eye contact.

“Hey.” Steve said, sounding more breathless than he felt but that was stupid, stupid, stupid, fucking hey, “I…uh, I wasn’t expecting—” to ever see you again, to ever think about that night again but that’s lie because it’s all I can ever think about. Because Steve had told himself to forget about it, give up on whatever had happened and live a normal life but now—

“Look, man, I didn’t even know you worked here,” Brown Eyes was putting his wallet away, “if I had then I never would’ve come here, I swear.”

“You wouldn’t?” He hadn’t meant to sound so pathetic. Pull yourself together, Steven, have we taught you nothing. Pathetic pathetic pathetic.

Brown Eyes’ eyebrows crinkled, “No?” But he sounded confused which Steve couldn’t blame him for.

He’d been confused a lot since that night. Confused about why he let the gap close, why he pushed forward—why he liked it because that’s not something that happens to him. He liked girls, just like every other guy in this godforsaken town who liked girls, he had to because he and Tommy kissed once in fifth grade on a Saturday night after baseball practice just to see if it would feel different and Tommy had pushed him away gagging. Tommy had told him that his dad was right and boys shouldn’t kiss boys because it was gross so Steve didn’t think about why it didn’t feel different and they never talked about it again. Hadn’t thought about it again, until he was ducking under arms and following strangers to get away from Tommy years later at a party he wished would end and maybe it wasn’t as gross as he told himself it was. Maybe—maybe he—

Steve heard the back door open and slam closed and took his chance, “I’m taking my break, Robin!” He yelled as he grabbed Brown Eyes’ wrist over the counter and pulled him around it, walking them both to the freezer and passing an exasperated Robin.

“You already took a break, Dingus, you can’t just decide to take another!”

But he didn’t stop and she just rolled her eyes.

Brown Eyes was glancing around frantically, “Listen I’m sorry! I’ll leave you alone, dude, I get it! You didn’t mean to kiss me, I stupidly thought that was what was happening. It won’t happen again, I swear, man!”

The freezer lights were blinding and the faint buzz was more grating than usual. If Steve were thinking about it he would’ve known he was dizzier than he should have been. If he had been thinking about it he would have picked up on the beginnings of a migraine worming its way in.

He wasn’t thinking about it, unfortunately, because Brown Eyes was still rambling and he was really cute when he was nervous but Steve wished he wouldn’t. Because Steve’s been doing some thinking since that night, thinking about why it didn’t feel so gross when Tommy kissed him, thinking about why he felt like he’d been strung up and gutted when Brown Eyes took off. He’s been doing some thinking and he’s pretty damn glad he did it before he had to face Brown Eyes again.

The second time they kissed was no more coordinated than the first—probably less so because Brown Eyes was mid apology and Steve flinched when the freezer door slammed shut—

Shit.

Brown Eyes hadn’t moved. He just stood there, mouth hanging open—well opening and closing and then opening again like he didn’t know what to do with it—eyes wide and confused. Because—because Steve kissed him, what the fuck was he thinking? Harringtons aren’t fucking queer Steven. And they weren’t, they weren’t.

What would your father say? And for the first time since he’s ever really thought about it it was his mother’s voice.

“I’m sorry.” Steve whispered, backing against the cold metal shelf, “I’m sorry.” He muttered again because he didn’t know what else there was to say.

Maybe it was the plummeting feeling in his stomach that did it. The swooping and the dull thud of his heart against his ribs—he didn’t know. But he was doubling over so fast his already throbbing head spun, falling on shaking knees, not fast enough to swallow the bile before he was emptying whatever was left of his stomach into an empty tub of ice cream.

There was a panicked squeak behind him, “Uh, are you—should I—“ and then he was crouching down beside him, “I didn’t realize I was that bad of a kisser, Jesus, Harrington.”

And Steve couldn’t help the snort that fell out of him even though it made his nose burn and his eyes water.

Brown Eyes hadn’t stopped fidgeting, “Sorry, sorry, that was stupid—I don’t know why I said that, just nobody’s ever thrown up around me and I don’t really know what to do. I guess rambling’s not the most comforting thing in the world and I can’t stop talking. Do you—should I get—I should go get napkins, probably, right? I’ll do that, yeah, just…wait here—”

But Steve reached out, stopping him with a hand on his wrist because he’d been so caught up in his own head that he forgot to stop the door and maybe he should have felt embarrassed for wiping his mouth on that stupid hat but, “Can’t go anywhere, man. Door’s stuck.” He breathed.

“Shit.” Brown Eyes swore.

“Yeah.” Steve sat up, wincing at the bucket and pushing it away, “‘’Sides, I can handle myself.”

“Right, no, obviously—“ Brown Eyes kept spinning a ring around his finger, tapping a pattern on his knuckles, “Has that—does that happen a lot?”

Steve huffed, leaning his head back against the metal shelf and closing his eyes as the sharp pain spiked behind his eyes, “Migraines. Happens if I ignore them.”

Brown Eyes slid down the shelf, he had a chain link hanging from his belt and it clacked steadily down. He opened his mouth again, barely took a breath before he was closing it and then seemed to shake off whatever nervous energy clung to him.

“Why’d—uh, why’d you ignore it?” He asked, and then, “Oh. Shit, man, I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“Dude,” Steve let his head tip, ear stinging where it pressed into the cold metal of the storage shelf, to look at Brown Eyes, “It’s not your fault, not like you knew about it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right— obviously. No way I could’ve known, I mean it’s not like we know each other.” He was still moving. An almost jumpy motion to the way he spun his rings, pulled his hair in front of his face, tapped his foot against the tile floor over and over, “I mean we do—or I do. Figure you’ve heard rumors but never put a face to the name, huh, Harrington?”

And Steve caught the almost hopeful way Brown Eyes said his name, the hopeful but shame-filled and god if he didn’t know about shame. The longing that curled bittersweet in his stomach every time he was reminded of a life he could never be brave enough to take for his own. The overwhelmingly dreadful certainty that he would only ever live to settle down, to buy a house and start a family and die a peaceful death beside some woman he liked well enough because technically it wasn’t out of the picture for him.

Because maybe all this thinking he’s been doing has opened his eyes to the parts of him he was suppressing but it didn’t make the other parts, the parts that wanted a family and small little porch that overlooked a garden that won best in show at the neighborhood fair, just disappear. And he knew the path his life would take him down and he accepted it because he was scared, a fucking coward. Fought fucking demons and you’re still afraid, Steven, always afraid. So he ignored it, the hope. For now.

“’S not like you ever told me yours.” Steve hadn’t meant to sound so pissy about it, he wasn’t owed the guy’s name just because they kissed. Never be anything better than a high school bully, Steven, we raised you better than this—

But then Brown Eyes grinned, snorting a little in surprise. Leaned in fast, close enough Steve could feel their breath mix between them and just looked at him like maybe he was going to finally tell him. Or kiss him again. And honestly Steve would welcome either option.

“Maybe I like the mystery.” Brown Eyes was enjoying this entirely too much.

Steve was about to respond, shoot back some snarky reply because that was okay to do now, it would be reciprocated, when he heard the yelling.

“Hey, dingus! Your children are here!” Robin. She pounded on the door, “Jesus, d’you seriously get stuck again?”

Steve sucked in a breath, ignored the sharp pain that speared through his head as he scrambled off the floor. He caught Brown Eyes’ eye, the resignation in them, and only had a second to feel guilty about what must’ve looked like the embarrassment of being caught together. Only had a second to reach out, thought maybe he could grab his hands—it’s not you, it’s not you, it’s the fear, it’s always the fear and I can’t do a damn thing about it. But that sounded far too much like a break up to say to somebody you’ve only kissed twice. Somebody whose name you don’t even know. It’s not you, it’s me, because I don’t even know you but if I did it’d still be me.

The door swung open, Robin keeping it from closing on them with her foot, “What the hell are you doing in here, dude?” She asked, “We’ve got customers. Your tiny friends.”

“Right. I’ll—uh,” Steve glanced back at Brown Eyes, helpless to say anything as he pushed himself up and made for the door.

“Thanks for the tour, man but I should really get going.” No, no, wait, not now please wait, Brown Eyes tipped his head at Robin in a little curtsy as he read her name tag and it would’ve been endearing if Steve’s heart wasn’t pounding in his ears, crawling up his lungs and choking him, “All the gratitude for freeing us, lady Robin. See you around, Harrington.”

Except you won’t, Steve wanted to call out, I graduated, I don’t know your name, stay stay stay—

“Steve.” Robin clapped her hands, “Small children. Waiting for you at the counter.”

When Steve looked back at the door Brown Eyes was gone.

“I got that, thanks.” He muttered.

If he gave Mike a little less ice cream in his free sample when the kid told him he was ‘watching the door wistfully’ he didn’t notice. And if he blamed his sour mood on his headache then it wasn’t technically a lie.

And if anyone noticed anything about it, they didn’t comment.

When Steve got home he hung his jacket up in his closet, bumped the door with his hip by accident and sucked in a breath when he saw the shoes. The ones Brown Eyes left at the party. The ones he’d kept, stupidly telling himself he would return them if he ever got the chance only he’d had the chance and he hadn’t said anything about them.

Now he never would have the chance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 3?

Fun Fact: I got so much second hand embarrassment from writing Steve throwing up that I had to stop writing for 2 days

PERMANENT tag list (open):

@yesdangerpls, @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse, @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin, @tinyplanet95, @gatorguy777, @grtwdsmwhr

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #pretend writes

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midniqhtt · 8 months ago

Text

remus lupin

masterlist • the marauders • 03/27/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs two

remus lupin one

𑣲 when friends help you get the girl I @papercorgiworld

Remus struggles to ask you out and James tries to help. When Remus doesn't want to tell you he's a werewolf Sirius takes the blame. And Peter makes sure you spend some extra time together.

𑣲 hungry like the wolf I @ddejavvu

Remus is gifted an alternative potion to Wolfsbane near the full moon, meant to convert the magic of his transformation into energy. But the run you expect him to go on to burn some of the energy off isn't as much of a jog as it is a chase, and you're the one he's after.

𑣲 mistletoe I @cassielovesnewt

after the death of your brother, you take in your nephew as your own, shutting everyone else out in your grief. However, once you’re reunited with an old friend in Harry’s third year, old feelings start to come to the surface as you help each other through your grief.

𑣲 love in the foyer I @dwindlinghaze

remus lupin loves you, but his best friend 'likes' you too. so you both ended up fake dating.

𑣲 it’s nice to have a friend I @jamespottersdaisy

𑣲 markings I @myfictionaldreams

Remus accidentally bites your neck too hard and leaves indents of his teeth, and now it's woken something within him, needing everyone to see the mark he's left on you.

𑣲 the art of eye contact I @goldencherriess

The three times they made eye contact and the one time he did something about it.

𑣲 doctor!remus I @moonstruckme

𑣲 a friendly proposition I @/moonstruckme

Remus lupin with best friend reader who hasn’t cum before, and he is outraged when he hears this? And he’s like, why don’t I show you

𑣲 doctor!remus I @/moonstruckme

𑣲 shy!remus I @/moonstruckme

𑣲 a horseshoe for luck I @ellecdc

𑣲 black!sister reader I @/ellecdc

𑣲 the ruined apothecary I @/ellecdc

who reconnect after Hogwarts

𑣲 potter!reader I @/ellecdc

𑣲 black!sister reader I @/ellecdc

𑣲 pt!remus I @/ellecdc

𑣲 legs for days lupin I @/ellecdc

𑣲 surprise! we’re making love part 2 I @/ellecdc

𑣲 roommate!reader I @/ellecdc

𑣲 animagus!reader I @/ellecdc

𑣲 bfb!remus I @inkdrinkerworld

𑣲 hangout? I @/moonpascal

𑣲 prank gone right I @mischievousmoony

when james and sirius prank you guys after your third date, you just have to prank them back

𑣲 still here -tw! I @sun-kissy

𑣲 heaven I @/sun-kissy

𑣲 yours I @pretentious-blonde

after inviting remus's oldest friends to dinner to introduce his new girlfriend, a secret slips that could alter their entire relationship

𑣲 after the storm I @/pretentious-blonde

the full moon is looming and remus takes it out on the one person he promised not to.

𑣲 draw stars around my scars I @chxrryhxrt

Many weeks had passed since the most recent full moon, yet James and Sirius still will not let you see Remus. What could they be hiding?

𑣲 simple loving I @kquil

𑣲 temper I @/kquil

remus is usually a grump, as dismal as a cloudy day and you're his sunshine, whether he accepts it or not -- he denies it vehemently until his sensitive nerves make him lash out the day of a full moon

𑣲 letter I @iamgonnagetyouback

where the boys mess with the letter he wrote for you

𑣲 because it’s dangerous I @lovemenotts

𑣲 occupied dorm I @rainydayathogwarts

When Lily gets sick of the commotion in the common room, she is locked out of her dorm because you are occupying it.

𑣲 mind blowing kisser I @/rainydayathogwarts

(platonic!marauders) your friend group finds out something shocking about you, Hogwarts's biggest heartthrob.

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin fic rec #remus lupin angst #remus lupin smut #moony #the marauders

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aegonstradwife · 9 months ago

Text

closer pt. 2 | aegon targaryen x reader

summary: anonymous requested; a sequel to closer, where aegon is further healed and reader rides him.

warnings: mention of various injuries / scars, established relationship, smut. (riding.)

a. note: link to the original request.

In the span of only 2 months, your husband's extensive injuries have healed to be quite less so; the burns along the left half of his body have left behind rough, blotchy scars that he is still self-conscious of. But you're just glad that he's alive.

His knee is still something of an issue, causing him immense pain whenever he tries to move it. But at least he can flex his toes now without screaming in agony, and the lower half of his leg can also be manipulated with little to no torture to him.

And that's why you feel so comfortable planning what you've planned; something wicked that is going to satisfy desires - both yours and the king's - that have gone neglected for months while Aegon has been bedridden.

At this stage, Aegon always, always, makes sure to instruct the maesters to keep the door unlocked, leaving you free to slip inside whenever you desire.

When you do so this morning, Aegon is of course still abed, covered only in a thin sheet, sun laying itself across his chest, setting his fine hair alight. He looks celestial, something too holy to be touched.

But that's exactly what you've come to do.

Your husband lights up upon spying that familiar head of hair poking through the doorway. He sits up with what is apparently minimal pain, though he's gotten very good at hiding it when he wants to.

"Finally come to liberate me from this forsaken chamber, my love?" Comes his sleep-thick voice - you hope you haven't woken him prematurely. He does still need all the rest he can get.

"Not quite yet," you mutter apologetically, closing the door softly behind you. Even though you're quite sure your coming here is no longer a secret, you'll gladly keep up the charade in order to keep a sense of normalcy during this time.

Aegon may still be mostly incapacitated, but his burns have healed nicely and he has much better range of movement now, at least with his upper half.

His poor knee, however, is still shattered. The maesters have done their best to splint it, but he is still well on his way to healing fully, and will probably walk with a limp even after.

You settle lightly on the bed beside him, running a hand down his scarred arm. "I have come to do something else, though. Can you guess what?"

Aegon licks his lips, which are dry and chapped from sleep. There are empty goblets on the bedside table that you could easily take and refill for him, but he's grabbing suddenly for your hand, keeping you beside him. "Care to give me a hint?"

You gladly twine your fingers with his, thumb roving over the mottled skin of his hand. Finally, you can touch him without him screaming in pain. "You've healed perfectly, my love. I think it's time, to do what we've wanted for so long.... What do you think?"

Your love's face goes blank as he realizes what you mean. After so long, you'll be able to have each other the way you deserve. Those chapped lips part, and Aegon releases a short, forceful sigh that you've come to know as his wife to mean that he's thinking very dirty thoughts.

It's a wonder he's not already trying to rip your clothes off.

He swallows hard against a lump in his throat and breathes, "I think you're finally going to let me have you the way I've been dreaming of having you."

"Mm," you agree with a hum. Aegon saying it aloud lights a spark between your thighs.... "I just want to touch you everywhere, Aegon. Now that I can."

Turning more to face him, you traipse your fingers lightly up over his burnt elbow, scar tissue bumping beneath your hands. "Does it feel different?" You whisper reverently, that same hand skimming up over his bicep and curling around his shoulder. The other is moving its way up his stomach, half over his healed burns and half on the smooth, unburnt skin beside it.

His breathing is already picking up as you touch him, and when your palm meets his sternum, a sharp, unexpected tremor rolls through him. His violet eyes roll back, and for a moment you're afraid you've hurt him.

"It does feel different." Aegon's voice is a grizzled moan, one hand clenching itself hard in the bedsheets, the other palming over your thigh just beside him. "It feels.... more sensitive than before. I d-don't know why."

You don't need to know why to know that this revelation makes you want to touch him even more, to make him feel so good, to take away all the remaining hurts from his battle.

"That's good." You're trying to keep your voice even, but the feeling of all of Aegon's gorgeous skin underneath your hands is making you shake with desire for him.

Your hands meet at the scarred skin of his left collarbone before both start a slow track over his chest. The scarring here is the worst, his armor having melted to the skin, peeling away as the maesters removed it.

But Aegon merely shudders in pleasure, reaching out desperately for you. He cries your name. "Please.... Please, I need you, my love. It's been too long."

All you can do is watch as your hands continue to palm over Aegon's torso. Your husband is shivering, making the most delectable sounds, and you can see his cock starting to tent the sheets below. You're sure he would be writhing under you if it wouldn't hurt his leg too much to do so.

All of a sudden, however, Aegon yelps in pain, head tossed back against the pillows. He has, in fact, tried to arch a little too hard into your touch.

"Aegon," you scold him, pinning him by the hips. "You can't, my love. Don't move so much, your leg...."

You know it must be throbbing, and you do your best to soothe your hand over his calf, just below the break.

He curses through clenched teeth. "I can't help it.... I want to touch you, and I need you to touch me, but. It hurts, and I can't believe how much it still hurts."

The grunting pain in his voice sends a wave of sympathy washing over you.

You purse your lips.

"I can believe it," you sigh, still caressing his lower leg, down to his ankle now. "You really did a number on yourself. It's honestly a miracle you've healed this much this quickly, you know."

With a groan and a huff of frustration, Aegon throws an arm over his face. "I know, the maesters are all impressed with how quickly I'm healing, but they don't understand just how badly I want you, and just how badly this damned leg is getting in our way."

Now, you think. He can't see you, with his arm flung dramatically over his eyes - you'll surprise him.

Quickly, but careful of his leg, you sweep a leg over him and settle yourself just over his hips. You picked out a thin night shift to wear just for this....

Not quite putting your full weight on him, you run your fingers back up his torso, fingers flirting with this collarbones again. "I, for one, owe my sanity to the maesters, Aegon. Can you imagine if you had died? I can't.... It doesn't bear thinking about."

Aegon jerks against the bed, arm coming down so he can grab for your leg as he looks up at you, surprised. The first thing he must see are your bare thighs, spread around him. Gods, he's missed this view.

The second thing he notices is the look on your face - the utter devotion, the love, the lust. "Darling...."

His hands, insistent against your thighs, push their way up under the loose material of your nightgown, coming to rest on your hips, thumbs pressing into your soft, supple flesh.

You moan, loudly, at the feeling. One of his hands is smooth, just as before, the other rough with burn scars. And you love them both.

"Gods, I missed that, Aegon. Your hands on me.... Touch more, my love. Touch whatever you want. I'm yours."

Those hands tighten their grip, and Aegon's purple eyes flash tiredly up at you. "As you wish, my queen."

His hands start a slow motion back and forth, up and down your thighs, over your hips and waist. His fingers trail over the warm, yielding flesh of your sides and stomach, before pushing higher, palming over the curves of your breasts.

Still just hovering over him, not daring to sit all the way down, you revel in his touch. Nothing in this world compares to your love's hands running over you, worshipping your skin, your hips, your breasts!

That wrenches a particularly deafening groan from your lips, as you arch your chest into his palms. "More.... Please, Aegon. I missed this so much."

He continues to grab and pull greedily at your flesh, wanting to worship you - to worship every single inch of you.

"Gods, I've missed this too, darling. So much. I've been dreaming of getting my hands on you, of feeling these gorgeous curves. I won't ever let you go again, that's a promise."

To take some of the pressure off your legs, you list forward, bracing yourself with your hands on either side of Aegon's head. "More," you demand, pressing your lips to the corner of Aegon's mouth. "Touch me everywhere."

Aegon should know what you mean by that.

Your demanding tone makes Aegon smirk; he did always like when you took control.

"Yes, your majesty," he purrs, hands slipping back to tug the hem of your shift out of the way so he can palm over your ass, then pull hard at the gauzy material. "Let's get this out of the way, shall we?"

Wasting no time, you reach down, ripping the flimsy cotton off over your head. "How's that?"

Grabbing for Aegon's hands, you place them again on your breasts, squeezing. At the same time, you dare to sink an inch or so lower, and the sticky head of Aegon's hard cock brushes against the inside of your thigh. "You're still such a beautiful boy, you know that?"

The sound that falls next from his pretty lips is a strangled whimper. "Don't call me that," he sighs, and you can barely hear him. "You know what it does to me."

As if in corroboration, his cock twitches stiffly against your inner thigh.

"Oh, but that's what I want," you hiss, still braced over him, mouth hot and wet now on the burns at his hairline. "Do you even know how long it's been since you've been inside me? Of course you do - I'm sure you've thought about it just as much as I have. Maybe even more, confined to this damnable bed as you've been."

"You don't even know," he replies quietly, voice soft and small. His head is tilted back, baring his throat. "I've thought about it every single day. I've thought about it every night. Every time I've closed my eyes, it's driven me nearly mad."

There are tears at the corners of his reddened eyes, and you kiss them delicately away. There's not much to say, other than that you're sorry you're in this situation.

With his neck bared to you like that, you take the opportunity to attack the scarred skin at the base of his throat, loving how sensitive it makes him, how his body responds to you now. "Is this okay?" You ask, nosing at his jaw. "Not too sensitive?"

"Perfect," comes Aegon's reply, still barely more than a whisper, thumbs circling over your hips.

When he tries to grind up against you, you still him with a hand hard on his hip. "Aegon. I'm going to ride you. And if you need me to go faster or slower, raise higher or sink down more, just tell me. No trying to take control yourself, alright? I don't need your recovery set back any further."

He whines in despair, and his fingers claw miserably at your back. "I understand," he says obediently. "I'll be still, I promise. And I'll tell you. Just.... please, darling. I need you so badly I can taste it."

Gentle fingers cradling his jaw, you force him to look at you. He truly is beautiful, though he might not feel so with the scars scorching down his face. But to you, he is immaculate.

"You're going to be so good for me, aren't you, my little prince?" You lower yourself further, reaching down to position his thick head at your wet entrance.

The raw desire radiating off of him as he gazes adoringly up at you sends a lick of heat down the base of your spine. Your cunt is throbbing, aching to take him in, and his cock is twitching in your palm, equally as keen to be inside.

"Yes, my lady," is Aegon's eventual reply, and you're pleasantly surprised at how good he's being. His hands are petting themselves soothingly down your back, but his hips are completely still aside from the occasional tiny pump as he aches to be inside of you.

"Good boy." Unwilling to wait any longer, you tilt your hips back and bear down, opening up for him, sinking down onto his hardness after so many months being unable to do so.

It is a stretch after so long with only your fingers to do the job, but any discomfort is mitigated by the intense, overbearing love you have for your husband and the way his cock twitches inside of you. "A-Aegon...."

His name is a sob, you can't help it.

Aegon's hands are at your face, cupping, thumbs fluttering over your cheekbones. "My love.... I said I'd tell you what I needed. And.... I need you to move. Please. For me."

You nod, taking a long, rattling breath as you lean up and then slide back down, Aegon's cock dragging at your tight walls, the head nudging all the way back on every thrust down.

As you start to build at least some sort of rhythm, Aegon gasps and groans, body starting to squirm beneath you.

You still, fixing him with a critical look.

"I know," he gasps. "I know, I'm sorry.... You don't understand how hard it is, not to move. Not to show you how badly I want you, when you're sitting on me looking like that...."

"Looking like what?" You dare to ask, hips hitching back and forth over him.

"Like the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he laments, hands coming around to cup and knead at your breasts again. He tweaks one hard nipple and you cry out, feeling your cunt starting to cream on him.

This used to happen all the time - Aegon would get you so worked up that when you both looked down to where his cock was opening you up, there'd be a thick, frothy cream making itself known along his shaft. And he'd be quick to fuck it back up into you, both of you messy and sweaty and absolutely blind to anything else in the world but each other.

"That's it," Aegon grunts, nails scraping lightly over your nipples. The sun is shining just right for Aegon to be able to look between the two of you and see your cream coating his cock. "That's.... oh, gods. I might - I'm close -"

His breath is choppy, the smooth skin of his unburnt cheek gone very pink. Physically unable to stop himself, his hips are working gently to drive himself up to you.

"Aegon...." You place a hand on his chest again, just over his pounding heart. Both of you still, and you assure him, "I'm going to bounce on you. Hard. Until we both cum. If you're in any sort of pain -"

But he cuts you off with a hard nod and a whine. "Yes, yes, I'll tell you. I promise."

Making sure you're leaning forward, as far away from his leg as you can while still keeping him inside, you start with a couple hard pushes down, the sound of skin slapping starting to fill the room.

Aegon's eyes close in pleasure, and there's no hint of pain anywhere on his face, so you tuck your legs under, now balanced on your toes as you start to fuck him in earnest.

You're fucking bouncing on him, as hard as you dare with a hand on his shoulder to keep you from listing backward.

Almost as though he can't decide which part of you to touch, his hands keep flitting from your breasts to your stomach to your thighs and back. There's absolutely no need for him to move at all right now - you're taking care of any need or want he could possibly have.

"Oh -" Aegon's eyes fly open, staring down between you, listening to the sweet wet sounds your cunt is making as you use him, watching the reddened, swollen length of his cock disappearing in and out of you. "I'm almost -"

You nod, wanting him to, needing him to. It's been so long since you've felt his cum flood your womb, since you whispered in his ear for your king to get you pregnant. "You can, Aegon. Whenever you're ready. You deserve to, after so long...."

His entire body goes taut, a long line against the sheets as he tries his damnedest not to move his broken leg. The other, however, has dug its heel into the bed and is doing its best to keep his back arched as he sprays inside of you.

Almost as an afterthought, long after his cock has stopped spurting, he gasps, grabbing for you, holding you close, petting your hair. "Was I - was I good?"

"Perfect," is your whispered reply as you shudder through your own orgasm above him, Aegon's hands on your hips helping you along.

Once you're both spent, you move to lay beside him, but Aegon is quick to grab you and pull you down on him instead, resting your head on his chest.

You can hear his heart still beating hard, his fingers comforting and gentle on your back and shoulders.

"I love you." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "I love you so much. Thank you.... for still wanting me."

Slowly looking up at him, Aegon tosses you a cheeky smirk. "Even though as your king, I could have you commanded to be mine for all eternity anyway."

"Oh, shut up," you sigh, teeth digging playfully into his chest. "I love you too, you absolute imbecile."

#aegon targaryen x y/n #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon smut #tom glynn carney x reader #smut #my writing #aegonstradwife #request fill

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pseudowho · 1 year ago

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Post-ShibuyaAU! Grey Nanami Kento Headcanons, Part 2

(help me find the Nanami artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

As an accompaniment to my story, Grey (link here); an AU where Nanami survives Shibuya exploration because I'm never going to be over his loss.

Part 1 of Greynami Headcanons, link here

Christmas Greynami Headcanons, link here

Warnings: Severe injury (burns, eye loss), PTSD, alcohol use, depression, light smut, angst, AU headcanons

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Before he met you:

AU!Nanami Kento who takes up smoking again, a habit he had while working as a salaryman. His voice becomes rougher, more gravelly, irritated by the tobacco.

AU!Nanami Kento whose parents weep and stroke his healed burned face the first time they see him post-Shibuya, devastated by the suffering their little boy has experienced.

AU!Nanami Kento who sees that pain in his mothers' eyes every time he visits her. She can't help it. She's just heartbroken she couldn't keep her baby safe.

AU!Nanami Kento who begins to screen his parents' calls, not visit for dinner like he used to, and sends birthday gifts in the post instead of in person. Causing them distress by exposing them to his brutal injuries is a stress he's too fragile to cope with.

AU!Nanami Kento who listens to his fathers' long voicemails every night after a few drinks.

AU!Nanami Kento who often doesn't go home between missions, sleeping against walls in old buildings instead, a cold uncomfortable sleep preferable to a deep sleep with nightmares.

AU!Nanami Kento who alters his wardrobe after his tie, which he was unusually fond of, was destroyed by Jogo's flames. He can't find the tie for sale anymore. His beige suits just don't feel the same without it.

AU!Nanami Kento gives the last vestiges of his emotional energy to Yuuji, knowing he needs support, not wanting Yuuji to know he's struggling, not wanting to add more to Yuuji's already full plate.

AU!Nanami Kento who used to daydream about being a father one day, but now, being loved and giving love in return feels so remote and unlikely

After he meets you:

AU!Nanami Kento who tries to hide his trauma at first, afraid it will be too much baggage for you.

AU!Nanami Kento who is grateful to the very depths of his soul when you make it clear that he could never be too traumatised to be loved; you are each others' therapist, confidant, and sexy best friend.

AU!Nanami Kento, who struggles through reducing his alcohol and cigarette intake, with your steadfast support.

AU!Nanami Kento whose home screen photo is one of you asleep, snuggled into his chest, drooling; you hate it, he absolutely refuses to change it.

AU!Nanami Kento who confesses to you on one snowy evening walk; he tells you the moon looks beautiful tonight and you're on tiptoes kissing him before he can even finish his sentence.

AU!Nanami Kento who takes up baking bread overnight if he can't sleep, the process cathartic and soothing. You know he's had a bad night when you wake up to warm bakery smells.

AU!Nanami Kento and you, whose home becomes a refuge for all the kids who know where the spare key is hidden.

AU!Nanami Kento who has made up the spare room for Yuuta, Inumaki and Nobara at separate points in just one week.

AU!Nanami Kento, who makes sure you buy extra bottles of burn ointment, and delivers them to Maki when he gets the chance.

AU!Nanami Kento, stood at the bathroom counter which you sit on, facing him, your legs wrapped around his hips, as you gently shave around his scars. Kento rests his hands on your waist, slipping his fingers under your shirt, just to feel your skin.

AU!Nanami Kento, whose towel comes loose and drops to the floor, staring into your eyes in challenge. You last a few seconds before your eyes flick down, drinking in the beautiful nudity of him.

AU!Nanami Kento who immediately throws you over his shoulder, and carries you to your bedroom while you squeal and laugh, being promptly de-clothed by him.

AU!Nanami Kento who behaves the second time you sit on the counter, to finish the job you started; he looks at you with a naughty glint in his eye.

AU!Nanami Kento who, with your support and continuous company on his missions, finds his power grows rapidly; he manages five black flashes in a row, and feels he may be nearing domain establishment.

AU!Nanami Kento who, after a rocky start with Higuruma Hiromi, becomes his firm friend, forming an intensely unstoppable duo. Ino is only a little bit jealous.

AU!Nanami Kento who finally calls his parents with your encouragement. He can't help but tell them about you immediately. They're thrilled, and want you round for dinner as soon as possible.

AU!Nanami Kento who is mortified as you and his mother coo over his baby photos.

AU!Nanami Kento who is stunned into silence when, in the car on the way home, you wonder out loud if your babies will look more like you or him.

AU!Nanami Kento who throws you into bed the moment you get home, face between your legs and drunk on the taste and sounds of you, until you're begging him to come closer; he graciously complies, his mind full of your future home, tiny footsteps and laughter as you cling to him in bliss.

AU!Nanami Kento who goes looking for rings on his days off; it's a huge decision, and one he ponders over for months, so in the meantime, he buys you a watch which perfectly matches his own.

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More love for Greynami. I'll do some bigger stories at some point too.

Part 1 of Greynami Headcanons link here

Thanks as always to @silkspunweb for being my muse and fellow unhinged friend.

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rhyrhy · 2 months ago

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Venom in the veins 🕸️

Spider!Ellie x Fem Villain reader

✦ Synopsis: When trust is broken, and alliances shift. Your local friendly neighborhood spiderwoman! is forced to choose between her love and loyalty!

✦ Warnings: enemies to lovers to enemies..? Angst, violence, death/grief , language, romantic tension, familial issues. 5k words.

A/n: thank you to @s0phi3w4lt3n , because their lovely brain is helping make this possible. This is chapters 1-2. (3-7 will be separate posts!) + Ellie’s suit desc is based off this beautiful art!

October 5th

I guess I finally understand what it means to wear the weight of something bigger than yourself.

Nobody tells you how lonely this gets. They say it’s a responsibility. A privilege. But nobody warns you about the nights when your body’s so sore you can’t move, or when you have to smile at people who would hate you if they knew the whole truth.

And the worst part? I should’ve seen it coming.

I should’ve known the second I woke up with a spider bite the size of a penny and a bad feeling in my gut.

But I was just a dumb kid clinging to Joel’s leg in the ER, sure I was about to drop dead…

Being a hero wasn’t as simple as they made it look in the comics she read. It wasn’t just about the mask—it was about juggling the power, the responsibility, and the weight of knowing that, at any moment, everything could come crashing down.

And in the end? It was always a game of masks. Who’s hiding behind them, and who’s fooling who?

Ellie wasn’t the best at keeping secrets.

Especially not when she had a spider bite the , wrapped in white gauze and held together with SpongeBob bandages that did little to ease her nerves. Her pain tolerance wasn’t exactly low, but weren’t black widows deadly? She could still feel the long-gone venom burning in her bloodstream—or maybe she just thought she did.

“Joel, I’m too young to die!” A younger Ellie whined, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clung to his leg.

“You aren’t dying. They said you’ll be sore at most.” He sighed, patting her head.

“Dramatic” wasn’t the word he’d use to describe the distraught figure clinging to him like she truly believed her life depended on it. Eleanor “Ellie” Anna Williams, at the ripe age of twelve, gave her adoptive father more wrinkles than he could count.

This time, it wasn’t a scraped knee from wobbly attempts at skateboarding, or a burn on her forearm from trying to make him breakfast. It was a spider bite. She didn’t get a good look when she flung her head after the sting set in, but she was almost certain what that eight-legged creature was that had crept onto her hand while she doodled on her notebook in science class.

She rambled about it the whole way from the school’s nursing office to the emergency room. Not even the radio could drown out the frantic girl, who loved all things nature—as long as it wasn’t trying to kill her. She’d just learned to use a training bra. She couldn’t die now.

“I’m not?” she said, her green watery eyes looking up at him.

“No. Weren’t you listening to what the nice lady said? The one in blue scrubs?”

To be honest, she wasn’t. However, she did remember the woman he was referring to—and the way she made her heart race. Even now, as a young adult, Ellie would bring her up when questioned about her gay awakening.

“You’re goin’ to be fine kiddo” He bent down to her level, his Texan accent dragging out his “n”s.

Comforting her had become something Joel mastered over the years. Trying to navigate Ellie’s spectrum between smart mouth and nervous breakdowns wasn’t easy for a man in his early thirties. But he’d found a way to wedge himself somewhere right in the middle—right where she needed him.

If there was one thing Ellie learned quickly, it was that Joel knew best. With legs full of scars and scrapes and a pair of worn-out Converse that Joel begged her to throw away, Eleanor—who preferred just ‘Ellie’—skated into her high school years.

Going from Little Orphan Annie, which she hated when assholes at school called her that, to your average teenager in the big city of Seattle, everything was completely normal.

Except it wasn’t. At all.

In fact, nothing about Ellie was normal. But the unusual started small—extremely small—and Ellie didn’t know any better. At first, she thought it was just the weed she smoked with Jesse still messing with her system.

Because ever since that fateful day in seventh grade, weird, borderline supernatural things had started happening.

She couldn’t tell you exactly how it all started—at least, not without cringing through the many, many journals she kept as a teenager—but somewhere in the mess of scribbled notes and half-finished sketches, there was an entry about a joke gone wrong.

One night, on a dare to see how long she could hold a handstand, Ellie found herself upside down—only she wasn’t just balancing. She was walking. On her ceiling.

The next morning, she convinced herself it was just some weird, half-awake dream. But when she tried it again—yeah, no. She wasn’t dreaming.

“Holy shit!” she blurted out, stumbling back to the ground.

“Language!” Joel’s voice rang out from the living room, blissfully unaware of the very sticky situation unfolding just a few feet away.

Ellie swallowed, staring at her feet. “Holy shit…” she whispered again, this time to herself.

For a while, she tried to ignore it. Between figuring out her sexuality and preparing for an upcoming science fair, she had enough on her plate. So when weird things happened—like catching something mid-fall way too fast or feeling vibrations through the walls—she brushed it off.

But the signs were getting harder to ignore. Especially when she asked Riley if she could hear that sound—

—and Riley just stared at her.

“Hear what?” Riley asked, setting up their volcano project.

“That—” Ellie waved her hand vaguely. “You seriously don’t hear it?”

Riley squinted. “Williams, I love you, but you have absolutely lost it.”

Ellie would’ve argued back, but the sound was coming from three tables down.

“Booger-eater James?” Riley snorted, nodding toward the kid hunched over a glass box of spiders. Not sure how that was science experiment. “He’s just standing there. With his creepy crawlers. I pray for him once we hit eleventh grade—he’s never getting a girlfriend.”

Panic set in—sudden and overwhelming—as her mind spiraled. Was this some weird side effect of the bite? Or was it something worse? She thought about her biological family, about the things she didn’t know, about the one thing she did worry about when it came to her health.

These were crazy person signs, right? Or worse—crazy person genes running through her blood. Torn between telling a school counselor or just locking herself in the bathroom to cry, Ellie excused herself from Riley and approached the table. But the closer she got, the louder the sound became. A crawling, chittering hum that made her stomach flip.

There was no way she was communicating with something that had more than two eyes and eight legs. An arachnid, for crying out loud.

Don’t get her wrong, Ellie loved science. But people who claimed this kind of stuff? They got laughed out of programs. Stripped of titles, accreditations. Blacklisted. Snow White talking to animals was one thing. A teenage girl talking to spiders? That was an entirely different planet.

But the more she thought about it… the more it made sense.

The heightened senses. The weird reflexes. And that bite mark—the one she was so sure would scar? It was completely gone the next morning when her bandage fell off in the shower.

What started as a sneaking suspicion was quickly turning into a daunting realization.

Ellie tried to ignore it. She really, really did.

For the next few weeks, she chalked it up to stress, exhaustion, anything that made more sense than the alternative. But the signs weren’t stopping. If anything, they were getting worse.

The way her body moved before she even had time to think. The way she could feel things that weren’t there—like the vibrations of footsteps before someone entered a room. The way her grip had changed—how she accidentally shattered a glass one night at dinner, how the basketball stuck to her hand a second too long in gym class.

She stopped journaling about it. She stopped mentioning it to Riley. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it. this was so , so much worse than the time she wasn’t allowed to leave the dinner table until she finished her brussels sprouts.

And that was how she found herself standing in front of her bedroom window one night, hoodie zipped up, black Converse laced tight.

Sneaking out wasn’t new to her. She’d done it before. Skating out to meet Jesse, tagging walls in alleyways. But this?

This wasn’t just sneaking out.

That night, she got her first real taste of herself without the skintight suit she now wears like a badge.

Little did she know at the time, how important that near miss would be.

“Glad nobody saw that.” An embarrassed Ellie giggled to herself, standing to her feet after stumbling for the hundredth time.

Parkour always seemed a little odd to her—she preferred her guitar or a late-night reading session, but those seemed to lay still on her bookshelf nowadays. I mean, who wanted to potentially hurt themselves running along buildings, jumping from concrete to concrete, brick to brick? Short answer: she did.

Long answer: the stairwell right behind her apartment building, leading to the city’s rooftops. Mariano’s, her favorite pizza joint that always closed way too early in her opinion, the old library that closed down only to be replaced a few doors down, and the laundromat. Dusting off her jeans, she’d do this for what felt like hours.

The back and forth would make normal civilians sick—feet swollen to hell. But for Ellie, after a fight with Joel about curfew or an unnecessarily long school day, as soon as the sun set, this was her heaven.

She wasn’t normal. She’d established that a long time ago. But it’s not like she could exactly tell people she could do these kinds of things. They’d look at her the way Riley did. A FYI, she was so right about James—after graduation, he still never got a girlfriend.

Ellie, on the other hand, had quite a few up until graduation.

A shared kiss with Riley, a faded stick-and-poke cat the girl in her art class gave her, and her unforgettable first time with the first girl she could truly say she loved: Dina.

To say “fair share” was a bit of an understatement. It was more about quality than quantity. Her building real connections, some still lingering around. Some took the high road, choosing to stay the bitter ex. But Ellie didn’t see it like that. She appreciated the good and the bad, even if she did have to get a real tattoo over that stick-and-poke cat.

But times like these, where she let her feet carry her across the city, were when she was allowed to forget about all that, leave it in the past where it belonged, and focus on the future. But even with her tassel turned, she always found herself in that alleyway, climbing up that same fire escape to get to the roof.

The city lights below flickered like distant stars. So many people, but none of them knew her name. Maybe that was for the best. In this city, the only person Ellie needed to be was herself.

The wind against her skin felt sharper tonight, like she could almost taste the city’s pulse. A distant car honked, but she didn’t hear it the same way anymore. It was all part of the rhythm, the energy that seemed to flow through her, the way the rooftops called her to them.

For now, the rooftops were hers. But she knew, deep down, that wouldn’t last forever. Heroes, villains—one day, someone would come looking for her. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe.

Freshly graduated, Ellie was hanging out with friends at her favorite pizza joint, the smell of pepperoni filling the air, and the sound of laughter ringing in her ears. It was one of those normal, relaxed nights. nothing out of the ordinary. Or at least, it didn’t seem that way at first.

But when a hooded figure paced back and forth in front of their table for the fourth time, Ellie couldn’t help but feel a cold chill run down her spine. Her green eyes snapped to the sound, hands slowly lowering the slice of pizza she’d been about to take a bite of.

“That young man stole my purse!” A woman’s voice broke through the hum of the restaurant, her trembling hands pointing toward the culprit.

Ellie’s green gaze snapped to the man now hurrying down the sidewalk, his steps quick, his movements too frantic. The adrenaline surged through her as she pushed her chair back and stood, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass door. She didn’t wear her mask yet, but the sensation of needing to act was unmistakable.

She couldn’t just let it go.

The man was fast, but he wasn’t fast enough. Ellie darted into the street, weaving between pedestrians like a blur, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the city’s noise. When she reached him, she tackled him with everything she had, the force knocking the purse out of his hand and sending him stumbling backward.

He didn’t stick around to fight back. In a flash, he bolted, disappearing into the shadows before Ellie could react.

She stood there, chest heaving as she clutched the purse in her hands. The woman, now catching up to her, approached with wide eyes.

“You got it back!” The woman gasped, her voice thick with relief.

Ellie smiled awkwardly, handing the purse back to her. “I… I guess I did.” Heart still racing.

Before she could say more, the woman pulled her into a tight hug. Ellie froze, not knowing what to do. She had no idea this small act of kindness would cause a strange warmth to spread through her chest.

“Thank you,” the woman whispered. “I don’t know what I would’ve done…”

Ellie gently pulled back, her heart still racing. She was pretty sure she was just a regular girl, with no superpowers or any big secret to her name. But in that moment, the feeling of doing the right thing—of helping someone in need—felt bigger than anything she’d ever experienced. Maybe she was crazy. But a little bit of crazy could do good.

And Ellie? She loved justice.

“Bullshit. No way you tackled him like that.” Abby’s voice rang out, interrupting Ellie’s storytelling.

“Alright, maybe I exaggerated a little bit, but I’m telling you, I kicked ass.” Ellie laughed, holding the door open for the tall blonde.

“Uh huh. Sure, Williams.” Abby huffed, walking past her into the bookstore. The familiar chime of the doorbell rang out above them, a small sound that felt like a second home.

Ellie inhaled deeply, taking in the comforting smell of ink and crisp pages being turned. She loved it here, more than the silly pictures of cats online, which, in the Williams world, meant a lot.

Abby, tall and always a step ahead in the teasing department, fell into step beside her. One of the few friends Ellie could confide in. Even if that came with endless ribbing. Ellie could admit that she’d told the “first save” story a million times, but it was one of the few she could tell without giving herself away—without breaking her promise. The promise she made to herself when she officially earned her title as ‘hero.’

But here, in the bookstore, she could nerd out all she wanted. No secrets to hide, no need to pretend. She could throw in the subtle bragging without fear of it getting back to the wrong people.

Ellie wasn’t a huge talker. She preferred humming to herself or getting lost in her own thoughts. As she scrolled past the comic book section, her fingers brushing against the glossy covers of vibrant colors and bubble letters, she was suddenly back in time. A place of nostalgia. Staying up way past her bedtime, reading comics under the covers with a trusty red flashlight.

When the small tv in the corner of the store caught her attention. A new report, crime in the city’s streets. detailing the latest wave of crime sweeping through the city. From petty purse snatching to stolen identities—and sometimes, even lives. It was all too familiar.

“This just in: Another robbery in the city’s streets. Police are still on the lookout for the suspect,” the newscaster announced.

She hated it, the fear in people’s eyes. The feeling of a warm blanket being ripped off all because a few people probably weren’t hugged enough as kids. If anybody knew a rough childhood, it was Ellie, and what she didn’t do was use that and take it out on the world. The last thing she expected years from this moment is trying to be understanding with the one who did.

If anyone knew a rough childhood, it was Ellie. But she didn’t use that as an excuse to lash out at the world.

In fact, the last thing she ever expected, years from this moment, was to try and understand the person behind the violence.

“Jesus, this city’s falling apart,” Abby muttered, her eyes still glued to the screen. “Where are the cops when you need them?”

It made her sick. The injustice. The feeling of helplessness.

“Sometimes, people just need to learn the world doesn’t owe them anything,”

Abby looked over at her, but Ellie kept her eyes on the chaos. The sirens were already wailing in the distance, but they’d never get there in time—not when the damage had already been done. And when the cops finally showed up. Just yellow police, tape and tears.

“Scary, huh?” Abby said, standing beside her, arms crossed. She shot a glance at the scene before turning back to Ellie. “Where are the cops when you need them?”

Ellie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, they always show up too late. After the damage’s already done. It’s like they just don’t care enough to stop it before it gets out of hand. Makes you wonder if anyone’s actually doing anything about it.”

Abby sighed in agreement. “Someone should.”

Ellie’s mind wandered then, as it often did in moments like this. She’d seen it all too many times—the heroes who talked big but never seemed to get things done. But the ones who really caught her attention were the ones who operated in the shadows. The ones who didn’t care about fame or recognition.

Her thoughts drifted to The Phantom—a mysterious figure who’d been cleaning up the streets for years. Nobody knew their true identity, and that was the way they liked it. No flashy costumes, no headlines, just quiet, effective justice. They worked in the shadows, out of sight, but the results spoke for themselves.

“Maybe someone like that could show up,” Ellie murmured. “Someone who teaches people the lesson that their actions have consequences. Not just words, but real, lasting consequences.”

Abby raised an eyebrow, casting her a sideways glance. “Wait, are you seriously saying you’d want to be like them? A shadowy figure, handing out justice however you see fit?”

“Maybe. I mean, someone has to.”

And someone did. She did, she had to. things quickly escalated from saving purses to kittens out of trees you name it Ellie was there.

So what about the fabric hung deep in her closet. The one she mentions hundreds of times in her journals throughout the years.

Well, It wasn’t like she had a fancy suit. No, Ellie had to make do. Her costume came from a combination of chance and necessity. Absolutely one of those “it just happened” moments that ended up being so much more.

It started with a hand-me-down.

After one night where she barely managed to escape with a bruised arm and a scraped knee, Ellie found herself on the edge of the city. In a forgotten corner of a local alley, tucked behind an old, unused storage unit, Ellie found a discarded suit. It was a mix of gray, black, and green fabric—more rugged than sleek, a little worn out, but something about it screamed potential. Her hand reached out for it, like she could feel the joy she’d bring with it on her skin.

fit like a second skin. It didn’t stand out too much, which was good; Ellie didn’t want to draw attention, not yet. The colors worked too—gray for blending in, black for stealth, and green because… well, why not? It matched her eyes.

One afternoon, Ellie had found herself standing outside a local store, looking out over the city, when a voice caught her attention. It was a soft voice, one that belonged to a little girl.

“How’d you get up there? You move like a spider.”

Ellie smiled beneath her mask, thinking about the first time she made the jump to scale a building. She was very clumsy, but she’d learned quickly. It was funny, she hadn’t really thought much about it until now. A spider… That’s what had started this whole thing.

The bite she thought would kill her.

“What’s your name, hero?” the little girl asked, her wide eyes.

Ellie hesitated. A name?… A spider? This was a loaded question. But That’s what they called her, wasn’t it? She was just some kid trying to do right by the world.

“Spider… uh… girl… woman!” She blurted out, almost embarrassed. Hoping it sounded cool, so in the moment, she went with it.

“Spider Woman. Yeah, that’s it.”

She didn’t mind the title. It was fitting, simple.

Spider-woman. Silly, right? It sounded like something out of the DC Comics stacked in her room. And she loved it.

The name was sung like gospel on the news, printed in bold ink for those who still bothered with newspapers.

On one channel, a reporter stood in front of a cityscape, microphone in hand.

“The masked vigilante, called ‘Spider-Woman’ by the public, continues to stir-up debate. Some call her a hero, while others question if she’s just another masked threat. We hit the streets of Seattle to hear what the people really have to say.”

Cop, off duty: “Look, I don’t make the rules, but I do enforce them. Vigilante or not, she’s got a record, and that means trouble.”

Masked kid in a homemade costume: “She’s like, a ninja or something! I think she’s cool!”

Teen girl with dyed hair: “She’s kind of badass, not gonna lie.” She shrugged.

younger woman with a toddler: “Are you kidding? She’s the only one out here actually doing something! You ever had a gun in your face? ��Cause I have. If she’s around, I know I’m making it home.”

The tv Cuts back to the news anchor at the desk, straightening their papers.

“You heard it here folks! Love her or hate her, one thing’s for sure. she’s out there. And she’s just getting started.” The news reporter finished.

But every hero had their villain.

And Ellie? She was crushing on hers.

With Brown hair tied back, wheels skimming smoothly across the pavement. No suit today, just a hoodie and jeans, her usual off-duty attire. As a creature of habit, she skated her way to the bookstore like clockwork, the same route.

Had she finished the last two comics she bought? Absolutely. A little faster than intended. But a five-minute ride was nothing for a girl who spent most of her nights swinging across the city, trying to do right by the world. In her own way.

The streets of downtown Seattle buzzed with life, familiar shop signs blurring past her periphery—the record store with the neon “Vinyl Lives” sign, the café that always smelled like burnt coffee, and the corner thrift shop with racks of clothes spilling onto the sidewalk.

Then—“Shit—!”

Ellie barely had time to swerve, nearly colliding with someone standing dead center in her path.

“Sorry!” she called over her shoulder, skidding to a halt a few feet away.

The person barely reacted. Headphones on, phone in hand, just a slight jerk of the shoulder to let her pass. like they’d done it a thousand times.

Ellie shot them one last glance, catching just a flicker of their face. The shape of their eyes, the calm in their posture despite the near collision. No sense of surprise, Weird. Most people flinched.

Shaking it off, she kicked forward again, hitting the sidewalk with a small exhale. Board tucked under her arm, she pulled open the door to the bookstore, the familiar jingle of the bell bringing an easy grin to her face.

“Like clockwork. You are so predictable, Williams,” Josh, the store clerk, greeted from behind the counter.

“What can I say?” Ellie shrugged, stepping inside. “When you’re a comic book connoisseur—”

“—It becomes a lifestyle,” Josh finished, smirking. “Indeed you are.”

Ellie chuckled, already making her way toward the shelves, completely unaware that the person she nearly crashed into was about to become a permanent part of her life.

She just didn’t know it yet. And neither did you.

Just few moments before …

“What an idiot,” a deep voice muttered, entering the back alley. Away from prying eyes.

You rolled your eyes, arms crossed as you leaned against the brick wall beside him. “She was skating. God, do you ever lighten—”

His hand landed on your shoulder, fingers pressing just enough to remind you. Not a threat. Not yet.

Your mouth shut. Swallowing your retort.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. Thinking. Shit. Your gut told you to argue, to roll your shoulders back and step away. But you didn’t.

She wasn’t. You knew that. But your world didn’t allow second guesses.

Unlike Ellie, there were no scraped knees followed by fatherly reassurances. No kissing boo-boos, no gentle words. Hell, in your world, mistakes didn’t just hurt. They burned.

And the man towering over you now, eyes sharp as a blade’s, wasn’t the type to let things slide. The city dubbed him Red Hand, a name spoken in hushed whispers.

But you just settled for—

“Will you relax, old man? I get it.” You scoffed, swatting his hand away.

Old man. Boss. Everything but Dad. He didn’t deserve that title. Maybe once, when you were too young to know better. But now? Now, you couldn’t remember the last time you saw anything close to affection in his eyes. Sure, you’d hear a gruff, “You did good, kid,” now and then—but only after running his errands. Only when you were useful.

That’s how this started. You don’t grow a hatred for the world overnight. It’s molded into you when you’re most likely to sponge it all up. Seeing people for what they really are, learning early that it’s survival, not love.

Your real parents? Nothing but a shadow of the past. A blanket. A half-hearted note. A promise that you’d be “taken care of.” Not loved. Not held. Just… handled.

And he did. In his way. He didn’t mark your growth on a doorframe. He didn’t pack lunches with little notes that said, “Have a great day, love you.”

No, that was too soft. The Red Hand was feared. With just a snap of his fingers, his problems were taken care of—no questions asked.

At first, you weren’t sure who they were—the ones who carried out his orders, the ones who came and went like shadows. Or why he always denied your late-night tea parties with Mr. Bear.

One eye missing. Fur worn and faded from too many hugs. The first toy he’d ever bought you. Well, stolen. But it was a gift nonetheless.

You used to crack your bedroom door open at night, small fingers barely making a sound as you peeked through the gap. Trying to make out the hushed conversations happening just a few feet away.

Never catching much. But it was whispered for a reason. And even as a kid, you knew better than to ask.

Then came second grade. You walked through the door with puffy eyes and a fresh bruise on your cheek. He barely looked up from his paper as he slid an ice pack across the table.

“And did you hit them back?”

Your small legs dangled off the couch as you shook your head. “No…”

The paper rustled as he set it down, finally looking at you. “C’mere, kid. Let me show you something.”

And he did. With careful, practiced movements, he taught you where to aim. How to make it count. Jabs, punches.

“Those little shits won’t bug you too much after this.”

You learned quickly. Not just how to hit, but when. Where. How to read a room. How to never show weakness.

Because in his world? Weakness was a death sentence.

So no, there were no bedtime stories. No reassurances whispered into your hair. Just lessons. And you learned them all. After all, it paid to be useful. Even if that meant the occasional run to the principal’s office

The city doesn’t care. People don’t care. They’re too busy fighting to stay on top. So why bother trying to be something else? Why bother saving anyone when they’ll just let you down? He’d shown you what the world truly was. A place where you had to take what you wanted.

A place where you had to survive, no matter the cost.

You’d stopped asking questions a long time ago. Why did they leave? Why did he allow you to stay? What was that gnawing feeling deep in your gut? You’d stopped wondering about what could be, what should be. This was it. This was all there was.

And as Ellie’s world spun with hope, with the promise of doing right, yours had long since given up. Because in your world, saving lives wasn’t enough. The world didn’t reward you for being a hero. No. It rewarded you for knowing when to stop asking, when to take what you were given.

Dressed in black, learning what was most important: to keep moving.

To be continued …..

Line dividers | 2 | 3

Ellie m.list

Taglist @0h-basic

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soggyriceee · 16 days ago

Note

girl, let’s be so fr—your readers are feral for König begging. Like, we want that man on his knees, sweating, whimpering, looking up like we’re his last damn meal. We EAT that shit up, no crumbs left.

WE NEED PART 2 CHOCOLATE AFRODISIAC, STAT!

same plot as the first one, except he’s giving you the chocolate. side note i went back and re read the first part and realized i wrote it the opposite way the reader wanted it in so sorry literally blow my house up it’s ok

konig learned very quickly where you got that chocolate from. and he wasted no time getting himself some. he enjoyed that time, and wanted to recreate it again.

tonight was you guys’ 4 year anniversary. long time to be just boyfriend and girlfriend sure, but Konig wanted to be the husband who was around. he was gone too much, to even give you a proper wedding and honeymoon. he promised he’d settle down and find a job that didn’t require him to be away for up to a year.

but anyways, the day was perfect. you woke up to the tall man between your legs, fucking his tongue into you like he’d never get to again. not that this was much different than how you woke up usually, but this time it was filled with more. love.

lunch was at home, homemade chicken sandwiches and fries. the first meal you both made together when you moved in with him. a nap was defiently had and then it was time for dinner.

he took you to a very fancy, seaside reasturant. it was beautiful, one of the reasturants you’d sent him in fact.

you were oblivious to the chocolate covered strawberries konig made while cleaning up lunch, even more oblivious to what was IN the chocolate. konig was excited, already feeling himself pulse in his pants as he drove you both home.

you were already tipsy, the two cups of wine already getting you in a mood. konig looked so handsome driving, his muscles outlines against his shirt. his eyes, so glossy and big. he was hard to look away from, in a good way. but that of course made him nervous.

when you both got home, konig insisted on eating some chocolate before showering. “come on.. by the time you get out you’ll be too tired. i worked hard on them.” he pouted, hoping out the tray. they did look nice, the white chocolate drizzled on. you couldn’t say no.

you ate about 5, caught up in the convo. the wine didn’t help either. by the time you both had reached the last two, you began to feel a bit off. but, a good off. you quickly picked up on what was potentially happening, but you chose to play dumb.

the dumb act didn’t play long tho. by the time you both got to the showers konig was bulging out his pants. he was rubbing all on you, punching your nipples through your silk dress.

you’d lean into his touch, biting your lip as your habds ran up and down under his shirt. you felt every scar, ever burn. what he was once saw as an imperfection, you made a perfection.

“you.. drugged me, huh” you slurred, looking up at him. his hands made their way under your dress, biting his lip as he slid your panties down your legs. “maybe.. what would you do if i did?” he asked, cupping your ass.

you smiled up at him, tapping your chin with your finger. “might have to call the cops..” you answered, giggling. “oh really?”

he kicked your legs apart, your hands gripping the counter behind you. he dropped to his knees, a deep sigh coming from him as he pushed the skirt of your dress up to your hip. you instinctively put your foot on his shoulder, leaning back.

he disappeared under your dress, kissing your pussy gently while holding the back of your thighs. he hummed as his tongue trailed up and through your folds, eyes shut closed. “so wet already.. i don’t even have to do much maus..” hed say from under your dress, a pathetic whine coming from you.

your head pressed against the mirror, eyes closed as you pulled your bottom lip through your teeth. your fingers worked on nipples, squeezing and pulling the sensitive nubs.

“need.. need more Koni please~” you’d whine, pushing his head away. he was doing great of course, but the chocolates and wine were working quick and you wanted to feel him stretch you out more than anything right now.

“come on libe i wanna taste you some more.. make sure your really ready for me..” his finger would slide through your folds, chuckling at how your hips jerked back.

his fingers would slide into your hole, hissing at the filthy squelch that came from you. he bit his bottom lip, watching as his finger got coated in your juices. “gosh you’re so easy mause..”

youd huff at his comment, pulling his fingers away from you before pushing him back so he rested against the wall. he watched as you sat in his lap, taking his belt and undoing his pants. his cock would spring right up, tip bright red and oozing pre cum.

his hands found their way to your hips, licking his lips in anticipation. as much as you wanted to tease him, make him look like the easy one, you were desperate and didn’t have too much of a care. you needed him stretching you out, and you didn’t plan on waitinf much longer.

your hips would rise, his tip sliding through your sticky folds. “mm.. come on libe push it in for me..” hed say softly, one hand sliding up and down your spine.

your hands would grip onto his shoulders, holding eye contact as his tip first made its way in. your eyes would unfortunately squeeze shut, breaking eye contact, and halting your hips. “oh come on you know you can take it libe.”

he’d grip onto your hips, pushing himself up into you. of course you could take it, but it would take a minuet. he forgets the girth and length of himself sometimes, but he never does it on purpose!

your nails would dig into his shoulders, a painful cry escaping your plump lips. “konig please- y-you know it.. hurts for a bit.”

he’d roll his eyes tho, pulling you into his chest before guiding your hips up and down with ease. he’d press his head to the wall behind him, feeling how your cunt pulsed around him. it was so sexy how he moved you how he wanted, like you weighed nothing. you were his own personal fleshlight every time you both had sex, except he always made sure you creamed on him first before he got his release.

“just like that baby.. you got it..” hed pant, watching you with hooded eyes. he’d take one hand, cupping your boob and playing with your sensitive nubs. your hips moved on their own, the pain slowly fading into pleasure. “i.. i’m already so close.” you’d gasp, opening your eyes to look at his dark ones.

“yea?… go ahead baby.” hed nod, pinching your nipple. his other hand made its way to your clit, rubbing gentle circles against that bundle of nerves.

his tip would push right up against your cervix, making your toes curl. the eye contact between the both of you was intense, his dilated pupils never leaving your equally dilated ones.

your lips pressed against his roughly, bouncing slower on him as you felt your orgasm begin to take control over your body. “that’s it baby that’s it.. keep going im so close.” hed coo, watching as you came undone above him.

but your hips couldn’t keep up, your body was going numb. he’d grunt before holding you against his chest, and laying you on the cold bathroom floor. his hands would find their place on your hips before thrusting himself in and out of you.

boy how he loved what those chocolate strawberries and wine was doing to you. he loved how eager you were to fuck him, how wet and slimy your pussy was right now. he didn’t want it to stop at all. “k-konig it hurts.” you cried from below, habds pressing on his chest.

but konig didn’t care. he’d look down at you, at your pussy. his cock was covered in your cum, a mess all over the floor and his pelvis. he’d mutter curses in german, squeezing his eyes closed as he tried to make this feeling last. “i’m hurting you? this pussy hurts huh?” he asked, getting off on the idea that his cock was hurting you.

you’d nod frantically, trying to push his body away. “p-please it’s too much!” you’d cry, your pussy pulsating violently arouns him.

a deep growl would come from the man, his hand finding its way to your throat. “fuck i love hurting you libe.. makes me wanna.. wanna cum so.. fuck-“

he couldn’t even hold it anymore, shooting his ropes deep into your cunt. it took him by surprise, a pathetic whine leaving his lips.

his arms would tense besides you, as his legs shook besides your legs. you pretended not to notice, for the sake of his own embarrassment. his eyes remained shut, panting above you as he pulsed inside you.

maybe, you just needed a few seconds of rest, because the sight of such a burly man above you, physically weak because of you made your pussy pulsate all over.

“koni..” you’d say so innocently. “let’s get in the shower now.. i need more.”

he quickly began to rethink your sex drive, and just how much those chocolates may have increased it

bae i’m so sorry this took so long, i refused to post another work until my master list was up to date

#cod #call of duty fan fiction #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #konig #konig fanfiction #konig smut #konig x reader

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beansprean · 9 months ago

Text

My Familiar’s Ghost part 81

Masterpost Masterpost 2

See the latest pages on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Wide shot, knees up, of vampire Guillermo and Nandor sitting on the couch in the library in front of the papered-over bay window. Nandor is wearing one of his usual outfits and Guillermo is wearing something new: a dark blue shirt with a pink floral pattern, a dark red sweater vest, brown cuords, and a string of pearls. Both are looking at the viewer and have clipboards in their hands, Guillermo's pen poised and ready on the paper and Nandor gesturing his in the air as he asks, 'So...what makes you the best candidate for our new familiar?'

2. Reverse shot of a single green armchair on a vague brown background. Sitting on it, legs crossed, is a southeast Asian woman in her 30s with shoulder length black hair and countless slash-like scars running up her arms, neck, and face. She is wearing a purple sweater with 3/4 sleeves, black leggings, and combat boots. She grimaces, looking upward, left arm waving vaguely as her right nervously fingers the arm of the chair, and says, 'Well, I survived three years with Gorgo the Murderer...'

3. Repeat, new candidate in the chair: a fat white man in his 30s with close cropped sandy blond hair and unsettling blue eyes, wearing a blue polo and brown chinos. His arms are covered in gorey tattoos depicting blood, buzzsaws, skulls, and fangs, plus one art nouveau portrait and black fang shapes above and below his mouth. He stares directly forward with a fixed grin, hands laced together over his chest, and declares, 'My former mistress always said I had a knack for dismemberment.'

4. Repeat, new candidate in the chair: a fat brown hispanic person in their 20s with hazel eyes, big glasses, and half bleach blonde half dark brown hair in a bowl cut. She is wearing a red flannel open over a TrueBlood tee shirt and jeans, nails painted teal, a silver hoop in each ear. They are leaning forward eagerly, fists clenched and eyes wide, babbling, 'You're the only familiar I've ever heard of who got turned! What's the turnaround for your familiars? Which one of you will turn me?!'

5. Repeat, new candidate in the chair: a small white woman in her 60s with gray-streaked auburn hair wearing a low-cut dark pink top tucked into a plaid knee-length skirt. Her long nails are painted a dark reddish brown to match her lipstick, and she also has on pantyhose and, inexplicably, a diamond ring on her left ring finger. She leans casually against the side of the chair, brown eyes roaming the ceiling, and announces, 'I've had so many masters by now... I'm really just looking for something more long-term...'

6a. Reverse shot back to Guillermo and Nandor on the couch. Nandor leans forward with a suggestive smirk, touching the butt of his pen coyly to his chin, and replies, 'That is good to hear... I trust your age will not prevent you from your duties?' Guillermo glares at him from the corner of his eye, grip shaking on his pen. 6b. Knees up in profile of Nandor and the milf candidate sitting across from each other, leaning forward with suggestive grins. One of her legs stretches forward to rub against his and she touches her chest demurely, replying, 'Honey, I can handle whatever you have for me-' Guillermo leans around Nandor to get between them and interrupts her, loudly shouting 'Next!!' 6c. Zoom in to shoulders up of Nandor, turned toward the viewer to curl his fingers in a wave as the milf leaves offscreen, muttering, 'Uh, well, thank you for your time.' Nandor glances over his shoulder with the smuggest of grins at Guillermo, who is absolutely seething behind him. Guillermo is surrounded by a ragged black aura, frowning as deeply as his boyish face allows, glowing orange eyes burning holes into the back of Nandor's head. /end ID

#wwdits #my familiars ghost #nandermo #mlm #vampire guillermo #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #fan comic #image described

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azrielstaylorsversion · 10 months ago

Text

Scars to match mine

Azriel x reader

Warnings: torture, burns

Part 2

When Y/N is captured by the Autumn Court they try to torture information out of her. But what better way to torture someone than with fire?

I wake up with a pounding headache. The world around me was dark. I try to gather my thoughts, remembering where I was.

The last thing I remembered was being outside in the Autumn Court, gathering information on their movements. Then I was attacked. It all came back to me now.

I groan, trying to sit up. My arms and legs hurt, like I had been thrown in here. I manage to get to my feet, in need of finding a way out.

I try reaching out to my mate, but like I expected, there was no sign of the bond.

That was a good thing, I remind myself. This would mean Azriel would know something was wrong. He knew about my whereabouts. He would come looking for me. I just had to be patient.

I slump back against the cold wet wall of the cell I was currently in. It wasn't big, there was nothing but stone in here, along with a strong steel door leading to god knows where.

A sigh escapes my lips, trying to ignore the pain in my body.

I couldn't wait to get home to Azriel, to just get this over with. Rhys would probably give me a lecture about being stupid, even though he never meant it in a bad way. This time it had really been my fault. I knew I was getting too close, the possibility of being attacked very high.

The door to my cell unlocks and gets thrown open, revealing one of the sons of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

I don't move an inch, keeping my eyes on him and the two guards behind him at all times.

"Good. You're awake." he says rather happily.

I don't give him the satisfaction of a reaction. I just keep staring ahead.

He moves his head to the guards. "Haul her up." he orders them. They do as they are told to.

A small flash of panic flashes through my body, but I push it down.

Their hands are harsh against my body, certainly trying their best to leave bruises. I stand out of free will, but they still keep their strong hold on my body.

"So, you care to explain your plans?" the Autumn son asks.

I stare at him, keeping my mouth shut. He was a fool if he really thought I was going to answer his question. I've been through worse things than torture. This was nothing compared to that.

"Well, if you aren't going to talk I unfortunately have to hurt you." he says with a smile. "But I will try it without that one more time."

He opens his hand, a small ball of fire forming inside of it. I do my best to hide the flicker of fear flashing through me.

Knives, whips, beatings. I could take all of that. But fire.. Fire was one of the worst kinds of torture. Especially with what happened to my mate.

"Tell me why Rhysand send you. What are you doing here?" he tries again.

I let out a small laugh which sounded more like a huff. "You really are dumb." I say to him. He looks offended.

Good.

"I would rather die or be tortured for years then tell you anything about the Night Court." I tell him.

His smile disappears at that. "I kind of wished you would've just answered the question right away. Now I need to ruin your pretty body." he says, his lips tilting upward again.

The ball of fire in his hands grows. A sickening feeling fills my body.

"I think you would like some matching scars with your mate, won't you?" he tells me happily.

This time I don't hide my fear. I thrash against the hands that hold my body, but they were to strong. I couldn't move.

I try to move my hands away, but one of the guards holds them up. There was no way in moving them.

In panic I try to reach for the bond, only to remember it wasn't there.

Yet I keep screaming Azriel's name in my head, hoping for a small way through the blockage.

He now hold the fire dangerously close to my hands. The warmth was terrible.

"One last chance."

"No." I say firmly, preparing myself for the pain to come.

He moves my hands into the ball of fire. Excruciating pain fills my body. Worse than ever.

I cry out, not even trying to hide my pain.

The male was laughing as I keep screaming, begging him to stop.

Everything after happened so fast. I couldn't remember if it had been a few seconds or minutes.

Flashes of blue crossed my vision along with the red of blood.

I fell to the ground, curling up to myself, trying to somehow push my hands away. To get rid of the terrible pain that lingers.

Everything was blurred. But one thing I knew, was that the hands that picked me up were familiar. The voice talking me through my pain was familiair. It was nice.

I could vaguely remember flying. The next vague memory I had was of entering a house, voices yelling and people gathering around me.

I remember telling someone I felt so much pain. I also remember that someone telling me I was going to be okay. That he loved me so much and he wouldn't leave my side.

It was only when someone started touching my hands that I lost consciousness.

The thing I do remember is waking up. My eyes flicker open slowly to find the sun setting outside.

I look around in confusion. I was in my room. In my bed. Mine and Azriel's.

A warm hand places on my arm. I turn my head to find my mate smiling at me. "Are you feeling okay?" he asks gently.

I nod, a bit unsure, still having to process most of it.

His hands cup my face. "I'm so sorry about what happened. And I'm so glad you're okay."

I smile at him, lifting a hand to touch his face... only to find it wrapped in a thick bandage. Both my hands.

Realization shoots through me, along with panic and a bit of pain.

Azriel immediately reaches for me. "Hey, don't panic. It's okay. I'm here." he tells me, staying perfectly calm.

"I-.." I couldn't find my words. "I can't feel anything." I say.

Azriel gives me a sad smile. "Madja gave you something strong against the pain. That's the reason you don't feel your hands." he says. "Hopefully.." he adds quietly. He doesn't need to explain what he means by that.

Azriel's warm smile has disappeared from his face, sadness having taken over.

"Is it bad?" I question quietly.

"Yes. It will hopefully heal with time, but the scarring will stay. It will probably look something like my hands." he explains to me softly.

I always thought Azriel's scars were beautiful. But I never thought I would have to live with them myself. This felt different.

"I will not love you differently because of your scars." he tells me, his hand on my cheek. He must've felt my negative thoughts.

"He told me we would have matching scars." I tell him, not even sure why I was telling him this.

Azriel's body stiffens. He shifts a few seconds later, the bed dipping slightly from his weight. He wraps his strong arms around me carefully, tugging me against his chest. I gladly let him as I keep staring at the wall in front of me.

"Do not think differently about yourself. I know how hard it is, I've been there. I will help you through it, like you have helped me through it."

I snap my attention back to Azriel, my eyes locking with his. I nod, knowing and feeling he meant every word.

I bury my face against his chest, trying not to cry.

He holds me tightly, his hands moving up and down my back while whispering sweet words in to my ears which eventually lulled me back to sleep again.

#acotar #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x reader

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cherryblossomfairyy · 21 days ago

Text

Out Of The Woods

Pairing : spencer reid x bau!reader.

Summary: Spencer and you are running from an unsub. But are you out of the woods in time to get to the hospital? Along the lyrics of the song "Out of The Woods" by Taylor Swift.

Masterlist

The cold air burned her lungs as she sprinted through the dense forest, breaths coming in ragged gasps. Branches whipped against her arms and face, but it didn’t slow her down. She couldn’t. He was behind her.

"Last December"

The night was pitch black, the moon barely visible through the thick canopy of trees. Hotch had the idea to split everybody into pairs and check the perimeters of the old farmhouse they suspected the unsub was hiding in. She glanced at Spencer, hoping they’d be paired together. Despite completely trusting his abilities, she had a huge crush on him. She loved working with him.

When Hotch said, "Pick a partner," Spencer caught her gaze and smiled. They had become fast friends after she joined the team six months ago. Being the youngest on the team and sharing similar interests, they quickly became each other's best friends. She joined Spencer at the literature festivals he normaly visited on his own. "You took a Polaroid of us." The photo now in a picture frame on his desk.

After a brief explanation from Hotch about the plan, they walked to their designated side of the property. After a couple of minutes, Spencer used his radio to tell the team their side was clear. That's when they heard the scream. Both drew their guns as Spencer used his flashlight to try to determine where it had come from.

They saw the silhouette of a running away. Spencer realized that it was the unsub. As Spencer started running, she quickly followed him, remembering the 'never split up' rule he had drilled into her. While running, she tried to warn the team that they had found the unsub and were chasing him. But all the team heard were heavy breaths and "Unsub... going south... armed..."

Hotch called everyone back to the SUVs and checked the map to figure out where the unsub might be heading. At the far end of the plot of land, to the south, was a small cabin. "Everyone, I need officers and medics on standby. They're going to the cabin."

"Two paper airplanes flying."

Trying to keep up with Spencer was more difficult than she thought. She was lost, without a flashlight, and alone with a homicidal unsub. She had done everything she was supposed to: 1) Don’t split up. 2) Warn the team. Yet, here she was, terrified and on high alert for either Spencer or the unsub. She didn't dare call for him. Had he escaped? Was he safe with the team? Or... had the unsub gotten to him first?

A sharp crack behind her sent a fresh wave of terror through her body. He was close. Too close. She still couldn't see him and had to rely on sound. Her legs burned, but she forced herself forward, stumbling over roots and fallen branches. She had no idea where she was or where she was going, as long as it was away from the unsub.

Then she saw it—a small cabin, a light hanging above its door. The windows were broken. All she thought about was safety. Maybe Spencer was there? And the rest of the team. She had done it. She had gotten out of the woods. She was in the clear. Or at least, that’s what she hoped.

She reached the door and yanked it open, slipping inside and pressing her back against the rough wood. Silence. She held her breath, straining to hear anything over the pounding of her heart.

Then—a slow crunch outside made her freeze. He was here. She had a choice to make: fight or flight. She could hear cars stopping close by—maybe the team had found her.

But before she could celebrate, the door was kicked in. The unsub charged at her with a knife. In the flickering light, she could make out his face, scarred and sunken. As the first slash came, she thought to herself that this wasn’t the last face she wanted to see before she died. Despite the pain, she drew her gun from her belt and tried to aim at him. She managed to hit his arm, but it didn’t stop him. He hit her multiple times, and she felt herself growing weaker.

She heard a loud yell—somebody calling her name. It was Spencer. He had found her. He could be the last face she saw before dying at the hands of the unsub. She tried to yell back, but her words turned into a fit of coughing. She tasted blood. She had given up. Her body couldn’t fight anymore. With the last bit of strength she grasped her necklace tight. The unsub had won. As he stood above her for the final blow—

*BANG*

And then the world turned dark—

"The rest of the world was black and white"

The headlights cut through the darkness as the ambulance sped down the empty road, the wind howling outside like a warning. His hands trembled in his lap, his heart pounding. She was unconscious. The damage done by the unsub was too much. His jaw was clenched in fear.

The wound kept bleeding faster and faster, quickly losing enough blood that Spencer was starting to hyperventilate, feeling dizzy. "Stay awake, please," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "Come on, stay with us!" The paramedics worked as quickly as they could, hoping she would make it to surgery.

_________________________________

The trees still loomed in the background, their twisted branches reaching for her like fingers. The memories of the past hour clawed at her mind—running, tripping, the unsub’s hand grabbing her. The breathless panic. The feeling that something was off...

"Are we out of the woods yet?, are we out of the woods yet?, are we out of the woods yet?, are we out of the woods?" she whispered to Spencer. He turned his head slightly, his brown eyes filled with tears. "No... she never made it. He got to her first. I'm so sorry." She realized he wasn't talking to her—he was talking to Hotch. As Hotch hugged him and led him to the ambulances to get checked out, she looked down at her hands. They were pale, flaked with dried blood—her blood.

She started screaming, "Hey, help me! Look at me!" But nobody reacted. They were all gathered around a white sheet. As she approached them, she saw what they were looking at, crying for. It was her. Her dead body.

Panic set in. She realized she hadn’t made it out of the woods. The unsub, now dead—shot in the back of the head by Spencer—had killed her.

But even as she realized it, it felt unreal, impossible. This couldn’t be the end. She still had so much to do. She never went to ladies’ night with the girls. She never had shooting lessons with Hotch. She never tried Rossi’s pasta. She never trained hand-to-hand combat with Derek. She never told Spencer how she felt. She would never know if he liked her back.

_________________________________

Spencer started crying harder. She was slipping away, her heartbeat almost nonexisting. He demended he was the one to ride with her to the hospital. He never had the chance to tell her he loved her, that he would spend his life showing her how much.During the ambulance ride, Spencer began to block out all the noise. All he could focus on was her.

"Are we in the clear yet?, are we in the clear yet?, are we in the clear yet?"

He didn't know when they arrived at the hospital or how long he's been sitting in the back of the ambulance, alone. Derek came looking for him. After some yelling and waving before his face did Spencer snap out of it. Derek telling him "Reid, you're bleeding, come with me and get you checked out by the doctors". As Spencer slowly started to see that he was indeed bleeding, a cut on his forearm, shoulder and head. There was so much adrenaline pomping through his system he didn't notice until now.

Derek led him to a room to get the wounds cleaned and stitched up. Spencer was still lost in his thoughts. He couldn’t tell the difference between his blood and hers on his hands. He didn’t know where she was. Did she even make it to the operation room?

"Twenty stitches in a hospital room"

After the all-clear from the doctor, Derek and Spencer walked together to the waiting room, too scared to speak. As if talking about everythig that happened, that maybe she didn’t make it, somehow made it less real. Inside the waiting room, where the rest of the team sat, a heavy silence hung in the air. Tears filled everyone’s eyes—even Hotch. He wouldn’t admit it, but he had a soft spot for her. They all felt guilt, fear, and anger. As the "baby" of the team, they felt a responsibility toward her. And they failed. They weren’t there when she needed them.

Spencer, overwhelmed by the silence, dropped to his knees, screaming and crying, "WHY? Why her? Why not me?"

JJ rushed to Spencer, shaking him when he wouldn’t react at first. "Spence, she's in surgery. She made it to the hospital." It took a moment before Spencer processed the words. She made it. She wasn’t dead. Not yet. Despite the news, his crying didn’t stop. Yet, she wasn't dead yet. They still didn’t know if she was going to make it out of surgery. JJ slowly pulled him up and tot he chairs

After an hour a nurse walked in, and Spencer straightened up, bracing himself for the worst. JJ shot up from her chair, blurting out, "Is she okay?"

"She’s still in surgery, so I can’t say anything for sure. But she seems strong. She’s a fighter," the nurse replied. Spencer wondered how many times she had to say those words today. How many didn’t pull through.

"I will update you as soon as I have more information," the nurse said, her gaze sweeping over the team.

The news that she was still fighting helped ease the anxiety for most of them. A wave of relief swept through, but the waiting room still felt suffocating. No matter what the nurse had said, Spencer couldn’t breathe easy until he saw her again.

After four and a half grueling hours, they finally got the news Spencer had hoped—and prayed for, to every god, even if he didn’t believe in them. For her he would start.

“She survived the surgery. It was touch-and-go for a while. We were able to repair most of the damage. She’s stable now and currently in the ICU. She’ll be unconscious for at least a few hours. I can take you to see her if you’d like,” the nurse said, her voice warm.

The team all looked at Spencer, silently encouraging him to go first. "Yes. Please," Spencer said quickly.

The nurse led Spencer to her room. They stopped just before the door, and the nurse sighed. "She doesn’t look like herself right now. She’s pale, and there are a lot of tubes and cables connected to her. It can be overwhelming. It’s okay to freak out a bit. But not when she wakes up. She’ll need all the support she can get right now."

Spencer nodded, understanding what she said, but still afraid to speak. He didn’t know what he’d say to her, or how to say it, but he knew one thing: he wasn’t leaving her side.

As the nurse walked away, Spencer remained rooted to his spot. He should have been happy, overjoyed. She was here. She was alive. Yet, something held him back. Guilt. If only he had noticed her absence sooner—if he had been more vigilant, would she be in this state? He knew better. He should have known better. Splitting up had never let to a good situation. His own experience with it had almost destroyed him. How could he have been so reckless?

While drowning in guilt, Spencer remembered the nurse’s words: “She needs all the support she can get right now.” With a deep sigh, he gathered all his courage, pushing the guilt aside. He couldn’t let it consume him. He needed to be there for her. Taking a final breath, gathering all his courage and pushing the guilt aside, he opened the door.

She lay there, peaceful despite the bruises and cuts on her face. Her chest rose and fell steadily, a reminder that she was alive. The sight of her, breathing—alive—almost brought Spencer to his knees. He fell heavily into the plastic chair beside her bed, his gaze fixed on her face. Despite the injuries, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

The only signs of life were the quiet breaths she took and the steady beep of the heart monitor. But for now, that was enough.

Spencer sat by her side for what felt like hours, holding her hand, hoping he’ll get the chance to look in her eyes again and tell her how he feels. He gently lifted her limp hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the cold skin. As his eyes closed, the first tear slid down his cheek, a silent symbol of the fear, relief, and love that had been building up inside him.

_________________________________

The sterile smell of antiseptic stung her nostrils as consciousness slowly returned. Her eyelids fluttered open, momentarily blinded by the bright overhead light. After a few moments, her vision adjusted to the stark whiteness of the hospital room ceiling. A soft, repetitive beep filled the room—a rhythmic pulse that was both comforting and eerily unfamiliar.

She glanced around, trying to piece together where she was and why. She felt a weight in her hand and looked down, noticing a much larger hand engulfing hers. Following the arm, she saw a familiar mop of brown curls hanging in front of his face. Spencer. He was here. He was safe.

She tried to say his name, but no words came out. Her throat was raw from the intubation during surgery. Desperation filled her, and tears welled in her eyes.

The soft sound of her crying stirred Spencer. He jolted upright, his head snapping toward her. His breath caught in his throat as their eyes finally met.

“Hey, hey, are you in pain?” Spencer asked softly, concern flooding his voice as he noticed her squeezing her eyes shut, trying to stop the tears.

She tried to say his name again, but all that came out was a harsh cough. Spencer quickly grabbed the plastic cup of water left on her bedside table and helped her take a few sips. After a couple of attempts, he tipped the cup back and placed it gently on the table. She gave him a small, grateful smile.

She tried to sit up, but her body protested—pain and nausea hit her like a wave, forcing her to collapse back onto the hospital bed.

"Spencer?" she rasped, her eyes locked on his hand. She lifted her good arm and motioned for him to come closer. His palm met hers with a gentle but firm grip.

“I’m here, you’re safe now,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses to her fingers. If she weren’t hooked up to all these tubes and in so much pain, he would have pulled her into a tight hug. And he would never let her go, not ever again.

She studied Spencer closely, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in his appearance. His hair was unkempt, greasy, as if he had raked his hand thru it a thousand times. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin dull and irritated. He looked exhausted.

"When you started crying, baby I did too."

“How long have I been here?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Five hours and twenty-nine minutes,” Spencer replied, his voice soft but steady.

“What happened?” she asked, her eyes now filled with fear. Spencer closed his eyes, like the memory pained him, and hung his head before answering. "Are we in the clear yet?"

“It should have been me,” he mumbled at the end, the words heavy with guilt.

“No,” she said firmly, the first word she had spoken with strength. She grabbed his other hand, ignoring the pain in her side. “Please. Don’t think that. It wasn’t your fault.”

After a long pause, he sighed deeply. “You don’t have to worry about me right now. We need all your energy focused on your recovery,” he added with a small, reassuring smile.

Spencer paused for a moment before continuing, his voice a little quieter. “The team is in the waiting room. Do you want to see them?”

She hadn’t even thought about the team, and a fresh wave of guilt hit her, knowing how scared they must have been. “Please. Can you call them to come? I don’t want you to leave,” she said in a small voice. Spencer felt his heart constrict at her words. She sounded so vulnerable, so scared.

“Of course I can,” he said softly.

It took less than a minute after the call for the team to arrive. A hesitant knock on the door preceded their entrance. They slowly began to fill the tiny hospital room. JJ, Penelope, and Emily, who had taken her under their wing and treated her like a little sister, immediately moved to her bedside. They gently held her hand and kissed her forehead.

“We’re so happy you’re okay,” Penelope whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she placed a small bouquet on her bedside table—her favorite flowers, of course. The women had remembered.

She had only known Hotch as a stoic man, never one to show emotion, not even in the most high-stakes situations. But here he was, his eyes red-rimmed and a small smile on his lips. He looked her over carefully before speaking, his voice softer than usual.

“We were all worried. Take as much time as you need to heal. We can always talk about working from home down the line. But it’s really good to see you pulled through.” He gave her a hand a squeeze and stepped back.

“You gave us a big scare. You can never do that again, understood?” Rossi added, trying to make light of the situation, but the pain in his voice was unmistakable.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes lowering. She never wanted to cause the team this kind of worry.

They all shook their heads quickly, each of them voicing the same sentiment. “It’s not your fault. You did everything you were supposed to,” Derek reassured her. The silence that followed was confirmation that everyone on the team agreed. After a few more heartfelt “get well soon!”s, the team left, leaving her and Spencer alone again.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, but after a while, she broke it, her voice soft and hesitant.

“When I thought I was going to die... I was thinking that the unsub’s face was the last thing I’d ever see. I prayed that it was yours, the last face I’d see.” Her breath hitched as she thought back to the moment. “Hearing you call my name felt like mercy. Having you as my last thought made me less scared to accept that I was going to die, I think.”

Spencer didn’t know how to respond to that. He didn’t have words. All he could do was hold her hand tighter and squeeze.

“I don’t know what I would do with myself if you didn’t make it. I was so scared I was going to lose you,” he confessed, tears streaming down his face. He wiped them away with the sleeve of his jacket. With his free hand, he gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

She smiled faintly, her lips curving softly despite the exhaustion in her eyes. “I’m glad you’re here.”

His throat tightened, and he squeezed her hand even more gently. “Of course I’m here. I’ll always be here.” The words felt too simple for everything his heart had been carrying, but they were the truth. No matter what happened, he would never leave her. Never again.

"Oh, your necklace hanging from my neck, the night we couldn't quite forget" The necklace Spencer gifted her for her birthday. With a small stone, her birthstone. He remembered how happy she was when she opened the jewerly box. The sight of her wearing the necklace solidified his thoughts

Spencer’s eyes searched her face, as if trying to say something that had been stuck on the tip of his tongue for far too long.

"I need to tell you something."

"But when the sun came up I was looking at you"

Her pulse quickened, a flicker of worry passing through her. "What is it Spencer? You’re scaring me."

Her hand tightened around his, and she shifted slightly in the bed, though the effort seemed to drain her. She swallowed, clearly gathering her strength.

"I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and I was so scared that I’d never get the chance to say it." His eyes met hers—sincere, vulnerable. "I love you, Angel. I always have. And I’ve never said it because I was scared. Scared I’d lose you, scared I wouldn’t be enough... but now, after this, I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it."

"Remember when we couldn't take the heat?"

She felt a tear slip down her cheek, her heart both breaking and mending all at once. The words she’d been holding back for so long now came pouring out, raw and honest.

"I love you too, Spencer. I always have. I just... I didn’t want to say it either. I didn’t want to risk losing you."

He leaned down, pressing a small, careful kiss to her lips, mindful of her wounds and the tubes connected to her. It was the first of many.

"Looking at it now. It all seems so simple."

#Spotify #taylor swift #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid angst #out of the woods #1989 taylor's version #spence reid angst

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moonstruckme · 11 months ago

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hi mae!! how are you?

i recently burned my thigh with my iron curler and it formed a big scar. it started slowly bubbling up and i accidentally popped it like 2 days ago so now i have fresh skin open 🥲 it’s extra sensitive and i have to patch it up. and when i let the wound breath it HURTS 😭

i was wondering if you could write about this with emt!marauders? or maybe just james? idk lol whatever you feel like writing it about.

AND IF YOUVE WRITTEN ABOUT THIS ALREADY, MY BAD 😃😭

Hi lovely, I'm good! I'm really sorry this happened, it sounds awful!! Hope it's feeling a bit better by now <3

cw: severe burn (no details)

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 786 words

“I don’t think we should do this.”

“I mean,” says James, sitting patiently opposite you on the bed, “I don’t love it either.”

“Then let’s not,” you bargain.

He gives you a sorry smile. “What do you think we should do instead, angel?”

You take a deep breath. “Leave it,” you say on the exhale. “It’ll heal eventually. Or it won’t, and the bandage will become my new skin. I could be fine with that.”

“I’m somewhat attached to your real skin.”

“We all have to make sacrifices, James.”

Your boyfriend gives you an amused look, but there’s worry beneath it. You feel guilty for putting him through this. It’s bad enough that he has to change your bandages for you because you’re too squeamish to do it yourself, but now you’re also making him convince you as if it were his idea.

You blow out a long breath, tilting your face up toward the ceiling. “I can’t see it.”

“You don’t have to,” he reassures you. “You can close your eyes, baby.”

“How bad is a little infection really?” you ask, but you’re already laying back, succumbing to the plushness of your pillow.

“I had a dog bite get infected once,” James says, pulling your leg into his lap. Strong, gentle fingers on the underside of your thigh. “I didn’t enjoy it.”

“You got bitten by a dog?” You turn your head to see him, but he shoots you a look and you sigh, covering your eyes with your hands. “When was that?”

“When I was little.” One of his hands stays cradling your leg, but you feel the fingers of the other probing carefully at the edges of your bandage. Apprehension climbs up your throat, mingling with the ache of affection that’s already there. You appreciate how delicate James is with you, peeling the bandage up gingerly by one corner instead of ripping it off like some might. “It wasn’t really the dog’s fault, it was just spooked and I didn’t know enough to stay away.”

You hiss as the bandage sticks to a tender bit of skin, and James coos an apology, stroking the unharmed skin beside it soothingly. Then the whole thing comes off, air hitting the wound and making you tense all over.

“What happened with the bite?” Your voice is somewhat strained.

James hesitates. “There was a lot of puss involved,” he says. “You won’t want to hear the details.”

“Mm, thanks.”

He chuckles. You can hear him twisting the cap off the antibiotic ointment. Your fingertips press harder into your brow bone.

“You alright?” he asks softly.

“Mhm. I’m ready.”

You still gasp through your teeth when the ointment makes contact with your skin, and James grips your leg more firmly to keep you from flinching away.

“Sorry,” he hisses, working fast as he can with gentle, caring fingers. “Sorry, baby.”

“Not your fault,” you squeak out, keeping your own fingers pressed tightly over your eyes. “Thank you for doing this.”

James doesn’t seem to want to accept your thanks, and you let the silence sit. When he’s done, you both sigh.

“Thanks,” you say again. For good measure. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Definitely not,” James agrees. “I’ve no idea what we’re going to do when I’m hurt someday and neither of us can look at it.”

You drop your hands from your eyes and sit up on your elbows, careful to look only at James and not down at your leg. It’s not hard. He’s a lovely sight, even with that sympathetic pinch to his mouth and worry tightening the muscles around his eyes. You reach for his hand, and his expression lightens. He wipes his fingertips off on his jeans before giving it to you.

“We’ll have to call Remus,” you say, squeezing his fingers.

A laugh startles out of him. “I thought you were going to say you’d put your squeamishness aside for me. Or that it wouldn’t be gross because you love me, or something.”

“I would if it were true,” you reply, “but I’m afraid I won’t be much help if I’m gagging over you the entire time. I’ll hold your hand while we both don’t look, though.”

“Mm, fair enough.” He scoots closer on the bed. His hand finds your opposite hip, rubbing a slow back-and-forth. “And you’ll distract me with kisses while I’m nursed back to health?”

“If it’ll help.” Your voice is soft. “Though I should point out that I haven’t received any kisses.”

Twin dimples appear on either side of James mouth as he leans over you, careful to avoid your hurt leg. “Patience, angel,” he murmurs as his lips brush yours. “I’m not done with you yet.”

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strangelyunfinshed · 10 months ago

Text

A quiet evening in, having drinks with your boyfriend and his roommate leads to a tempting proposal.

Part 1 of 2? WC: 1367 TW: kissing, voyeurism, alcohol

Sugar and smoke cling to your tongue as a frozen fire burns in the back of your throat. Warmth spreads inside you, sending a shiver to your skin. Lip gloss coats the rim of the tall shot glass when you place it on the scarred coffee table next to the bell-shaped bottle. Your tongue collects the remnants from your lips as you lean back, melting into the lean chest of your boyfriend behind you.

“I don’t know how you two drink that stuff,” Steve grimaces, rotating the crystal tumbler full of whiskey in his hand. His other arm is wrapped around your waist, his big hand splayed high on your thigh, toying with the edge of your skirt where you sit with one leg tucked beneath the other.

The dim light from the lamp casts a golden hue through the living room, accentuating the haze of the evening. Eddie, sprawled out on your other side, smirks as he watches you. His dark eyes glint with amusement and something else—something that has your stomach clenching.

“‘Cuz it tastes like candy,” you explain, leaning forward to run your thumb over the plump bottom lip of the chocolate-eyed boy, brushing off a gold flake only to have the wet tip of his tongue peek out and chase your finger.

Steve’s skeptical snort vibrates against your back.

“It’s not so bad,” Eddie murmurs, voice low and steady, as his unwavering gaze holds yours. Your inhale is sharper than usual, and his eyes flicker away, dropping to the floor before searching the room.

"Don't listen to him." Steve's lips are warm on your ear. "He never drank that shit before I started bringing you home." He places a kiss on your temple before trailing his lips lower, tilting your head to find the spot that has your toes curling into the carpet.

A moan so soft it’s barely above a whisper finds its way past your lips. Eddie's gaze snaps back to you. His eyes flare as he smooths his palm down his jean-covered thigh.

Heat rises from your neck to your cheeks, not entirely due to Steve or the liquor. You clear your throat with a shallow breath. “Well, I like having someone to take shots with me.” Leaning forward, you reach for the bottle, dislodging Steve’s lips as you fill the two glasses to the brim.

You nudge the other glass toward Eddie, looking up at him from under your lashes. The way his stare follows your movements has a shy smile tugging at your lips.

A huff comes from behind you. “Not that we mind you third-wheeling it, Munson, but it might be nice if you had a date every once in a while,” Steve says, downing the rest of his glass.

When you first met the roommates at a bar on campus, it was Eddie who was the shameless flirt. But after a few weeks, it hadn't amounted to anything. So when Steve asked you out, it was an easy yes. A few months later, and Eddie still hasn't brought anyone home. Steve has mentioned a time or two that he still isn't over the last girl who broke his heart.

Eddie scoffs, rolling his eyes as he reaches for the glass. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll work on that,” he mutters, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he takes the shot.

“I’m serious man…”

A sour taste fills your mouth and you down your shot hoping the cinnamon will overpower its bitterness.

“We were just talking about it the other day. It would be nice to see you with someone new. Instead of sitting around here shooting brooding looks at the plant.” Steve gestures at the potted fern you brought over a few weeks ago.

“I don’t brood.” Eddie places his glass back on the table with a little more force than necessary.

“Dude, you're like the poster child for 80’s rock ballads. Look, we just want to see you happy. Isn’t that right, angel?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, meeting his gaze, “I want you to be happy, Eddie.”

The look he gives you in return is heavier than you can hold. Your eyes lower to your hands twisting in your lap. “Isn’t there anyone you like?”

The air is trapped in your lungs while you wait for him to answer.

“No.” His reply is quiet but firm, making you swallow hard.

“Well, maybe it’s time to–” Steve makes a clicking sound with his tongue, “–Get back on the horse. Stop waiting on Miss Right and find Miss Right Now.”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s shoulders slump as his gaze drifts, “Maybe you’re right.”

“I know I am. We’ve all been there before. All you need is a little confidence boost,” Steve’s hand squeezes your thigh, “Maybe you can help him out, angel?”

Eddie’s mouth drops open as he sucks in a breath. Your head whips around, eyes impossibly wide as you stare at Steve.

“What?” Steve asks his face the picture of innocence. “Oh,” he says after a moment, the light in his eyes turning on. “I meant maybe you could introduce him to one of your friends.”

Your shoulders relax, but tension still simmers in your stomach. Eddie clears his head with a shake, a quiet chuckle escaping his throat as he reaches for the bottle.

“I mean unless you two were up for it,” Steve throws out, leaning closer.

Eddie freezes his knuckles turning white as he grips the bottle.

“Steve!!” You react the way a nice girl should but shock doesn't explain the heat pooling low in your belly or the dampness in your underwear.

“You told me you think he's‐”

You muffle Steve's next words by slapping your hand over his mouth, but he pries your fingers off and turns to Eddie, “She thinks you're hot.”

“I said cute,” you correct, but the clarification doesn’t stop Eddie’s lashes from lowering bashfully or the rose blooming on his cheeks.

“Same thing,” Steve grips your chin, turning your face towards him. “And anyone with eyes can see how beautiful you are. I’ll never forget how damn lucky I am to have you.”

His mouth is an irreverent caress of lips and tongue that has your heart swelling. Your thumb traces the twin freckles on his cheek, his hazel eyes lit up with warmth for you that he's never attempted to hide.

“So let me get this straight,” Eddie's gravelly voice cuts through the moment. “You, Steve Harrington, are offering for me to make out with your girlfriend?”

“You're my best friend, dude. I trust you. Besides,” His index and middle finger run along the bare skin of your arm, raising goosebumps in their wake. “I've always liked to watch.”

“You've never told me that,” you can't hide the surprise in your voice.

“You never asked,” he replies with a wink. He searches your face as his fingers continue their journey, lightly tracing your collarbone, down the swell of your breast, and over the hard outline of your nipple. “There are so many things I want to do with you. We haven't even scratched the surface.”

In the span of a breath, you’re clutching at the front of his shirt, your lips crashing together in a way that’s only happened behind closed doors. One hand tangles in your hair, heavy breaths and the wet sounds of your mouths fill your ears. His other hand seems to be everywhere, leaving little fires under your skin.

Eyelids heavy, you follow his hands as he turns your jaw toward Eddie. “Look at him, angel. He wants you. Don’t you, Eddie?”

Eddie’s dark eyes are almost black, his pupils blown wide, a flush heating his skin. “Yes,” he admits, loosening his grip on the couch to run a hand through his hair. “Fuck.” He looks away, then his gaze locks with yours. “I do. I want you.”

The flames in you rise, chasing the butterflies into taking flight. Your breath catches, lips parting.

“It’s your decision,” Steve’s lips are at your ear. “You say no and it all stops. It’s over. Forgotten. Just say the word and we’ll give you anything you want.”

Eddie sits with tension pulling his shoulders tight, the muscles in his neck cording. His lip is caught between his teeth, his expression unguarded, eyes a silent plea, hoping not to regret his confession.

The solitary word crystallizes on your tongue, the sweetness of your drink turning it sticky, making it impossible to pass your lips.

The static charge freezes the air. Steve's fingers tease under the edge of your shirt, drawing circles on your hip. His question is soft but insistent. “So, angel, what’s it going to be?”

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you want a second part. Torn's chapters are just so big, I wanted a break with something short and sweet.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson smut #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic

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