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souliebird · 4 months

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[[and then I met you || ch. 13]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Words: 5.7k

ao3 link

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

The base of your skull pounds as you try to keep focus on the things going on around you. It is almost impossible, as you just want to close your eyes and block out everything.

You had woken up with a stiffness in your neck and shoulders that had quickly spiraled into the beginnings of a migraine. You hadn't had one since you were pregnant and now that you had a toddler, spending the day in bed and hiding under covers was not an option.

The gods seem to have smiled down on you, though. It is Saturday, which means it is Daddy Daughter Date Day and Matt is more than happy to keep Minnie’s attention on him. You don't have to watch her like a hawk. You can just sit and wait until your ibuprofen kicks in.

If it ever does.

You know drinking water will probably help, so you shakily reach for your glass.

Beside you, your daughter is none the wiser to your distress. Last night, a new toy arrived in the mail, and she was insistent it must be brought to lunch so she could show her Daddy and play with him. It is a friendship bracelet making kit - the type that has beads of all different shapes and colors - and it is a hit. Minnie and Matt have been making each other bracelets as you wait for your food.

“Can you please find me another ‘O’?” the nearly perfect man across from you asks your sweet toddler. “Like in ‘Octopus’.”

“‘O’ for octopus!” Mouse quickly confirms. She sets down her string of multi-color shapes and pulls the little box of beads closer to her. She picks up the discs that have letters on them, proudly showing off her ability to identify them by stating what each letter is until she finds the one, she's looking for. Once it is found, it is carefully passed across the table. “‘O’ for octopus!”

You have not been paying attention to the letters Matt has been collecting and thus have no clue what he intends to spell, but you're guessing it won't matter much to your daughter. She's going to be thrilled either way. You have a hunch that the feeling is mutual with Matt - whatever Minnie gives him, he'll proudly wear. Right now, the bracelet in her hands is a mixture of pink hearts with purple and yellow plain beads. There isn't a method to the madness beyond that.

Your table falls back into silence. Mouse is enthralled with her task of threading and Matt is equally quiet. You think he is aware of your headache, as he's been soft spoken since you met up and hasn't been trying to make your little one laugh and squeal with glee. You're incredibly thankful for that.

You resist the urge to close your eyes and instead find a scratch on the table's surface to stare blankly at and wait for time to pass. Hands pass through your field of vision to collect different beads and you hear farther-daughter talking, but you don't process any of it. All you know is the pain creeping around your skull. You are aware of how your eyes sit in your head and it is a very weird, unsettling feeling that helps nothing.

You pray this outing has enough stimulation for Minnie, so that when you go home, she'll go down for a nap easily and you can join her.

You don't know how long you sit there, spacing out while the world moves on without you, but eventually Linda drops your plates in front of you. You fall into autopilot, saying, “Thank you, Miss Linda” in chorus with Matt and Minnie. After a quick cooing over how sweet your little family is, the waitress leaves you be, and you turn your focus to your daughter's plate.

It's chicken strips and french fries today and you know she needs her ketchup and mustard. Before you can start to reach for the bottles at the end of the table, Matt is already taking them and addressing Mouse, “You like it with more mustard than ketchup, right?”

“More mustard!” She happily replies as she lays her napkin across her lap.

You watch with slightly parted lips as he starts squeezing the condiments onto her plate. You aren't used to anyone taking over this responsibility and you don't know how to react - it is nice to have the help and to see he's learned so much about Minnie's habits, but your mind can't help but chastise you for letting him do this menial task. You know he's her father, but it feels like something you should be doing.

Of course, you are the only one having conflicting feelings. They are having a good time - Matt makes two piles of sauces and Minnie instantly starts swirling them together with her food, a big grin on her face. You try to offer a smile back, but you don't know how sincere it is. Your head hurts so much, and your anxiety is spiking.

You are shaken from your daze when Matt says your name. You look up to see his head tilted just slightly, the slightest frown on his face. Guilt courses through you.

“You sure you don't want any coffee? The caffeine should help with,” he motions to his head, and it just confirms for you that he is always hyper aware of everything, and that Minnie must be too.

You need to get your act together. You can't just zone out because you don't feel well - you're a parent and you are out in public. You can't just dump all your responsibilities onto Matt because he is here now.

You shake your head, even if it makes you dizzy, “No, I'll be okay.”

The truth is the idea of coffee makes your stomach turn. You don't want anything that tastes too strongly, which is why you have opted for a Cobb salad for lunch.

The man across from you gives you a doubtful look. To keep him from worrying over you, you stab a piece of tomato and eat it. It tastes like nothing and that is fine for you. This earns a frown, but the gods smile on you again and your daughter causes a distraction by starting to play with her food.

Mouse picks up a chicken strip and begins to make it hop around the plate before dunking it into her now orange mixture. “Oh no, you're all messy now,” she says to herself, “I gotta clean you.” She then proceeds to lick the sauce away with exaggerated sounds. Matt makes a face of pure disgust.

“Sweetie, what are you doing?”

“I'm a kitty!” is her proud response before repeating the process.

You know this game well but it's the first time he has experienced it. He knows you allow her to play with her food as long as she's not messy and actually eats it, but you can tell he wants to ask her not to. You are open to him making suggestions and asking Minnie to do things, and he knows that, and you wonder what direction he will take. You can see the wheels turning in his head.

“I thought you were a mouse,” is what he goes with.

That stops Minnie dead in her tracks. She considers this statement, a pout forming, before bringing her chicken strip to her mouth and beginning to nibble at it - like a mouse with a piece of cheese.

The rest of the meal is subdued. You manage to eat a third of your salad through sheer force of will - having an empty stomach will only make things worse - and Mouse only needs her face wiped a handful of times. It feels like the minutes crawl by before Linda is back at your table to take away plates and hand over the check.

Packing up is quick and easy. There are no loose beads on the table, so you just need to snap the case shut and store it into your bag, along with anything else that was brought out for Minnie’s needs. As you do this, Matt finishes off both bracelets by tying the ends together and once he is done, you stop what you're doing to watch the exchange.

He returns the bracelet Minnie made for him to her and she hugs it to her chest.

“Daddy, yous gotta put out your hand. I have something for you,” she says like it is any sort of surprise.

But of course, Matt plays along. He does as he is told, holding out the hand not holding the bracelet he made, “You got something for me?”

Very delicately, like it's going to break, Mouse places the bracelet into his palm. Only when she is fully sitting in her seat again does he begin to run his thumb over the beads, feeling what she made for him. His lips twitch up into a smile before he starts to bite his lip. You've learned this means he's trying to not get overly emotional, and you completely understand.

Having Minnie’s love is the only thing keeping you going some days and you've cried multiple times when she's given you something she's made for you.

“I love it,” he whispers, his voice breaking a tiny bit. “Thank you so much, sweetheart.”

You and Minnie watch as he slips the bracelet on, and it settles next to his watch. The bright colors stand out against his muted palette, but you doubt he cares about that. Your daughter absolutely beams when he holds up his wrist to show off his new piece of jewelry.

“You're welcome, Daddy! Do you have a present for me?” Mouse asks, jutting her hands out, palms up.

You can't help but huff in amusement, even if your headache is making you feel cold and detached. You know she isn't being greedy or rude, she's simply an eager toddler. You can't fault her for that.

Oh, so carefully, Matt sets the bracelet into her waiting hands and once you finally realize what he wrote out on it, your heart clenches at the sweetness. The bracelet is mostly made up of lettered beads, with the words separated by different colored hearts. Minnie quickly brings it right up to her face to inspect it and instantly starts trying to figure out the mystery in front of her.

“D-A-D-D-Y,” she spells out loud, “L-O-V-E-S. Y.O.U.” Her little brow wrinkles up at the words and you wait to see if she needs help figuring them out. They aren't unknown to her, but it's usually a flip of a coin if she can connect the dots. The only word you are confident she recognizes is her name.

She spells it again, then tries her best to sound it out, “Duh..Ahh duh duh…why. Duh-ah-du- Daddy! It says Daddy!”

You rub her back, silently trying to communicate how proud of her you are, “That's right, it says Daddy. Do you know the other words?”

While she considers her answer, you look at Matt.

He hasn't shaved in a few days. It emphasizes his good looks, and you can see the hints of red - and grey - in his grown-out scruff. His charming and sweet appearance is only enhanced by his heart - you didn't know someone could be so full of love. He radiates it when he's around Minnie and it's like he can't help but pour all of his affection into her and he can't believe how much of it is returned.

You wonder if you were put on Earth to give him Minnie - and you wouldn't mind if you were. It would give you some sort of purpose.

“Mommy,” your precious angel says, thrusting the bracelet into your face, “you read it.”

You feel your face heat up - and throb - at the way Matt turns to you. Your insides pang and you can't help but feel like you're ruining this moment for him. You clear your throat, and tell Minnie, “It says ‘Daddy loves you.’”

Her eyes go wide, and she gasps like it is breaking news, “Daddy loves me?”

“Daddy loves you,” Matt instantly confirms, “always and forever. And you'll have this to remind you.”

The sentiment stirs so much in you, and you let your headache push it all away and instead of getting emotional, you help Mouse put on her new bracelet. She rips her arm away from you as soon as she can to mimic her Daddy and holds up her wrist to show off her bracelet.

“I love Daddy, too!”

The little anxiety and self-doubt demon stirs in your chest. You love to see them bond, but you can't help but yearn for your daughter to shout she loves you, too, and you want your own bracelet. You know, you know, you are going to be overflowing with bracelets soon enough, but these ones are special. They have meaning and memories and -

And you remind yourself you can't do this in public, especially not around Minnie. You can't ruin their good time - if you haven't already.

Instead, you gently pat her back and ask, “What do you say to Daddy for the gift?”

“Thank you, Daddy!”

“You're very welcome, Mouse.”

Your daughter looks at her new piece of jewelry in amazement, turning her wrist so she can see all angles. With her distracted, you move to finish packing up by going to get the stroller, and by the time you have it popped open and your bag secured in the under pocket, Matt and Minnie are joining you by the doorway. Your little one needs no help buckling herself in and you can tell how happy she is by the way she kicks her feet.

As you get in position to start pushing the stroller, Matt steps to stand beside you so you can guide him as you walk. He waits until you leave the diner to address you.

“We don't need to go to the park,” he says in a soft voice.

You are shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence, “It’s fine, Matt. It's just a headache.” It isn't just a headache - your medicine hasn't kicked in and your head is just pulsing, but you will survive.

He very gently squeezes your elbow, saying your name, “you know I can tell that isn't true. You should be -”

“FROGGY!”

Minnie’s excited scream drowns out whatever he was going to push for.

On the corner ahead of you, waiting at the crosswalk are Foggy and Karen. They look like they are on a shopping trip - both carrying bags from different boutiques. They turn in unison towards you and Foggy breaks into the biggest smile once he spies your little group.

“Well, if it isn't my favorite little buddy! And her charming and beautiful parents. Wait,” he looks to Karen and gasps, eyes getting comically big, “is this the famous Saturday brunch?” He whirls around dramatically and points to Matt, like he is accusing him, “You're going to the park.”

“We're going to the park,” he confirms, his own grin starting to form at the antics and at the same time, Minnie exclaims, “we're gonna watch the duckies!”

“They are going to watch the duckies, Karen. Do you know what that does to my heart?” Foggy asks as he puts his hand on his chest. Karen shakes her head fondly and completely ignores him to address you.

“We've heard so many stories about the ducks. He gloats every Monday.”

Matt actually pouts at the statement, and you are reminded of a chastised puppy, “I don't gloat.”

“You gloat,” his friends say at the same time.

Minnie, of course, picks up quickly on the new word and kicks her feet as she giggles, “Daddy goats!”

A thought barely crosses your mind before the words are leaving your lips, “You should come with us.”

You can practically feel Matt's initial disapproval of the offer - not from selfishness but from you refusing to acknowledge your headache - but with how both Minnie and Foggy light up, you don't think he'll voice it. And you are right - he gives your arm a light squeeze as he agrees without any disdain, “The more the merrier.”

“I don't think this is an offer we can refuse,” Karen says, nudging Foggy with her elbow. “How can we say no to that face?”

You can't see Minnie’s face from behind her stroller, but you can picture her pleading little face. She has all of you wrapped around her little finger and you suspect she might start crying if they say no.

“To the park we go!” Foggy declares, “and with perfect timing because the light just turned green.”

You let yourself tune out as you start to walk again. Foggy is animatedly telling Matt and Minnie about his quest to find his girlfriend the perfect birthday gift. Apparently, her preferred brand of hand lotion has been discontinued and nothing else is good enough. It is sweet to hear him being so concerned about her needs and wants. He's the type of partner you used to dream about - before you realized that would never be in the cards for you - someone who listens to what you say and doesn't treat you like a glorified maid.

You only had two ‘serious’ relationships in your twenties and both had left you feeling worthless and unloved. You spent most of your time commuting to them and taking care of their needs only to be tossed aside when someone worth their time came along.

You were the type to stay at home and do the laundry, raise the children - be out of sight and out of mind. You didn't get taken out on fancy dates. No one tried to woo you.

No one went out of their way to buy you a gift.

In fact, you don't remember the last time you even celebrated your birthday. Some of your coworkers sent you Happy Birthday emails last year - only because the first one is sent out company wide and you are pretty sure it's automated.

You are fine with it, though. It's not like you celebrated such things as a kid, so you have nothing to miss. You are happy Foggy has someone he so clearly adores, and you hope, when Minnie grows up, she'll find someone like him.

Soon enough, you're at the park and making your way to your designated spot. Despite it being a warm and sunny day, things are relatively empty, and you are thankful there are no older children shouting or causing a ruckus. You just want to sit down.

You can hear Minnie unbuckling herself before you roll to a stop and there is a whirl of motion as you park. She's on the grass before you know it, scurrying like her namesake to get the picnic blanket out of its pocket and spread out. As you wait for her to finish setting up and Karen admires what a nice area you’ve picked, you realize Matt not only still has his hand on your bicep, but his thumb has been gently rubbing in a small circle.

Your heart stutters in your chest and you don't know why he's doing such a thing and now that you're aware of it, it's all you can focus on. Your entire body feels like it is on fire - from his touch, from the situation, from your headache - and you fear making a complete idiot of yourself. Foggy and Karen are here, and you don't want to embarrass Matt.

“Mommy, I need my sunnies!” Your perfect little distraction says from the other side of the stroller and it's the excuse you need to pull away from Matt. You kneel and rummage in your bag until you find the pink Barbie glasses and hand them over to your daughter, then take the time to pull yours out as well.

By the time you get them on and lock the stroller, everyone else is on the blanket. You situate yourself beside Minnie and tell yourself you need to pay attention as she enthusiastically begins to point out ducks to Foggy and Karen.

“That's Moose, he's mean!” She describes to her new friends, while grabbing Matt's hand so she can turn him in the right direction. You aren't sure if he really needs it - you haven't sat down and spoken about his needs since the revelation about his and Minnie’s senses. You make note to do that.

You listen to the back and forth about your daughter's favorite duck characters and story lines, trying to desperately be in the moment. The warm sun feels good on your skin, and you yearn to just flop over and close your eyes. The tension and pain seem to only be increasing. This may turn into a full-blown migraine.

As you start to mentally debate taking more ibuprofen, Minnie cuts herself off from describing how Moose is a food thief and whips her head towards the street, eyes going big. It very much reminds you of a dog that has caught the scent of a prey animal.

Foggy snorts with laughter at your daughter's expression, “Oh my God, she's just like Matt. What do you hear, girl? Is Timmy in a well?”

That has you wondering how often Matt gets his attention drawn away by something only he can sense and how many times Foggy has made that joke to him.

You don't get a chance to ask, because Mouse is turning her big begging eyes on you now, “Mommy, it's the ice cream man! Can we get ice cream? Please, please, please, please?” She is practically vibrating with desire, and you are not going to deny her anything.

“You can get a small ice cream,” you tell her, like it's a compromise. “You don't want your tummy to hurt later.”

She lets out a shriek of joy and scrambles up. To everyone's amusement, she starts digging through your bag for your wallet, and once she finds it, runs it back to you, held over her head like it's a prize. She practically crashes into you, the biggest smile on her face, and you do a scoop and turn maneuver to sit her in your lap.

“Would you like any ice cream?” you ask the three friends sitting with you, not wanting anyone to feel excluded.

Foggy pushes himself up into standing before you finish getting the words out of your mouth, “Of course we want ice cream, what kind of question is that? Do I look like I say no to ice cream?”

“Oh, a cone does sound really good,” Karen muses beside you.

“Then ice cream it is,” Matt declares, getting up as well. “My treat,” he adds much to your dismay. You don't get to protest, as he barrels on, holding his free hand out to Minnie, “Want to lead the way, sweetheart?”

Your daughter practically leaps up to grab onto her Daddy, demanding, “Carry me!”

“Minnie!” You quickly chastise, shame running through you. She knows better than to jump and climb on people, but you are beginning to fear Matt may become her new jungle gym. No one else shares this worry, least of all Matt, who simply gives into his daughter's will and swings her up onto his hip with a laugh. She clings to his neck and shoulder, and because she is sweet as pie, plants a big kiss on his cheek.

Everything happens so fast that you are still sitting on the blanket with Karen, and you don't even think of standing before Foggy is looking down at you and Karen, “What flavor do you want?”

“I'm feeling chocolate,” the strawberry blonde hums, tapping her index finger on her chin.

The shame and anxiety demon is growing in your throat at the implication you and Karen will stay while the men and your daughter fetch dessert. You want to say that you can pay and that you can go get it - that they should spend the time relaxing - but the darkness in your mind screams that if you say anything other than ‘vanilla’, you're going to ruin everything. Minnie's fun will stop, and Matt's friends are going to judge you, and thus him, and you can't do that.

So, you croak out your preference and hope Matt's super senses are too focused on his daughter to notice you are two steps away from a breakdown.

“One chocolate, one vanilla, coming right up,” Foggy says so cheerfully and you wonder if he is always like this, or if it is an act for Minnie. You honestly can't tell, especially when he turns his attention to your little one, “Okay, Lassie, where's the ice cream truck?”

Matt and Karen laugh at the reference, and you force a smile because it is a cute joke. Minnie points over her Daddy's shoulder towards the road and directs, “That way!”

Matt, managing to keep a straight face, purposely turns to face the river and takes a step towards it, “this way?”

“No, Daddy! Other way!”

“Ah,” he pivots to his left, so he is facing the bushes that border the edge of the park, “This way.”

Mouse dissolves into giggles, hiding her face against his neck and Matt gets the sweetest, dopiest smile on his face - like this is the best moment of his life. It makes your heart sing to see them play and tease and you wish so desperately you weren't in agony so you could actually enjoy it.

Your daughter must say something to Matt, as he lets out a loud barking laugh before kissing the top of her head, “Okay, okay, we won't miss the ice cream. Fog, would you be so kind?” He motions to the sidewalk with the hand holding his cane and there must be an understanding, as the blonde man holds out his arm for Matt to take. The cane is expertly folded up and the two men and your daughter start walking towards the road. It doesn't take more than a few steps for all of them to start laughing again.

You and Karen watch as they disappear down the sidewalk. The woman beside you is smiling softly, clearly enjoying the show that is Matt with Minnie. You hope you are smiling as well and not looking like some sort of summer Grinch.

“You know,” Karen says a few moments after they turn around a corner and go out of sight, “I don't remember the last time I saw him smile so much.”

You turn your attention to her, ducking your head just slightly, “she adores him.”

“And he adores her,” she quickly confirms. “And you.” You doubt that but know better than to try to argue. It doesn't matter, anyways, because she doesn't give you room to, continuing on, “He's been through a lot - not just his childhood but recently, too. I was really scared for him. We thought…we thought we lost him.” Your heart clenches tightly at the conversation. Karen switches from a soft smile to biting her lips and looking like she might start crying at the memories she's bringing up inside herself. “He's a good man but, truth be told, he's an idiot sometimes. He thought he was alone. That he had to be alone.”

You are lucky you are wearing your glasses because you can't bring yourself to look at Karen. It hurts to hear her talk about Matt in that way. You haven't had this sort of conversation with him - everything has been so surface level or about Minnie. You clear your throat and ask, “What about you and Foggy? You all seem very close.”

Karen laughs a little sadly, then tucks some hair behind her ear, “He and Foggy weren't talking. It was all…complicated. But it's better now. We're all good. Or we are working in it.” She takes a breath, and you see her look up, and you think she's smiling at you, “The point is he's…I don't worry anymore. You came into his life, and it is like you knocked some sense into him. He was never good at taking care of himself and now, he puts in the effort. He doesn't want to disappoint you. He wants to be a good dad.”

Her words confuse you - Matt seems very put together - he's a lawyer with amazing accomplishments under his belt. She must be talking about his personal life and fear trickles into your system. Was he an alcoholic or a drug user? As long as it was all behind him, you can't judge him for it. You know people have spotty pasts and even good people have rough times - and that doesn't make them any less of a good person. You'd be a hypocrite if you did think less of him because you've had your own share of troubles.

You want Karen to know that. You start to pick at the hem of your jeans, so you have something to do with your hands while your mind free-fall. “He's a good dad,” you start slowly. “He's amazing with Minnie. He's so attentive and understanding and I love watching them play. I'm still getting used to the whole…” you lower your voice, just in case, “super-senses thing, but he's been helpful in explaining things. I’m just glad he wants to be in her life.”

“Are hers as good as his?” She asks and you can feel her leaning towards you. You don't know the answer to that, as Matt hasn't exactly explained in detail what he is able to do, but you do know Minnie has abilities you didn't know were possible.

You shrug in response, “I'm not sure, but…I don't hear or see an ice cream truck, so.”

She laughs at that, then you fall back into a silence. You can tell she wants to ask more, but you aren't sure why she hesitates. You are grateful for it, though, and behind your glasses, you close your eyes. The back of your skull is throbbing and part of it has curled around to your left ear. You resist the urge to try to massage it away and instead try to stretch, letting your chin touch your collar bone. You focus on breathing through your nose, hoping it will magically make things more tolerable.

Your mind feels like sludge, and you start wondering how long it will take until Minnie is worn out. You usually end up spending about an hour and a half at the park, enjoying the sun and ducks, and you've only just gotten here. You have no idea if it will go quicker or slower with more people for Mouse to interact with. Usually, she stays in your lap, hiding away from people, but she very obliviously loves Foggy. You think it is because he's good with children - Matt told you he has a big extended family. She had opened up to him very quickly once she realized he is Matt's best friend. Best friend is an important word to a toddler, apparently.

“It isn't just Minnie,” Karen says suddenly, bringing you back to reality. You frown at her, not understanding what she's talking about. Had you missed part of the conversation?

“It isn't just Minnie,�� she repeats, “it's you, too.”

You feel like a lost lamb. Your brain hasn't caught up with what is going on and all you can do is gawk at the woman beside you.

“Me…?” You question and she nods.

“You make him happy, too.”

You don't understand why she's telling you that or what it has to do with anything. You get you've made Matt happy by bringing Minnie into his life. The only response you can think to give is a simple, “I'm glad.”

You can feel Karen examining you, but you refuse to meet her gaze. You don't think that was the right thing to say, but it is all you have. You are glad bringing Minnie into Matt's life has made him happy and seemingly changed things for the better for him. You want him to have a good life.

In the corner of your eye, you see Karen reach out and you brace yourself as she puts her hand on your shoulder. She says your name, then gently questions, “Are you doing alright? You look pale.”

You force yourself to smile and give a dismissive shake of your head, “Just a little headache. I took some ibuprofen; it just hasn't kicked in yet.”

She quickly drops her hand, humming in sympathy, “I get that. I have some Motrin in my purse, if you need something stronger.”

“Oh, no, I'll be okay,” you promise.

You'll have to be okay. Minnie and Matt will be back from getting ice cream any minute and you will need to go into Mom-mode to make sure your daughter doesn't make an absolute mess of herself. Then, you'll need to keep an eye on her while you remain at the park for however long, because you will never forgive yourself if you give any indication to Matt's friends that you're not a suitable parent.

You just need to take a deep breath and make sure you don't space out again.

You'll be fine.

After all, it is just a headache.

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#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #and then i met you

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 4 months

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(I'm sorry it took me so long, I realized I wanted to participate in Kinktober after my ask box filled up with requests, then life got crazy, I moved, started a new job, got a baby (cat)..) CW: Gang bang, GN!Reader, multiple penetration, licking, both male and female partners, abduction, monster fuckers, non-con, forced oral, non human genitalia, urination

It's been two months since (Reader) fell.

They wondered if anyone had noticed they were missing.

Had their boss called the police? Maybe the apartment manager when (Reader) failed to pay their rent?

It didn't matter.

No one would ever find them.

There was a trail leading through a large patch of woods behind (Reader's) hometown that they often enjoyed hiking, but a couple of months ago (Reader) had made the mistake of traveling too far off from the trail. The young adult quickly became lost in the thicket, getting turned around as the sun went down. Then, they fell.

The hole seemed to go on forever, and they would have died, or at least broken something important, if a pile of soft bedding hadn't cushioned their landing.

"My, my, my.. what little snack has fallen into my chamber?"

(Reader) struggled in the mass of leaves and furs, frightened and disoriented from their sudden descent into the earth. But before they could sink deeper into the remains of animals unfortunate enough to have fallen before them, (Reader) was hoisted into the air by a strong hand clenching a fistful of their sweater. A giant creature larger than a suped up truck held (Reader) at eye level.

"Oh? What a cute little snack." The feminine voice echoed through (Reader's) skull. Whatever it was that now had (Reader) captive looked like a human woman that had a bug grow to a horrific size within her; soft pieces of human like flesh stretched out over a hard exoskeleton, tearing in multiple spots.

An exposed, human like skull molding into mandibles was presented as her face, with insect eyes lodged within it's sockets.

Because of the unrealistic, dreamlike scenario (Reader) found themselves in, they responded numbly, "Please don't eat me." It wasn't confidence that kept their voice from quaking, but shock.

Their request seemed to amuse the monstrous woman. She chuckled loudly, both within (Reader's) mind in a beautiful laugh and from her metal-like chest. The sound that reverberated from her body sounded like a knife being drug across a pipe. Her strong hand shifted, moving from (Reader's) sweater, holding them up like a kitten by their scruff, to cradling (Reader) against her bare chest. The chest was flat and without breast tissue, but it still felt effeminate to (Reader). Perhaps it was because of the soft curves above her hips, or the slender shape of her nape, but it made (Reader) feel almost embarrassed, exposed, in the nude woman's embrace.

The parts that resembled human flesh were cold like a corpse, chilled from the hard insides. Her skin was a dulled earthy color, and the longer (Reader) was pressed against it, the more the reality of their situation sank into their mind, transforming the numbness into paralyzing fear. And the monster holding (Reader) gently to her bosom smelled the change in their sweat, further entertaining her.

"Do I frighten you, little one?" Her hypnotizing voice that telepathically sang into (Reader's) head spoke in unison with the actual voice of screeching, ear piercing scraping of sharp plates.

(Reader) went rigid. This wasn't a dream. This was real. Their limbs involuntarily shook. How should the respond? What could they say in this situation?

"No." They lied. They didn't know how they found the strength to speak, but the lie tumbled out before they could clamp their mouth tight.

Another laugh rocked (Reader's) weak heart within their rib cage.

"How sweet.." An abnormally long, mostly armored finger stroked (Reader's) face. "You lie to the Queen.."

(Reader) was laid down upon what they assumed to be the Queen's bed, a more organized stack of furs and leaves. The Queen stood above (Reader), giving them a better view of her body. She had two sets of arms attached to a slender abdomen, with no belly button, her gently rounded stomach ended in a strange split at her pelvis( what (Reader) guessed to be her genitals), and from her hips were very large, inhumanly shaped thighs, without any skin texture, attached to rough and bumpy legs bent backwards and elongated, ending in insect like feet.

"Shall I eat you, little one?"

(Reader) began to tear up, feeling their bladder about to betray them. Their thighs quivered under the pressure of their fear.

"Or.. shall I keep you?" The Queen's upper hands traveled up over her chest, caressing herself, as her lower pair made circles on her lower stomach, inching closer to her exposed slit.

A horrified noise escaped (Reader's) nose as they felt warmth leak out, soiling their pants. The adult began silently sobbing, heaving as they failed at holding in both their crying and their urine. Before them, the Queen seemed to become excited, her antenna twitching as the air filled with (Reader's) scent, one only she could detect. Animalistic and hungry, she fell onto her hands and what appeared to be knees, crawling over (Reader) and tearing off their bottoms with unnatural strength.

(Reader's) body was revealed against their will, and they could no longer hold back their terrified screams. Their hollering didn't phase the woman as she felt their piss stained underwear. Her skeleton like fingers ripped open their wet fabric, purring as she investigated the human body, a reproductive body unlike her own. And it aroused her.

"You are an adult.. I can smell it.." Her mandibles opened, revealing a human like bottom jaw, with sharp, carnivorous teeth, and a long tongue dripping with saliva.

(Reader) couldn't fight back; their struggling didn't budge the Queen as she lowered her mouth onto (Reader's) wet lower half. Her long muscle explored (Reader's) warmth, before finding their ass. The skin on (Reader's) fists scraped and bled as they weakly beat the Queen's head, begging her to stop as her tongue entered their clenched hole.

"Stop!" Their screams fell on deaf ears as the organ seemed to elongate, pressing up even further into (Reader's) colon painfully. It pulsated as she tasted (Reader), breathing in deeply as she did so, relishing in their scent.

Her exposed septum rubbed against (Reader's) most sensitive place, exciting their nerves against their wishes. They fought against it, but their body began to feel pleasure despite (Reader's) emotional anguish. And the Queen could taste it.

The change in (Reader's) smell spurred on the creature, speeding up her movements as she fucked (Reader) with her tongue faster, enjoying the leaking fluids mixing with (Reader's) pee. Their stomach muscles tightened as their climax built.

......................................

(Reader) cried out a pathetic "No!" as they came into the Queen's mouth, writhing under her as their muscles spasmed.

But the Queen wasn't done with them yet..

Two months later, and (Reader) was glued to the Queen's side. Her new favorite mate, she never let (Reader) further than an arm's distance away from her, regardless of what she was doing. (Reader) had to be present for some of the most disturbing activities they had ever seen, including the Queen laying eggs. The Queen often told (Reader) that they were (Reader's) children as well, frightening (Reader) as well as confusing them. It was impossible, (Reader) thought, but they never saw the Queen mating with other monsters.

And there were other monsters.

Males and females, all significantly smaller than the Queen, hitting about (Reader's) height, who would occasionally enter the Queen's chambers to retrieve the eggs or bring food for the Queen and (Reader). Each creature was just as disgusting as their queen, with flesh stretched uncomfortably across ant like bodies. But it wasn't their anatomy that disgusted (Reader) the most: it was the way they stared at them. Monsters unable to blink, they never turned away from (Reader's) face whenever they entered the room. (Reader) didn't know what they were thinking, and wasn't sure if they wanted to know.

But they couldn't take it any more.

The Queen hardly slept, not needing to sleep as often as (Reader) did, only sleeping once since (Reader) fell, but when she did, she was out. Out hard enough where she was practically dead to the world.

And it seemed as though it was time for her to sleep again.

(Reader) stood by the drowsy Queen, naked. Their clothes were destroyed after their arrival, and the creatures had no need for clothing, so nothing was available to replace their hoodie and pants. It was a discomfort that (Reader) never got over.

"I shall see you soon, little one.." The Queen clicked softly as she curled up into the bedding.

'I'd rather die.' (Reader) bitterly thought, scrunching up their nose to prevent themselves from snarling like a caged animal. Although they did their best to keep their hatred off of their face, the Queen chuckled, seemingly taking joy in (Reader's) rage.

'You won't be laughing for long..'

They waited for what they hoped was an hour after the Queen passed out, trying to count the seconds down without the aide of a clock or ability to see the sky. Then, they took their chance.

On all fours, muscles sore from lack of use, body weak from nearly constant abuse, (Reader) crawled as silently as they could out of the den, unaware of the bemused twitch of the Queen's antenna.

They were silent, breathing such shallow breaths that (Reader) felt light headed.

But what they didn't account for was the stench.

(Reader's) tender sex and ass smelled of their's and the Queen's intimacy, even though (Reader) couldn't smell it, the rest of the hive certainly did.

As they snuck through the halls, the hive were alerted immediately of (Reader's) departure by the telepathic Queen, and were on the hunt for (Reader), following their smell.

It only took one to see (Reader's) cute little behind as they pathetically tried to crawl past for every member of the hive to know where (Reader) was, and for every worker not actively caring for younger members to immediately beeline for (Reader's) location.

And it didn't take long, for (Reader) to become hopelessly lost.

Panic began to fill their lungs and suffocate the poor captive.

"It is you!" A raspy voice exclaimed behind (Reader), startling a yelp out of the human. A male stood behind (Reader) with his hands clawing at his chest as if to steady his heart.

Fright rocked (Reader) to the core. "Please don't kill me.." They muttered nervously, already spun around on their knees to beg for their life.

The worker didn't seem to be listening, his antenna rapidly flicking about as he rambled under his breath.

"So sweet.. so cute.. so soft.. our mate.."

From his pelvis an endophallus emerged, pointed at (Reader's) face. The realization of (Reader's) fate caused a surge of adrenaline, propelling them in the opposite direction, running as fast as they could move their legs.

As they ran they heard voices down every corridor they passed, chanting words of love and attraction for their "mate". There seemed to be no escape; each hall (Reader) nearly turned down had voices calling out for them. They continued trying to run where there were no sounds, but eventually found themselves in a giant room of furs and leaves:

(Reader) had stumbled upon the sleeping chambers of the adult workers.

Tears filled their eyes as the room began to fill from multiple entrances with workers excitedly crying out for (Reader).

"It is!-"

"Our mate!-"

"Finally!-"

They wasted no time pulling (Reader) to the ground, ready to prove their love for their Queen's favorite mate.

As (Reader) opened their mouth to scream a long tongue entered and thrust itself deep into their throat. Choking and gagging, they were too busy trying to push the creature kissing them away to cover up their lower half. Like a dog pile, (Reader) was swarmed from all sides.

The workers fought one another just for the chance to touch (Reader). The second a crevice on their body was violated by a sharp inhuman dick, rubbing wherever they could reach, the creature would be thrown off, replacing the cock for a tongue or a hand. Sharp fingers massaged (Reader's) swollen body as every every hole was filled and every fold caressed. The long tongue was exchanged for a monstrous dick, but even that cold metallic-like phallus suffocating (Reader) was replaced by a female's vaginal slit as soon as the male filled (Reader's) stomach with a sticky liquid.

There was so much being touched at once that (Reader) couldn't focus on all the ways they were being assaulted.

If their ass was getting rammed by a cock, and their mouth was occupied by something else, with no holes available the creatures found other ways to fuck (Reader); folding their arms and knees and masturbating into the folds of their soft flesh; using (Reader's) hands like dildos and forcing (Reader) to enter their bodies; licking the sweat off of whatever body part they could reach while touching themselves impatiently.. Even the shallow button of their naval was molested by prodding tongues and fingers.

(Reader) was painted over and over again by fluids. All the while, the monsters would sing praises for (Reader) between their panting, grunts and moans. There seemed to be no end, with dozens of men pumping warm slime into (Reader's) stomach and ass while women rode out their orgasms on (Reader's) body.

Everything went black at one point, passing out due to a combination of a lack of air and exhaustion.

But when (Reader) woke up, they found that their body was still being used as a cum dump for another wave of workers. Their body was past the point of over stimulation, incapable of pleasure. It was pulsating electricity rolling across their abdominal muscles, contracting without (Reader's) permission.

They didn't know how long they were passed around for, but it was impossible to keep track of the number of monsters taking turns using (Reader's) body. Blood was dripping out of every orifice asking with cum and arousal fluid, the sharpness of their big like cocks and the hardness of the women's pelvises tearing (Reader's) body both inside and out.

The last thought (Reader) had before going completely dumb, was wishing that they hadn't left the Queen's side..

(A/N again, I'm so sorry it took so long! And that my drafts wouldn't let me edit your story anymore 😭 I hope you see this, Ant Anon!)

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #monster fucker #yandere harem #cw noncon #tw noncon #gn reader #cw blo0d #yandere male #yandere female #monster harem

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oopsdevil · 5 months

Text

COD + AUs

which alternative universe they would fit in (f!reader)

SIMON GHOST RILEY + APOCALYPSE!AU

(full fic here)

in another lifetime, the worldwide zombie apocalypse saved simon's life. with no one to fight for, simon felt like himself for the first time. a world where hiding his face is the last of everyone else's worries, a world where he gets to be violent for a good reason against those flesh eating things, a world where he gets to live without needing anyone. that until he met you. if anyone told him he would end up surviving the streets of manchester with a girl half his height and a backpack bigger than her, whose first words to him where "what's with the skull?", he would have laughed. but here he is, watching you go crazy at an old, dark clothing store, forgetting for a second that the world around you is dying. simon didn't care before, but now reminds himself the reason he wants to keep going, is you.

SIMON GHOST RILEY + TATTOO ARTIST!AU

in another lifetime, simon gets to combine his favorite things and make a living out of it; pain, art and ink. gotta admit, it was intimidating meeting him for the first time. 6'2, quiet, blonde, heavy accent, covered in tattoos and attached to his black surgical mask. surprisingly, he is a very patient tattoo artist. the fact that he understands the significance behind your tattoo, or that you need breaks, or that he offers you water many times, makes you go back to him for more ink. you remember the first time he took his mask off, with a couple scars around his face and a killing smirk, simon asked you out on the best date he could think of; hanging around his station while he tattoos strangers. or how you call it now, years after that first date, saturday afternoon.

KYLE GAZ GARRICK + COLLEGE!AU

in another lifetime, kyle persuaded his talent in history knowledge. top of his class and with intact kindness (even after meeting very pretentious and competitive classmates), kyle offers his help to the girl in the library who doesn't seem to understand what the hell her book's about. you both knew, the second you locked eyes. not gonna lie, he makes your college experience better just by existing. yes, you stay up all night studying and fail to answer his calls. but he knows you, and he is outside your dorm at 3 a.m with the best pizza on campus. and yes, he will wait outside class when you take your final exam. and yes, he always knew he wanted to marry you, but waits until you get your degree to propose.

KYLE GAZ GARRICK + PRIVATE DETECTIVE!AU

in another lifetime, the sense of justice got to kyle in a cold, cheap apartment in the city, and working at night. he got really confused when a girl with kind eyes like yours approached him for his services. used to working with cheating men and sketchy women, kyle begged for you to drop whatever weird problem your boss got himself into, is really not you business, but he respects your contribution to the employees your boss is basically robbing. he really didn't expect to get so attached to a case, even less to a client. but there you are, sleeping on his bed after many nights protecting you, after you didn't drop it. you couldn't, and it made him fall in love with you even harder. he felt his heart go soft and his stiff shoulders drop when you graved his arm in your sleep. kyle always protected himself, but after finding you, he has new priorities. he also never considered himself impulsive, but look at him now, living in a new warm city with his lifesavings in a backpack and your hand in his.

JOHN SOAP MACTAVISH + SOULMATES!AU

in another lifetime, johnny checks the mark in everybody's wrist, hoping one will match his. his is rather particular, and earned his nickname since childhood, a small but obvious mark shaped as a soap. turning 30 (and hiding it with humor) soaps heart breaks a little more when he realizes he hasn't shared the first thirty years of his life with his soulmate, the one who at this point, john doubts even exists. he takes a walk around the streets of glasgow to clear his head, and walks into a coffee shop. he reaches for his cup in the multitude, and hears from the barista something he heard his entire life "your mark looks like a soap! how funny". his stomach dropped when a girl next to him goes "yeah, i know". it took him a second, but he looked. and yeah, he burned his hand with his coffee when he introduced himself, and got embarrassed when the entire staff realized a couple of soulmates met at their shop, but johnny's coffee never tasted better knowing that was his last birthday alone.

JOHN SOAP MACTAVISH + BOXER!AU

in another lifetime, a cocky boxer winked your way in the middle of his fight, and your face got red like the blood in his gloves. your friends warned you, what can an amateur boxer with a mohawk offer to you? surprisingly, a lot. when he's with you, he isn't the soap mactavish, just johnny. johnny, who looks handsome even with a black eye when he asks you out for breakfast. johnny, who is bulking and eats like an animal on your first date, but god, he is so charming. your johnny, who runs every morning and comes back with a hot coffee for you, and accepts the fact that sometimes you can't watch his fights. johnny, who thought fighting was all he was good for, but gained so much peace when he met you. with ups and downs, he is convinced that having a reason to fight for is the reason he won the championship.

KÖNIG + BODYGUARD!AU

in another lifetime, you yelped when you woke up to a 6'4 man in your kitchen, wearing a suit and a intimidating black hood. he is not surprised by the reaction. being the bodyguard for a girl who saw too much is not his ideal job, but you became so much more. so brave and witty. he is obsessed with the way you aren't scared of him in the slightest. könig swore to protect you by a contract, but it became his whole life. no longer a job, but his reason. the nicknames that slipped out when the situation became to much for you, and the time he saw a suspicious face and had a hand on your hip the rest of the night. but you falling asleep in his shoulder after a storm was it for him, he had to tell you he loved you. but könig's heart breaks when his contract is over and you are officially safe. after a long, heavy fight about your "relationship", könig confesses he can't sleep now that he is not around you, that he needs to make sure you are safe, forever. and fuck, the kiss he gave you. könig swore to protect you by a contract, but met the other half his cold heart never knew he needed.

KÖNIG + GROUP THERAPY!AU

in another lifetime, könig healed in so many ways. its hard to take this much time off work at mid thirties for any human, but imagine for a soldier. the only condition favor his superior asked was "please, go to therapy". very skeptical, könig tried a place where the attention wasn't always on him, group therapy. talking isn't his favorite, but he met amazing people, and yeah, he wasn't in the best place to meet the love of his life, but how can you not look at that beautiful girl who picks up her marine dad from therapy? after very hard months talking about things he swore to never think about again, you were there for him the entire time. könig healed in so many ways. könig cried for the first time in decades when he left you, thinking he is too broken for you. könig asked for forgiveness for the first time in decades when he got you back. könig giggled for the first time in decades when your dad caught you two making out in your porch (and boy, did your dad make him run home). könig went back to his job about a year later, and became the best soldier he ever was. the talk of the base is now how the colonel keeps recommending therapy to everyone.

JOHN PRICE + LAWYER FIRM!AU

in another lifetime, john price is a fucking asshole. or so everyone thinks. you have never felt this nervous about a job interview, and by that cold look mr. price gave you, you were sure he would hire another secretary. but maybe his eyes are just like that, because why else would you be taking the bus at 7 a.m in these fucking clothes? you hear it all over the building, mr. price can be difficult, serious, boring. but they never danced to head over heels by tears for tears in his office while barefoot. they never ate chinese food totally sleep deprived while going over a case over and over. john never grabbed their hand while walking the busy streets of london in that suit he looks way too good in. john's reputation really changed through the years. "he went soft when he met his sweetheart at work". he laughs, no one who ever saw him in a courtroom would call him soft.

JOHN PRICE + ARRANGED MARRIAGE!AU

in another lifetime... john is difficult. you get it. he is an important man, a business man. a man who has no time to meet women, specially a wife. everything in his life is a transaction, including his business partner's sister. you two got married at a small ceremony and he didn't even kiss you. it took him 5 months to sleep in the same bed as you, and thats when it all started. that night john made sure you knew he didn't hate you, he was trying to give you space. but you don't want space, you want to peel all those layers and really get to know him. now you know why he is the big man, one of a kind. who knew a man so brilliant and cold could be so... him. john. protective, faithful, touch-starved, sweet-tooth, the smiths enthusiast, twin girls dad, belly laugher john.

•

inspo and recommendations;

zombie!au: the last of us + the walking dead (joel miller + daryl dixon)

detective!au: jessica jones + the girl with the dragon tattoo (jessica's life style + the protagonists relationship development)

boxer!au: warrior + southpaw (tommy conlon + billy hope)

bodyguard!au: literally any frank castle and bucky barnes bodyguard fic you can find

lawyer!au: daredevil + suits (matt murdock's personal life style and the shows aesthetic + suits workplace and aesthetics)

arranged marriage!au: peaky blinders marriages and alfie solomons personality

#cod mw2 #cod hcs #cod mwii #cod #task force 141 #cod x reader #ghost x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #john price #john soap mactavish #kyle garrick #cod au #cod fic

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eoieopda · 6 months

Text

sweatshirt season | ksy

your fuck buddy is good at a lot of things. taking hints isn’t one of them.

pairing: kwon soonyoung x reader type: one-shot / fluff + smut rating: 18+ (minors do not have my consent to interact) au: one-night-stand to fuck buddies to ? wc: 4.5k cw: gn! and afab!reader (no pronouns used); time skips; protected penetrative sex (p in v); hoshi is kinda a himbo, lmao; ft. cameo by minghao and roomate!gn!sibling OC; reference to the movie they're watching, which is hereditary (brief mention of decapitation + demonic possession); barely proofread, sorry! a/n: this is based on a headcanon i did a while ago! i've been in such a horrible rut re: writing for the past month and a half, so it was a major struggle to write this because i feel like i don't know how to do that anymore 😵‍💫 i'm hoping that himbo hoshi can save me from this hell. also, this is told in vignettes!

[APRIL]

“Babe?”

The voice from nowhere is barely loud enough to drag you from sleep, but the effect it has on you is far from soft. Those consonants dig in where your dehydrated brain shrinks away from your skull, pressing in so hard that they throb.

Bleary-eyed, you blink as rapidly as you can to adjust to the bright, white light beaming in through your open shades. The sound that escapes you is something akin to a hiss; it gets the point across, nonetheless. You sit up just enough to see the figure standing in front of your window, looming overhead with crossed arms, laughing.

Clearly, your roommate doesn’t give a shit or a fuck about your hangover.

“What’s the deal with the stray you brought home last night?” Mei asks, the corners of their mouth tilting wickedly.

You don’t have the brain power for this conversation, so you respond with a groan and bury your face back in the pillow from whence it came. Never one to give up, Mei drops down on top of you so that the full weight of their body rests against yours.

“C’mon,” they urge. “Spill your guts, chingu.”

Funnily enough, if they don’t get off your guts, you might do exactly that.

Your reply comes in the form of a croak, some pathetic little sound that reads as lifeless as you feel. “Why do you care?”

There isn’t a single reason you can think of for their sudden interest in your bad decisions. You’ve been making them left and right for the past few months without much more than a concerned glance, and until now, you didn’t realize that you’d taken the lack of follow-up questions for granted.

What a fucking travesty it is to be perceived.

“Your business is your business.” Mei shrugs. You quirk an eyebrow, ready to jump in and point out their lapse in logic, but then that smirk comes back. “But your business is currently burning eggs in our kitchen, which makes it my business, too.”

Sitting up quickly, the force of your sudden moves nearly knock Mei to the ground. Beyond horrified, you squeak, “He’s still here?”

Faster than you’ve ever moved before, you clamber out from underneath your roommate and crawl to the edge of your bed, kicking wildly at your blankets until your legs are free.

You’re already up and swaying on your feet, panting from the effort, when you finally think to look down and assess the state of yourself. Thankfully, you’d remembered to dress yourself before falling asleep. You glance upward and salute whatever deity was looking out for you, ignore the look on Mei’s face entirely, and dash out of your bedroom.

As soon as you reach the kitchen, you skid to a stop, socks sliding across the hardwood until your hip bone collides with the corner of the kitchen island. You hiss again, far louder than the last time. The shape standing at your stove turns around wide-eyed; his mouth is frozen in the shape of an “o”.

Just as quick, recognition flashes, and the shock wears off.

“Good morning,” he chirps, and he’s all fucking sunshine.

You blink back at him without a single idea of where to start — with the fact that he’s still here after you could’ve sworn he left, that he’s wearing your apron but has no clear grasp on the simple act of frying eggs, or that you cannot for the life of you remember his name.

Fuck.

You should really start keeping a guest book.

Whatever his name is, he’s witnessing you at your worst — certifiably crusty with your standard bad attitude — and that alone makes you want to wither and die, right on the spot. Unbothered by your ghoulish appearance, he gestures to the kitchen island you just collided with, pointing to a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin.

Items he would’ve had to open two (2) separate cabinets to find.

In the kitchen he shouldn’t even be in.

You open your mouth, primed to explode all over him, but the way he’s looking at you disarms you immediately. His expression is so chipper — so friendly and childlike in its innocence — that you swallow down the shit you’d readily hurl at anyone else. You gulp, and without saying a word in acknowledgement, you grab what he’s laid out for you.

He smiles when you choke down the aspirin, then turns back around to pull the scrambled, half-burnt mess off the burner.

“You must have a pretty low alcohol tolerance if you’re this hungover after three drinks,” he muses.

It’s an accurate observation — a harmless one, too — but you did not ask. Once again, he shoots you a smile that prevents you from snapping at him. Instead, you set the now-empty glass back down on the island and stare vacantly over at him.

Seonghwa?

“You’re still here,” you say flatly. You may be stating the obvious, but that fact speaks for itself. “You’re still here, and you’re also in my kitchen.”

Seokjin, maybe?

He smiles at this, either unaware that he’s violated the unwritten one-night-stand code of conduct or unfazed by his own rule breaking. Rubbing the back of his neck, he laughs awkwardly, “It was the least I could do, you know? After all you —”

What the fuck is your name?

“Sungwoo!” You cut him off with a gasp and a palm raised, all but begging him not to recount what he’s grateful for within earshot of your roommate. “Really, you don’t need to do this. Any of this.”

He corrects you gently, “It’s Soonyoung.”

Then, without even a hint of offense taken, he nods his head towards one of the stools tucked under the counter of the island. Your eyes flit between his hopeful face and the seat, frozen solid with indecision.

You see two options, and both feel like a trap:

Holding the line risks squashing this clueless boy’s marshmallow heart; and you don’t want to be the gash that ruins his day at the very outset. If you feed the stray — rather, if you let the stray feed you — then you’re an enabler, contracting a residency when the show was supposed to be one-night-only.

More perceptive than you’ve given him credit for so far, he senses the conflict inside your skull and attempts to tip the scale with a bread-cheeked smile and a shoulder wiggle. “Your breakfast is getting cold,” he nudges in a soft, sing-song tone.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Begrudgingly, you dump yourself onto a stool without a word. With your elbows now propped up on the countertop, you drop your chin down to rest on the heels of your hands. More than anything, you try like hell to ignore the way it all makes his face light up.

“I don’t understand how you went from demonically hot to…” Your voice trails off as you try to find a word for whatever this is. A beat passes before you give up, waving dismissively. “Domesticated, or whatever.”

And his cheeks go pink.

“You think I’m hot?” He all but gasps, like this is brand new information to him.

Like you would’ve brought him home from the club if he wasn’t — and goddamn, was he ever. Carrying himself with the kind of confidence that made your knees wobble; saying all the right things in a low, smoky tone with his lips at your ear; moving his body in ways that still fluster you to think about.

And yet, here he is.

Adorable, if not completely obtuse.

After grabbing plates from a nearby cabinet, he snags two pairs of chopsticks out of the drawer to the left of the sink. It takes all you’ve got not to roll your eyes. He shouldn’t know where either of those things are, but he does.

A satisfied sigh slips out of his mouth when he takes the seat next to yours and scoots a plate full of eggs and kimchi in front of you.

“Here you go,” he sings as he holds out a pair of your own chopsticks to you.

He’s beaming when you accept them into your hand, and it leaves you with no choice but to take a bite of the food in front of you. Intently and chronically hopeful, he watches you pluck a piece of scrambled egg from the plate, like the trajectory of his life hinges on your approval. There’s no turning back now. Reluctantly, you pop it into your mouth.

While you chew, he leans in a bit closer. From this distance, you can see your own reflection in his irises; there are tiny flecks of honey brown amidst the dark, you realize. Little details you didn’t notice last night when he was much, much closer — like the heart-shaped curve his upper lip takes when he smiles as big as he is now.

“How is it?” He asks, walking the borderline between eager and unbearably shy.

You swallow hard as you snap back to attention. If letting him stay for breakfast was a bad call, getting caught gawking at him is a flagrant foul. Somehow, you need to get the point across without being too cruel; to remind him that you signed up for the night and not the morning.

“Um. Well,” you start with a grimace, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “Are eggs supposed to… crunch?”

[JUNE]

“Oh, fuck, just like that —”

Your back arches off the bed as you grip uselessly at sweat-drenched sheets. Between your spread thighs, Soonyoung and the punishing pace he’s set make quick work of pulling you apart, again. His right arm loops under your left leg to anchor you to him while his left palm presses down on your lower abdomen, making damn sure that every thrust drags over your g-spot.

This — this right here — is why you keep calling him back. He may overstay his welcome, but that’s an occupational hazard. His perpetual presence is a risk you’re willing to take, so long as he fucks you like this.

“Shit. You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?”

He’s panting as he says it, which surprises the hell out of you. His stamina is unearthly, and when you manage to keep your eyes open long enough to look up at him, you don’t see any hint of effort. It's just the ragged sound of his breathing, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“I think this might be a new personal record.”

Unfortunately, his little announcement is genuine. He’s merely stating a fact, not trying to tease you, because his only concern outside of making you cum is outdoing himself.

To Soonyoung, sex is a performance he’s trying to perfect. He approaches it like an Olympian — an athlete or a god? — and the bar he sets for himself raises every time you see him.

You find it the tiniest bit endearing how focused he is on self-improvement.

Kind of.

That doesn’t stop you from rolling your eyes, though.

“Not if you keep —” A moan that you didn’t mean to let out cuts your sentence in half. “— talking.”

Your head crashes back against the pillows, which only spurs him on. Deeper, more deliberate strokes leave you writhing underneath him, babbling like a fool. He grins so wide that his eyes almost disappear.

“I’m just saying…” Another thrust, a thousand more stars dotting the periphery of your vision. “If you hit five, you owe me dinner.”

There it is, right on cue: another piece of evidence to prove that Soonyoung still doesn’t know what he signed up for.

It’s a conversation you’ve had more than once — never because you want to have it; and never because he seems to be consciously seeking something more than what you have.

At some point over the past few months of scattered nights with you, a seed seems to have taken root in the back of his brain. A zombie parasite, more likely; one that’s overridden the controls and completely undermined his understanding of the situation.

Whether he means it or not, these throw-away comments make you wonder if, deep down, he’s not wired to fuck without feelings.

Not like you, anyway.

Your self-preservation instincts don’t let you get that far. Risk-averse to your core, you don’t see the point of gambling when the stakes are that high. And even if you weren’t wary of getting yourself hurt, it wouldn’t change the fundamental truth that you enjoy your own company enough not to need anyone else’s.

The way you see it, Soonyoung can have a cameo in your weekends, but the plot of your life right now doesn’t need anything more than that. Changing the lineup now could fuck your whole season. So, why try?

To his credit, he seems to get that there are currently more pressing matters at hand than the same old conversation. He pats your hip and says, “Let’s switch it up.”

You’re as grateful for the subject change as you are for the hand he extends to help your boneless body sit up again. Thankfully, the one lesson he has learned is that no one can compete with his perpetually full battery. If he’s going to change positions as often as he wants to, he has to be the one to position you.

This time, you wind up with your back flush against his chest, skin slick against yours. To keep him close, you reach back until your hand finds the nape of his neck. After weaving your fingers through the damp hair at the base of his head, you tug slightly, pulling a low groan out of him.

“Fuck, yeah,” he grunts breathlessly. “Pull my hair.”

You do as he says, albeit a bit harder than you meant to; you can’t help it. That’s the exact moment he chooses to grab your hips and slam your ass back against his pelvis, perfectly in time with his forward snap. He’s in your guts now, there’s no doubt about it, and you’re falling to pieces.

Wailing, you have to squeeze your eyes shut to survive the surge of pleasure coursing through you. “Oh, my god,” you choke out.

The only way you manage to stay upright through your orgasm is with Soonyoung’s arms caging you in. Without him, you’d be a trembling fucking mess, collapsing face-down onto your bed in a useless heap. He keeps holding you even when he lets himself go soon after, spilling into the condom with a moan you feel as it leaves his chest.

“Goddamn,” he sighs, voice rough. The heat of his breath on your neck almost makes you want to cling to him, curl up and let your eyes flutter shut. “Every time I fuck you, I feel like I should thank you.”

That flicker of affection goes out in a flash as the memory of consequences comes back around. You snort. “Please don’t cook for me again.”

You leave it at that, and so does he. When he finally pulls out of you, you give into the safer urge; the one that can’t possible give him the wrong impression. Slumping forward, you hit the mattress so hard that you practically bounce, like the dead weight you are.

Soonyoung misses that spectacle, thankfully. He’s already on his feet, tying off the condom before dropping it into the wastebasket on the other side of the room. You hear it drop against the plastic bag, then the soft pad of his footsteps as he makes his way back to you. You unbury your face from the pillows and crane your neck to look over at him.

In a rare display, he looks exhausted. Moments like this might be the only time he ever finds himself depleted, and you figure he’s earned that right. Part of you wants to let him lay here with you — maybe even let him sleep it off — but you can’t let him get tangled in the strings you refuse to attach.

He’s halfway to you when he finally looks up at you and catches you watching him. You’re not sure what he sees in your expression; you’d bet it’s as confusing on the outside as it feels on the inside. Whatever he finds there, it makes him pause. There's a quick nod, like he’s reacting to something neither one of you has said out loud, then he changes course.

“You have to be up early,” he says, like he’s finally learned the script. “I’m gonna head out.”

You nod but say nothing else. You just watch as Soonyoung grabs the clothes you’d tugged off of him earlier, piece by piece, and puts everything back to the way it was before.

The way you want it.

Once he’s fully clothed, he shoots you a smile that only uses half of his mouth. Neither of you offers a word as he walks over to the door, although you can tell he’s moving more slowly than usual. Hoping you’ll stop him, maybe.

You don’t.

It’s not until he pulls it open that he looks back over his shoulder at you; and this time, when he smiles, it looks like he means it.

“Sleep well, yeah?”

[OCTOBER]

“I’m just saying that if her shithead brother bothered to include her in his night, maybe she wouldn’t have been decapitated."

You tear your eyes off the television screen in time to see Minghao’s eyes roll all the way back into his head. Across the coffee table from where you sit, he and Mei occupy the couch; his head crashes against the back of it with a muffled thump while his younger sibling continues their rant.

“I’m being for real,” Mei urges, jabbing their finger emphatically through the air in his direction. “If you ever bail on me like that, and my head ends up falling off, you deserve whatever consequences come next.”

You snort. “Up to and including… what, demonic possession?”

“Absolutely,” Mei sniffs.

Minghao sits upright again slowly. He chews thoughtfully on his lower lip, leaving you and your roommate in suspense. Knowing him, he’ll lecture you both on karmic energy and how Mei shouldn’t fuck around with it. To both of your surprise, he frowns. “Is it bad that I kind of want cake now?”

You and Mei respond at the same time, although your responses are nothing alike:

“I think we have some left over.”

“Yes, you’re a monster.”

Despite what they just called him, Mei is nothing if not a good host. With a beleaguered huff, they push themselves off the couch, step carefully over the legs Minghao doesn’t move out of their path, and stalks off towards the kitchen to forage for food.

Left alone in the living room, you and Minghao fall into an easy silence, eyes glued once again to the screen. It’s always been easier to get through a movie without Mei’s commentary; this one would’ve been finished an hour ago if they hadn’t kept pausing it to ramble. You’re so immersed in it that you hardly hear the way they’re tearing through the kitchen like a cyclone. You almost miss the soft knock at the door, too.

Immediately, your optimistic eyes flick over to Minghao. He’s closer to the door, and if you stare at him long enough, he might let you stay in the armchair you’ve all but fused to.

“Nope,” he says coolly, without even looking.

Whining, you peel off the blanket you’ve wrapped yourself in and unfurl your knotted legs. You shiver when your bare feet touch the cold wood below, but bravely, you don’t retreat. You push forward on tiptoe and skip across the living room until you reach the front door.

Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead when you open it to find Soonyoung standing there for the first time in several weeks. While overstaying his welcome is his signature, showing up uninvited never has been. That’s apparently one line in the sand he won’t stumble over.

“Hey,” you peep.

For reasons unknown, you have to pause to let your gaze sweep over him, like something might’ve drastically changed about him since you saw him last. There’s a tiny flutter in the center of your chest that begs you to greet him more emphatically than that, but you ignore it.

Soonyoung looks more apologetic than you’ve ever seen him, which makes your pulse quicken even more.

“I’m really sorry to bother you,” he swears. “I think I left my headphones here last time. I’ve looked everywhere, I promise, but they’re just — gone.”

Your first instinct is to ask why he brought headphones to a dick appointment in the first place, but you talk yourself out of it. The next is to find out why he came all the way over here on a hunch, rather than simply texting you; he hasn’t in a while, not that you’ve taken it to heart. But you don’t do that, either, which strikes you as odd.

Instead, you step back and push the door open wider, once again letting the stray inside. “No worries,” you breeze.

Since when?

As it turns out, letting him in doesn’t bring the sky crashing down around you. Taking a single brick out of the wall you’ve fastidiously built doesn’t bring about the end of days. It just brings a shy bow and a quiet “thank you” while he toes off his shoes.

He turns to head toward your bedroom with you following behind him, but he stops short after a few steps. Crashing into his back — god, he’s broader than he looks — you grab his biceps to keep from bowling him over entirely.

“Shit — I’m so sorry.” He wheels around, failing to realize that you’re as close as you are. You can see panic light up his eyes, now mere centimeters from yours. “I didn’t realize you had somebody over.”

What is that scribbled all over his face?

It’s not anger, you know that much. Nothing about the way he’s looking at you reads like jealousy, either. If anything, he seems genuinely torn-up over what he assumes is date-crashing. Guilty, maybe.

So, why do you feel bad?

“Mei’s brother,” you explain quickly, as if he’s owed one. “Our annual horror movie marathon. We — all of us — do it every October.”

Why did you add that qualifier in there?

Soonyoung’s face brightens immediately, and you feel the tiniest bit warmer now that the corners of his mouth aren’t curved downward anymore. You wish that surprised you, but it doesn’t.

Why should it? You’ve given into him more often than not, haven’t you?

All he says is, “Oh,” in the tiniest voice you’ve ever heard, like he’s embarrassed himself for the first time in his life.

It grows quiet while the two of you continue to stand there in the half-light. If you discount the screaming, the flickering colors coming from the television screen make it feel almost — cozy?

But you’ve been gazing up at him for far too long, so you clear your throat. “Your — umm — your headphones. Do you remember where you left them?”

You nudge him slightly to get him moving, which he does without complaint.

“I think they jumped out of my pocket when you…” Soonyoung’s voice trails off. As you pass by, he glances over at Minghao, who either can’t hear your conversation or doesn’t give a shit about it.

With that indifference confirmed, Soonyoung looks back at you with a smirk. “You broke my zipper, you know. I had to take those jeans to a tailor to fix it.”

Immediately, your cheeks start burning.

Resident fuck monster, reporting for duty! Here to rip clothes to shreds and —

He touches your wrist, just for a second. “It’s cute,” he assures you, even though you haven’t said a word.

And it doesn’t do a damn thing to keep that heat from rising up your face.

You step into your bedroom before you can think of what to say in response, so you let the moment pass and flick on the light. Just as soon as he joins you inside, Soonyoung lays eyes on what he came for — which is a miracle. That thin, white cord is practically invisible under your dresser.

“Ah!” He chirps, bending down to grab it.

Looking triumphant as hell, he tucks it into the pocket of his joggers and shoots you a grin. Suddenly, you find it hard to mimic his smile, although you don’t know why.

He got what he came for, didn’t he? He’ll be out of your hair in a matter of moments, which is exactly what you’ve been demanding of him for months. You had to train him to get in and get out, and when he eventually learned, the relief was immediate.

So, why don’t you feel relieved now?

Soonyoung must hear your trains of thought derailing because he comes in hot with a distraction. As usual, it’s out of left field, just like the soft brush of his fingers on your bare arm.

“You’re cold.”

It’s not a question.

There aren’t even goosebumps on your arm; and there’s no reason why he should know by looking at you that you are, in fact, freezing. But he does, and before you can ask how the fuck that’s possible, he spins around to the dresser nearby and grabs the handle jutting out of the bottom-left drawer.

How does he —?

You open your mouth to speak. The words disappear when he stands upright again, now holding out a sweatshirt from the drawer you keep them in. He’s only seen you open it once before, and the fact that he remembers is making you dizzy.

Soonyoung’s expectant eyes lock on your face, looking at you the same way he did when he handed you those burnt fucking eggs. This time, though, you don’t hesitate to accept what he’s giving you. You tug that sweatshirt over your head without missing a beat, instantly learning that it’s much bigger on you than you remember.

Stunned, you blink back at him from underneath the hood, which obscures most of your forehead. “Is this —?”

You grab the fabric from the front of it in your hands as you look down. At first glance, it looks like the million other white sweatshirts tucked into your drawer, but —

“This isn’t mine.”

Your eyes flick back up to Soonyoung, who’s fighting for his life to bite back a smile.

Six months ago, you might’ve knocked him on his ass for this, but now, you can’t keep it together, either. You crack wide open, laughing so hard that your eyes almost disappear.

“When the hell did you sneak that in there?” You wheeze, wiping tears as they spill over your lash line. The smack you land against his arm is cloaked in a sweater paw, dealing no damage except to crack him open, too. “God, I was never going to get rid of you, was I?”

Beaming, he slips his hands into the kangaroo pocket on the front and tugs you closer; you let him. “It was just in case I get cold, I swear.”

“Is that it?” You narrow your eyes playfully. “Are you sure?”

“Mhmm,” he hums, although you don’t believe him for a second. “It does look good on you, though. Maybe you should hang on to it.”

“To the sweatshirt?”

Watching him blush like that may never get old. Still, he maintains his bluff and nods.

“Yeah. I mean, why not? Right? It’s comfortable.” He shrugs, not even the slightest bit casually. “A cotton blend, I think. Pre-shrunk, so… It’ll — uh, never be your size, I guess. That’s — um — that’s kind of a bummer, but…”

“Soonyoung!” You cut him off with a breathless laugh, prompting him to shut his rambling mouth.

The rare use of his name seems to startle him. His eyes go wide with that typical, hopeful anticipation that he never seems to leave home without. That look hasn’t disappeared after six months of getting shot down on a weekly basis, and neither has the way he hangs onto every word you say.

This time, it might actually be what he’s been waiting to hear.

“Do you….?”

It might be a new personal record, you caving like this after holding someone at arm’s length for so long. The relief is automatic, spreading through muscle that you didn’t even realize had been aching.

“If you’re not busy, do you want to stay?”

#svt #hoshi #kwon soonyoung #hoshi x reader #soonyoung x reader #hoshi smut #soonyoung smut #hoshi fluff #soonyoung fluff #svt fic #svt smut #svt fluff #jade writes #re: sweatshirt season #ksy #kvanity

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thevirgincherry · 2 months

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RIGOR MORTIS !

ft. og4 leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. las plagas!reader, he kills you, technically snuff ig but wasn’t intended oops, gore, canon-typical violence, reader is infected and out of it so she can’t really consent, dub-con, non-con, p in v, choking/asphyxiation, strangulation

note. god im plagued by writers block and it’s killing me it’s like walking on shattered glass rn. umm please ignore any mistakes, not very fond on this but haven’t posted in a bit :3 um it’s quite short. rbs are always appreciated :3 instead of asking for a part 2 please just tell me something nice.. feedback is really appreciated <3 comms are open! info in my pinned :3

Leon seeks refuge in what looks to have once been a humble abode. Now only a shack wearing a shroud of all things dead and rotten remains. Foetid water has soaked him to the bone, it seeps into the thick leather of his combat boots, leaves his socks soggy. He really hates that. Leon can handle cerebrospinal fluid leaving a sticky film on the toe of his boots, the blood caked beneath his fingernails is something he considers normal, but wet socks are a total inconvenience, it’s a shortcut to trench foot.

The hollow skulls of small critters occupy the corners, the cobwebs have cobwebs, the air is stagnant and stinking. Not of rot, but of sickness. A gaping wound crawling with infection, bacteria settling in the crevices of his mind, squirming like fat, juicy maggots—

Crack!

It’s a man, he was a man, now he’s a boneless lump of flesh, his spinal cord snapped under the weight of Leon’s boot. His yellowed teeth glisten under the golden warmth of a single lantern. Leon’s defence is choreographed at this point, a swift kick to intercept an impending strike, then his boot makes mincemeat of their brains.

When he takes a step back to review his current affair, it’s not so bad, certainly not Raccoon City. Leon would take a million murderous Spanish grandparents over a single zombie. Zombies are plain nasty, not a single limb intact, oozing pustules that peel back to reveal purpling flesh infested by larvae. They’re fuckin’ ugly. Slow and bloated and ugly. A sight no human being should see.

On the wall, there’s a shattered, grimy mirror. Leon sees the ghost of a boy staring back at him. Unwashed hair hanging limp, cheekbones carved out, his skin alabaster like the blocky lettering stitched into his uniform. R.P.D. it reads, muddied by blood and guts and chunks of vomit. All the good shit. He hasn’t grown into his body yet, the steel of his gun is cool on his temple and he’s young and these are all important things to know. In his arms is something small and lightweight, a bloodied little girl, leading him to a pyrrhic victory.

The floorboards groan under the weight of a pair of feet that don’t belong to him, the threat isn’t imminent. You don’t charge at him, no, it’s shambling he can only describe as zombie-like, dragging your bare feet like it hurts to lift them off the ground. Like you’re waterlogged and ready to pop.

You were pretty, he’s sure, a real looker. You’re pretty now, just not in your entirety. Strings of reddish muscle keep the fatty flesh of your right tit hanging on for dear life. Like an Amazonian woman. There’s no rot, no sign of decay, simply an act of self-mutilation.

Now, some might call him a pervert, but Leon’s a self-proclaimed iconoclast. And you, swaying from side to side in your torn linen nightdress, the skeletal pendant of Los Iluminados around your neck like a disfigured cross, draped in a veil of white that’s close enough to holy - it’s worth ruining. Santa Maria di Plagas or whatever.

He realises a few shattered bones have you walking funny, circles you easily and heads into the room you exited. The bed sheets are rumpled in unrest, he sits, there’s a hairline fracture between the two of you. The lantern light bares all, the white of your dress becomes gossamer-thin, he makes out your shape beneath the blood-soaked cloth that moulds to the shape of your torso, the smooth dip of your waist, a soft sinkage where the fabric clings to your belly button.

Leon has seen far worse. Can you blame a guy for getting hard at the sight of a real girl? In his line of work, he’s neck deep in pounds of flesh that spew pus and gore from each virus-clogged abscess. The layer of dirt on your skin does not deter him, that tit hanging by a tissuey thread, swinging back and forth like your necklace is child’s play to him. ‘Cause Leon’s a real man. The princely type.

(He’s anything but. One girl’s knight in shining armour is a monster under the bed for another. It’s not like you can complain, you’re quite the monster yourself.)

Hang in there Ashley. He’ll be there soon, but he’s got to do this. This is completely and utterly necessary. Hunnigan doesn’t need to know why he’ll be unreachable for a good thirty minutes or so. Less probably. ‘Cause your body is hot, clammy with fever, and that means your pussy is even hotter.

Something… Something… Plagas… Something… Lord Saddler…

Your mumbling is constant. Leon will have to do something about that. You gnash your teeth at him when you approach, held back only by the sluggishness that comes with, like, brainwashing cultish parasites.

“Sorry, sweetheart, no entiendo.” Leon loops a worn piece of rope around your neck. Ain’t that handy? Found it hung on your assumed-to-be father’s tool belt. Used for leading curly little lambs to the sacrificial altar. He strokes the underside of your chin, and you bare your teeth like a wild dog, albeit slowly. A late reaction. No fair, it’s like someone’s knocked you around already, who got here before him?

Getting his dick out at a time like this in a place like this, it’s not smart. Sneaky bugs could use his urethra as a water slide. A menacing minibeast might latch onto his balls pincher-first. However, needs are needs, and nothing gets in the way of Leon’s dick, not even a kidnapped First Daughter could stop the force of nature that is his boner.

With ease, he pushes you onto the ground. Not the bed. If you behave like an animal then he’ll have to fuck you like one. Plus, Leon’s not quite sure he trusts those sheets, at least the rusty nails on the floorboards are visible to the naked eye. Tetanus won’t be a nasty surprise, just a momentary lapse in judgement.

Your body contorts when he pulls the rope, back taking on a feline shape, spine bending inwards and your hips up. Puppetry is easier than it looks. The hem of your dress lifts to reveal your leaking chasm of a pussy. Better than nothing. Not like he’s eating it either way.

One hand on the rope, the other on his belt buckle, he lowers his jeans enough to pop his dick out. “Stay still, honey.” He instructs, but it’s like talking to a brick wall, or to a person who doesn’t understand a lick of English.

Leon chokes you with the rope. “I’ll only be a minute, sweetheart,” he coos, a tender kiss that he regrets merely seconds later placed on your shoulder.

He grips the base of his cock, the fat tip is red and leaky, precum bubbling like your foaming mouth. Leon’s too hard. His dick is totally upright, the soft curve pointing towards the ceiling, a thumb comes to press down on the tip, using it to guide himself into your pussy.

“Oh, there you go, honey, yeah, there you go.” His hold on the rope loosens, still firm enough to keep you in place, but now at least there’s oxygen flowing to your parasite-addled brain. “You feel that?”

Leon’s dick stretches you to the point of no return. He’s broken you in. Better off him than any of those grotesque old men. You’re a virgin surely, so it’s very considerate of him to fuck you before you die. No one should die a virgin, that’s cruel, it’s inhumane.

You thrash wildly, grunting each time his hips smack into the fat of your ass, he can’t tell if you’re enjoying it— You better be fuckin’ enjoying it. Know how risky this shit is? Fuck, what if you had a mutated cunt or something. Jagged teeth waiting to clamp down on a big fat dick and tear it straight off. He really needs to start thinking with his brain and not his cock. The thing just doesn’t shut up.

When he cums, the rope is tight around the column of your neck— It would be your hair, but he fears it might fall straight from your scalp in nasty, matted clamps. Your body rears like a wild Mustang, he gathers the rope and it wraps around his fingers until your back is flush to his chest and you grasp for something, anything— Eyes rolled so far back he can see the milky whites, and then he gives one last tug to make sure you’re stuck in that state. Mid-orgasm. Eyes in the back of your skull, back arched, pussy dripping with his load. Cute. He wishes rigor mortis set in right now so that you don’t fall slack into a heap of red and white when he lets go.

Leon leaves by barrelling out of a window like a true gentleman, the microscopic shards splinter your skin. He takes that pendant with him, tucks it in his back pocket, could be useful at some point in time.

It’s only when the blood in his veins runs black and viscous does Leon notice something is severely wrong. His blood flow slows to a halt, clots forming in every important artery. Mucousy black sludge leaks from his nose. An intense pain cuts through his senses with deadly precision, a surge of discomfort that has him kneeling over, hands on his knees in a clumsy attempt to steady himself.

His hands clasp around Ada’s neck— The rope. He pulls it tighter and tighter to get closer and closer. Her voice is distorted by the fog that clouds his brain, it creates a hazy barrier, mutes the world around him. A knife lodges in the meaty flesh of his thigh, he topples backwards when her knee makes contact with his groin.

“That bitch gave me crabs.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He brushes her off. “I said, uh, Lord Saddler almighty.” Leon’s heard that enough times to repeat it back to her rather fluently. Nice save.

“Right,” Ada says, unconvinced.

#leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic

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theenbyroiderer · 8 months

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In the lull between fiber projects I'll just post another tutorial. Though this one is less a tutorial and more vague guidelines. There are parts that I can't really tell you how to do and I'm sure there are details that I don't have photos of... but I'll try to describe the process as best I can, and just hope that my words can fill in the gaps. Just ask if you have any questions and I'll try to answer them.

Materials: Cotton fabric, durable, not too thin. Pipe cleaners. Off white cotton thead. Off white wool yarn, a couple different thicknesses is preferable. One shorter and one longer needle, both sharp. (I used sashiko needles, one ~4cm and one ~6 cm.) Felting needles, for the top of the skull. Various green shades of wool yarn, perle, and other threads, for the foliage.

Step by step instructions:

1. Make a skull out of pipe cleaner. Just do it, I can't tell you how.

2. Find something to fill your skull with. I filled mine with a bundle of orts (thread scaps), so in my mind this skull will forever be known as Ort-For-Brains. I stitched around and through the bundle of orts a bit so that it was less a random tangle and more of a solid round shape. Then I tucked the orts into the skull and stitched the skull to the fabric with just a few stitches (using a durable cotton thread) around the edge. Make sure you fill the space inside the skull completely. Underneath the face of the skull the brains poked out a bit, so I did some stitches with the cotton thread there to hold the orts down. Another filler may be easier to work with, but I just couldn't resist the though of using colorful orts as brains...

3. Stitch over the pipe cleaner scaffold using wool yarn. I can't tell you exactly how to do this either, and depending on the shape of your scaffold you might encounter different challenges. Just be methodic, and don't overthink it. Use a thicker yarn, or more strands, on the top of the skull, and thinner/fewer strands when you are doing the face. When doing the face I'd say start with the eye sockets because they dominate the face. Stitch outwards from them, as if the sockets are suns and the thread sunbeams, if you get what I mean.

4. When you have stitched to your heart's content you may want to felt parts of the skull to make it smoother. I did anyway. I took bits of wool yarn and carded them a bit to make them less yarn-shaped and more like little sheets of wool, then I used felting needles to poke them into place on the top of the skull. If you have actual rowing wool, use that, it's probably better.

5.When you are satisfied with the skull you can do whatever you want with it of course. I added foliage. Techniques I used for that include: turkey stitch, drizzle stitch, woven picot stitch, bullion stitch and french knots.

#embroidery #3d embroidery #fiber art #3d embroidery tutorial #embroidery tutorial #fiber art tutorial #tutorial #kind of anyway #skull art #memento mori

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calmcoldevening · 3 months

Note

may i request a fic or headcanons (whatever youre up for!) where sometimes jason will take the opportunity to show off his strength to his s/o? like maybe he lifts really heavy things or when he's chopping firewood he'll rip a log in half with his bare hands 😍

Jason Voorhees x reader, his strength headcanons

Tw: soft, comfort, little mention of murder and blood

• All in all, Jason was a big, really big man and no less a big force. But he didn't want him to show it to you, on the contrary, he was always affectionate and gentle, trying to touch you as carefully as possible. He was a caring, kind partner, your personal teddy bear.

• And yet, sometimes he really wanted to show you how strong he is once again. Look, he's so big and strong, you're so small compared to him. You're not going to leave him, are you? He's so strong, he'll protect you!

• Rather, the desire to show your strength is caused by his lack of self-confidence, sometimes you have to prove to him that you really love him. In his life, Jason has only felt love from his mom, so now he clings to your love in every possible way like a touch-starved person. It's sweet, but sad at the same time. That's why he wants you to see him as a support and support.

• Jason loves carrying you in his arms, because this is not only a way to show how much he loves you, but also an opportunity to show all his strength again. Regardless of your weight or shape, it will lift you up like a real feather. You are so light and sweet in his arms, Jason is ready to pick you up in his arms in a wedding style at any opportunity.

• Yes, you often see him chopping wood. You go outside, into the clearing near your cabin, and you notice Jason. He's still wearing his mask, but he's completely naked from the waist up. His trousers hug his strong thighs, and his shirt hangs neatly on a tree branch. The man has an axe in his hands, and you see how your boyfriend's muscles contract and pulsate under his thin skin with each blow. Those big muscles, sexy bulging veins and sweat running down his sculpted body. You're literally salivating at the sight of your handsome man.

• As soon as Jason notices you, he grins slightly under the mask, blushing a little. Putting the axe down on the grass, the man takes hold of both parts of the log with his hands and with one sharp jerk tears it in half. He likes to impress you.

• You've often seen Jason carrying his victims, both living and dead, on his shoulder. And although they were mostly teenagers and young people, their sizes were sometimes quite large. Still, Jason had no trouble carrying them around like some kind of potato sacks.

• He can kill a man even with his bare hands, crushing the victim's skull, but that's not what Jason would want you to see.

• A couple of times you saw how, at the time of the chase, Jason knocked out the doors of other cabins in the forest just with his body.

• Due to the fact that Jason is not very confident in himself, he can be quite jealous. How annoying it is for him when one of his victims tries to steal you or flirts with you. He doesn't stand on ceremony with such victims. He would grab them and squeeze their flesh tightly, breaking their ribs and making them scream in agony. When the victim bleeds out, he will throw the body on the ground and come up to you, hugging you tightly.

• Often he does not notice how he shows his strength. Sometimes Jason doesn't really calculate his strength and squeezes you too tightly in his arms. That's why there are a lot of marks from his hands on your body, and these reddish marks look a little embarrassing.

#slashers x reader #slashers x you #slasher x reader #slashers #slashers fandom #jason voorhees #jason voorhees x you #jason voorhees x reader

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fazedlight · 3 months

Text

Dread (rewriting of Lena’s phantom ordeal in Fear Knot)

Coolant leak error?, Lena thought, reading the screen. “Let me see if the hardware needs repairing,” she said, unfastening her seatbelt and passing Nia to hop onto the elevator.

Her first hint that something was wrong was on the floor of the machine room. As she stepped over a puddle, her mind caught on something. The floor was wet - not with neon green coolant, but water, in a part of the ship where no water piping ran.

She stepped towards one of the wheels on the wall, checking that the flow was open, that the gauge showed appropriate pressure. There’s no leak, Lena thought, confused. Then what’s causing the-

“Why did you let me drown, Lena?”

Lena spun around, eyes darting to the familiar voice, lost over decades. A pale dead figure, covered in water and kelp, stared back at her - with cold, soulless eyes that sunk back into her skull. “Mother?” Lena said, trembling.

“Why did you let me drown, Lena?”

“I-” Lena was struggling to breathe, as her mother stepped closer, a heavy sloshing of her dress running across the ground. “I- I don’t know why-”

“Why did you let me drown, Lena?”

“I’m sorry,” Lena said, a small part of her mind screaming this isn’t real, but dread flooded the thought out. “I didn’t want- I just couldn’t move-”

But to Lena’s horror, her mother shifted - a translucent creature emerging from a dead woman's body, made of water and shimmers of light. A creature, Lena thought, her eyes wide. An alien creature of some sort.

She ran.

She darted around the being as its rumbling snarl reverberated through the walls. Lena yanked the door open, bolting down the hall, trying to shake off the unexpected grief of seeing her mother again. A kelpie? A shapeshifter of some sort, her mind thought, racing towards the mainroom. “I need help,” Lena yelled into the comms, yanking a second door open, “I need-”

No, Lena’s mind screamed, coming across the surreal scene before her. Please, no…

Brainy. Alex. J’onn. Kelly. All lay dead before her.

Lena halted as horror flooded through her, turning to Nia’s body, which glimmered in silver. “Nia?” Lena whispered, watching as a million sparks seemed to dance along her skin, from her spot slumped over on the control panel. Lena’s eyes widened. Those aren’t-

A cloud of silver withdrew from Nia’s body, flowing to the center of the control room, buzzing and humming in a familiar pattern, as a voice emerged. “Why did you kill me, Lena?”

“Jack?” Lena gasped.

The bots began to take shape in front of her, a man’s familiar face forming, cast in metal rather than human flesh. “Why did you kill me?”

“Jack, I- I didn’t-” Lena said, overwhelming nausea climbing up her throat. “I didn’t want- there was no other choice-”

“Why did you kill me, Lena?”

The kelpie, Lena’s mind screamed. The shapeshifter. It’s not him. He’s not real-

“Come with me, Lena,” Jack said, as his body began to decompose again, the swarm beginning to float in her direction.

No! Lena’s mind screamed, as she turned again on her heel, fleeing towards the backrooms of the ship. Everyone’s dead, everyone’s dead-

Is this how it ends?, she thought as she ran, knowing she could never outrun the nanobots, or the kelpie, or whatever the fuck this creature was. We all die. Kara is lost forever. This can’t be happening-

She found herself ducking into the medbay, scouring the room for anything she could use as a weapon, anything she could use to kill the creature. Kelpies are a myth, she thought to herself, but that brought her little comfort. Shapeshifters were quite real, and this one was going through each member of the ship.

Lena closed her eyes, trying - and failing - to get composure. It’s my fault, she thought, her mind flashing memories of her mother in the lake, of Jack’s begging voice. Did they blame me? Were they angry? Were their last thoughts-

“Why did you let me get sent to the Phantom Zone, Lena?”

Chills ran down Lena’s spine, as the familiar blonde’s voice washed over her. Kara, she thought, feeling her heart hammering through her chest. I can’t save you, I can’t save you… “I’m so sorry,” Lena sobbed.

“You want me in the Phantom Zone.”

“I don’t!” Lena shouted, turning to the blonde before her. Pallid and soulless eyes stared back at her - somehow indifferent, yet menacing. Lena shook, holding back tears. But I’ll never be able to rescue you, not with everyone…

“You hate me,” said the super as she approached, black veins growing on her face. “You despise me.”

“I love you, Kara,” Lena whispered. The creature was going to kill her. She would never be able to say the words to the real Kara. But there was nothing left.

Kara stepped closer to her, again, and again. Lena held back her sobs as Kara’s eyes turned red. This is how it ends, she thought. I’m never going to see you again. Her worst nightmare had become her reality.

Nightmare…

Lena’s brow furrowed as Kara stepped closer. I didn’t kill my mother, she thought to herself, looking up at the kryptonian again. There wasn’t a way for me to save Jack, she thought to herself.

Kara finally reached Lena, standing toe to toe as her eyes continued to burn. You’re a phantom, Lena realized. Praying on my fears… What had J’onn said? One’s deepest dread.

Like fearing that your loved ones were lost.

And that it was your fault.

Kelly said to focus on what’s real, Lena thought to herself. Things I can see, touch, hear… Lena’s mind scraped at the motor oil scent around her, wandering to the Tower itself, to the cool air and martian steel that surrounded her as Kara sneered back.

But Lena shrugged it off as she continued to stare at the angry super, looking into the still-burning eyes. Lena knew what was most real.

“I love you,” Lena said, raising her hand to doppelganger, caressing along her jawline. “I love you, and I’m going to get you back.”

Kara’s eyes dimmed, and the world flashed white.

-----------

Lena gasped as her eyes opened, finding herself back in the control room. Shifting in her seat, her eyes darted around the room, feeling a flood of relief as she saw the others do the same. “This is real,” J’onn shouted to the room. “You are free of the phantom's powers!” Lena wanted to cry in relief.

“Well that sucked,” Nia said, a shaky smile thrown in Lena’s direction. “What did you see?”

Lena turned back to her controls. It’s time to bring Kara home. “A kelpie,” she said quietly, her mind drifting to the final preparation needed for the sun bomb. “I’m afraid of drowning.”

#supercorp #mel writes ficlets

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will-o-the-witch · 2 years

Text

Candle Magic Beyond Colors

A lot of people talk about color correspondences with candles, but a candle's potential in magic runs way deeper than that! Here's a list of things I don't see people mention as much:

Loading a Candle

Carve out a small hole in the bottom of the candle and stuff it with herbs, a name, whatever else you want to "fill" the candle with.

Carvings

Etch sigils, symbols, names, and other things into the candle before burning! (I like the idea of writing my problems/worries onto the candle then watching as they burn and melt away.)

Dressing a Candle

Much like loading a candle, mix your herbs in an oil or have a pre-made magical oil ready to cover your candle in before lighting.

Reversals

Chop off the top of the candle, flip it upside down, and carve a new wick out of the bottom (now top.) This is a good way to inverse its symbolism!

Shape of Candle/Container

Not all candles are little cylenders. Candles shaped like pyramids, spheres, hearts, skulls, or animals can all have those correspondences taken into account as well.

Life of the Flame

Some candles are meant to only burn for a short period of time then be blown out. (Like birthday candles.) Others are meant to burn continuously over multiple days (like yahrzeit candles or seven-day candles.) Others can be lit or extinguished as you please. Which one makes the most sense for your goals?

Burning or Beacon?

A candle flame is a light in the darkness, drawing things near. It's also literal fire which can burn away whatever it touches. Which one is your candle trying to do, burn out something undesired or serve as a beacon for what you DO desire? Plan accordingly.

Read the Wax

Always a classic, you can read the shapes made from the wax once the spell is complete to get a gage of how things went/are going. Followup information is always good and can tell you a lot!!

#candle magic #witchcraft #witch community #witch tip #witch tips #witchcraft for beginners #candle magick

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nyrandrea · 7 months

Note

Yo! Not sure if you are accepting requests for Astarion x Reader and what not but if you are, here me out; it's known that it is possible for Astarion to be kidnapped by Cazador when you are fighting at the Inn. So what about if this happened and, to try and further break him and just be a total twat, Cazador sets it up that it seems the reader/Tav has come to save Astarion only to reveal that it was all a charade to break him and drag him to the ritual (could be a shape changer of succubus, whatever you like). Astarion is utter broken, THEN the real Tav comes charging in, tearing apart everything in their way to save Astarion. We have utter angst followed by utter fluff!

Ooh I very much liked this prompt as I've never written from Astarion's POV before so I hope it comes across alright!

TW for kidnapping and slight emotional manipulation

Word Count - 2.5k

Enjoy!

xxx

Astarion shifted his shoulders side-to-side while splaying his fingers, both done in attempt to free himself of the rope binding his wrists.

As he was ushered, his heavy breaths were muffled against the cloth that had been tied around his neck. As it obscured most of his vision, he couldn’t see a damn thing, but he knew exactly where his kidnappers—his so-called ‘brother’ and ‘sister’—were taking him.

Back to his old master.

Astarion had tried to fight the spawn – Gods know he did – despite knowing it was futile. His friends had tried to save him, you had tried so, so hard – he remembers the way you desperately crawled to him, weakly calling out his name before he was dragged away.

When fighting was clearly no use, he tried to convince them just to discuss their options, that surely they could figure out a way to work together to defeat Cazador, but it was all for naught. They thought he deserved this, and, in a way, so did he.

The longer they travelled, the more his struggles eased.

Even with the bag over his head, Astarion could tell when they reached the Szarr palace. The air within was thick with the musty scent of centuries past, a haunting aroma that seemed to seep from the very walls themselves.

Dimly flickering torches lined the uneven, moss-covered bricks, casting feeble, wavering shadows that danced with eerie grace. The stones, slick with moisture, whispered secrets to those who dared listen, their ancient whispers a chilling backdrop to the silence. The floor, uneven and cold, was a mosaic of cracked tiles, their patterns lost to centuries of neglect. Puddles of stagnant water collected in the lowest recesses, reflecting the dim torchlight like dark, unblinking eyes.

“I’m... sorry that it had to come to this,” Leon said. His voice was monotone, making his words sound like a cheap, hollow excuse.

“No, you’re not,” Astarion bluntly replied. “Whatever master wants, master gets. Just a shame we all must get slaughtered in the process, hm?”

Silence was his answer.

Astarion flinched as a door creaked open and a familiar stink filled his nostrils – Leon had brought him to the ‘Kennel’, where he had spent tendays being tortured by Cazador’s cruel and sadistic servant Godey – a vile creature that often haunted his nightmares.

The cloth covering Astarion’s head was ripped off and he was forced to gaze at that familiar, hideous skull.

“If it isn’t the nasty little runaway!” Godey all-too-cheerily announced. “Ah, but you always find your way back to Godey, hmm?”

Astarion grimaced.

“If I had my way, I’d saw off your legs - that’d put a stop to your wandering.”

“As pleasant as that sounds, I’m guessing the master said no?” Astarion said with a little smirk; a mask to hide his fear. “After all, I’m sure he needs all of my blood on the inside for the Mass.”

“But he needs you obedient too,” Godey growled. “And I should cut out that tongue of yours for a start.”

The skeleton brushed his fingertips on the hilt of his dagger, as if he was considering it for a moment.

“That means no barking, no biting, no struggling – a well-behaved little doggie.”

“I’ll never do what he tells me again,” Astarion sneered. “I’d rather die.”

“Oh, you’ll do both! You will do whatever he requires, and if you’re delusional enough to think any of your little friends will come and save you, well...”

As if on cue, the doors swung open behind Godey to reveal... you.

Astarion's eyes met yours, and a torrent of emotions surged through him. His lifeless heart almost fluttered as you bypassed Godey and approached him, a mix of apprehension and joy welling up inside.

Your eyes brimmed with tears as you rushed towards him.

“Astarion, my love...!” you whispered. “I’ve come to save you; I couldn’t bear to be apart from you any longer.”

Astarion extended his arms to embrace you. Your touch felt warm and comforting, and it held him in an embrace that seemed so familiar.

For a moment, he was overcome with joy, believing he had another chance at freedom, that both of you could take down Godey and escape from this wretched place. But as seconds passed, something felt amiss. Your eyes were colder, your words more hollow, and a chilling unease settled in his bones.

“I missed you so much,” you continued, your voice wavering with a hint of deception.

But Astarion noticed the subtle differences in your gestures and expressions, even the way you spoke was... off. He pushed you away and stared into your eyes, searching for the truth.

“Who are you?” He demanded, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and heartbreak.

‘Your’ facade began to crumble. In a flash of darkness, there was a revelation of a true, grotesque form. Its face twisted and contorted into a nightmarish amalgamation of shapes and shadows.

It was a shapeshifter, a creature of dark magic, cunningly disguised as you.

Astarion recoiled, his heart shattering into a million pieces. He realised the cruel trick that had been played on him, his eyes glistening with tears.

“A gift from the master,” Godey said all too smugly. “To remind you that you are not worth saving.”

The shapeshifter, grinning wickedly, vanished into the night, leaving Astarion alone in the darkness, his heart aching with betrayal and sorrow.

“Now,” Godey said, approaching him with a chain. “Be a good little mutt and tie this around your neck, it is time to accept the fate that has been chosen for you.”

The chains felt so heavy in Astarion’s hands that he merely let them slip and pile onto the floor with a heavy clang. He just felt so tired. Of running away, of daring to have hope, of falling in love, only to have it ripped away. Existence was... nothing but a cruel joke.

And Cazador was the one laughing at him.

Godey snarled as he bent to pick the chains up and thrust them back into Astarion’s arms. “Do not disobey! Or do I have to get the knee-splitter out for old time’s sake?”

The vampire wordlessly submitted and allowed himself to be led out of the Kennel and into the corridors of the dungeon.

A heavy, suffocating atmosphere hung in the air, as if the crypt itself held its breath, waiting for something unseen to stir in the shadows. It was a place where the echoes of the past whispered of forgotten sorrows and ancient curses, a realm where the line between the living and the dead blurred into obscurity.

"Astarion...!" a distant voice cried, slicing through the dungeon's oppressive silence. Determined footsteps reverberated against the cold, stone floor, the sound of clanking armour ringing in the eerie stillness.

Godey paused, appearing confused. “What...? Can’t be the shapeshifter again...”

The footsteps edged ever closer, and Godey turned to face these unexpected intruders, forcing Astarion to turn with him.

Gale, Karlach, Shadowheart and... you were rushing down the hallway. As you approached them, the ancient stone walls seemed to tremble in anticipation.

The groups’ menacing sneers faded into incredulous expressions at the scene before them, and an overwhelming shame punched Astarion in the gut at having them see him so... vulnerable. Humiliated.

They reached for their weapons, but your eyes met Astarion’s with a fiery, unyielding gaze. Your face was bloodied, and lips curled as you snarled like a feral animal – a far cry from the innocent but fake show that the shapeshifter had put on only moments before.

“Let him go!” you demand, your grip tightening on your sword, its blade gleaming with an ethereal light.

Godey flinched back, obviously surprised.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, the master needs him,” the skeleton said. “Leave this place and he may grant you enough mercy to let you live.”

“Afraid we can’t do that, bones,” Karlach snarled before turning to you. “Can we please just kill this thing and get our friend out of here?”

“Friend?” Godey scoffed. “This dog doesn’t have friends. Now leave!”

You meet Karlach’s furious gaze, and nod.

"Get back, Astarion!" she hissed, and in a dazzling display of athletics and brute strength, brought down her mace upon Godey, his skull splitting with a sickening crack.

Gale summoned bolts of lightning to dance around him. The damp air crackled with electricity, illuminating the dungeon in an otherworldly glow. All it took was one bolt to strike Godey down until he was nothing more than a pile of dust.

Your eyes remained locked on Astarion as Shadowheart raised her hand, and the shackles that bound him burst apart with a resounding snap. He stumbled slightly; disbelief etched across his face.

“Oh, thank Gods we found you in time,” you sigh in relief as you approach him. “Are you hurt?”

He said nothing. Just... stared at you.

“Can you walk?” you tried, holding out a hand to touch his shoulder. “We need to get you out of here.”

“Don’t touch me!” he winced back, and you instantly retracted your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you said, backing up to give him space. “What’s wrong? What can I do to help you?”

Astarion’s scepticism waned a little; this version of you was a lot more... convincing than the last one. The way your eyes crinkled in distress, those little twitches your fingers did when you were nervous, even your scent was... almost enough to convince him you were the real deal.

Yet, doubt clawed at the edges of his mind like a persistent, haunting whisper.

"You can't be real," Astarion whispered, his voice laced with a soft tremor.

Your eyes welled with frustration and hurt, but your voice remained gentle as you replied, "Astarion, I am as real as the air we’re breathing and the ground we stand on. I'm right here."

Astarion shook his head, his disbelief lingering like a stubborn fog.

"No, this isn't possible," he insisted, his voice rising. "This is another trick, isn’t it?”

“Trick?” Karlach tilted her head.

“Cazador sent you,” Astarion said, his shoulders shaking as he chuckled in disbelief, almost hysterically. “Not one shapeshifter, but five? I mean where... where did he even manage to find you all?”

“Not how I would thank my rescuers, but each to their own, I suppose” Shadowheart said incredulously. “We need to leave, unless you fancy waiting for the cavalry to arrive.”

Karlach bumped the cleric’s shoulder. “Just give him a moment, yeah? He’s obviously a bit... confused.”

“Oh, it’s all as clear as day to me, darling,” the vampire spat, making her flinch. “Put on the act as much as you want, but I will not be going anywhere with you.”

He glanced down at the dust pile beneath his feet and gave it a good kick. “Though I suppose I should thank you for getting rid of him, nasty little thing.”

“That was... Godey, right?” you tentatively asked, and his red eyes flashed back up as you slowly edged forward. “I remember you telling me about him, that night we spent near the underground lake, do you remember? We stared up at the rocks and pretended to point out constellations.”

“How on earth could you... know that?”

When you were close enough, he reached out tentatively, his trembling fingers brushing against your cheek. The warmth he felt was real, but his mind refused to surrender. “You can’t be real,” he repeated, his voice a whisper and laden with desperation.

Part of you wanted to use the tadpole to reach into his mind to convince him you were real, and it would have been the quicker option. But you couldn’t—wouldn't— invade his privacy like that.

A whirlwind of emotions tore through Astarion—love, hope, fear, and an overwhelming sense of longing. He wanted desperately to believe you, to pull you into his arms and never let go. Yet, the scars of his master that etched deep into his soul held him back.

You reached out and gently took Astarion's hands, placing them on your chest, your touch warm and reassuring. "I understand your fear, but you have to trust in us. Trust in the way my heart skips a beat when I look at you. I am real, Astarion. Our love is real."

Tears welled up in his eyes as he finally allowed himself to believe. With a trembling hand, he cupped your face, his thumb wiping away a tear that had escaped your eye. “It’s really you,” he breathed, a mixture of awe and relief in his voice.

You leaned into his hand. “It’s really me.”

“As much as I would love to recite the perfect poem to encapsulate this heartwarming reunion,” Gale said, putting a hand on both your shoulder and Astarions. “I do believe we should make tracks.”

Astarion didn’t even have it in him to make any quips or comebacks, so he merely nodded, allowing you to take his hand as you led the way.

With renewed determination, the group made their escape, leaving a trail of chaos in their wake. Fire and lightning clashed with steel, and the dungeon's oppressive darkness was pierced by their resolute will. Together, they left a burning path of retribution in their wake, until they emerged into the moonlit courtyard and didn’t stop until they made it all the way back to camp.

“Woo!” Karlach cheered, turning back momentarily to hold up her middle finger up to the Szarr Palace as it disappeared over the horizon. “Can’t believe we actually managed to pull that off.”

“Neither can I,” Shadowheart deadpanned, her expression softening as she looked at Astarion. “But... I’m glad we did.”

“So am I,” Gale smiled. “This team wouldn’t be the same without your... well, let’s say charm.”

“You have such a way with words, Gale,” Astarion weakly joked. “But... know that I am grateful for you rescuing me, even if it didn’t seem like it at the time.”

“Aw, that’s alright!” Karlach gave him a thumbs up. “You’re with us now, and that’s all that matters.”

“I appreciate that, darling but...” his voice trembled slightly. “Cazador, he’ll... he needs me for the ritual. He will come after me again.”

“I’d like to see him try,” you said, your confident smile betrayed by your eyes as you clutched onto his hand like a lifeline. “He may be a vampire lord, but he doesn’t even have a slither of Karlach’s strength, or Shadowheart’s resolve or Gale’s power. And if all else fails we’ll just throw Lae’zel at him.”

You pause for a moment.

“I know we fucked up tonight but... that won’t happen again, Astarion. We’ll do better. I’ll be better. He... that bastard won’t get you.”

The corners of his lips twitched up into a smile as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze in kind. He felt the warmth of your love wrapping around his dead heart, like a protective cloak. In that moment, Astarion didn’t know what path lay ahead for him, but he knew that Cazador wouldn’t have any say in it, or anyone else for that matter.

His future... belonged to him.

xxx

eh... sorry the ending's a tad cheesy but hope you enjoyed anyhow!

Links to my other Astarion works

Everything's Fine

Restless

Request - Astarion kills everyone in his path to get to you

Request - Astarion tries to save you from kidnappers

Request - Astarion helps you to see that you're beautiful

#astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion ancunin #my writing #fanfiction #request #tw kidnapping #bg3 gale #bg3 shadowheart #bg3 karlach #bg3 godey

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tboygareth · 8 months

Text

follow me between the jaws of fate

written for @steves-strapcollection's birthday | rating: e | wc: 7,893 | cws: sex pollen, semi-dubcon, first time, virgin eddie, other tags can be found on ao3

happy birthday, ger bear. i love you so much. so. much. you mean the fucking world to me and i'm so glad i got to write this for you. never dilute yourself. your intensity is one of the best and most endearing things about you. <333

beta'd by @patchworkgargoyle and @stobinesque. cheerled, enabled, and encouraged by @sidekick-hero

READ ON AO3

It’s new, this thing between Eddie and Steve. So new, in fact, that between their work schedules and band practice and Hellfire and Steve and Robin’s Soulmate Bonding Sundays, the two of them haven’t exactly had… like… the time to, like… y’know. Not that they haven’t talked about it! (and talked about it and talked about it and talked a little more about it - at length, in the car on the way home from the diner and on the phone late into the night after Steve’s dropped Eddie off at the trailer and gone home to that stupid big empty house of his.)

It’s making Eddie crazy. He’s never been this hungry for someone in his life, and every time they’re together without being together Eddie feels like he’s going to snap. They’ve kissed - they kiss so much, in fact, that Eddie’s pretty sure he knows the shape of Steve’s mouth better than he knows his own - and just the other night Steve let him cop a feel during their make out session before he sent Eddie home to take care of his hard on by himself.

He’s pretty sure Steve’s been waiting for the right moment, waiting to make it special, because Eddie’s never done this before and Steve’s been talking about taking it slow, or whatever. But Eddie doesn’t fucking want to take it slow - the craving for Steve sits deep in the pit of his stomach and eats him alive and Eddie’s got nowhere to put that hunger. He’s jerking off more now than he ever did as a teenager, thinking of the way Steve’s hands feel on his face when they’re making out, the way his tongue tastes when he licks into Eddie’s mouth, the little sounds Steve makes at the back of his throat when Eddie opens for him.

One of these days Eddie’s just gonna have to get on his knees and beg for it - undignified, sure, but Eddie’s not above making a horny fool of himself if it means finally getting split open on Steve’s cock.

The day everything comes to a head is… normal. It’s a normal fucking day. Eddie gets up and he showers and he goes to work at the diner that Hopper went and spent the summer fixing up, where Eddie and the retired cop now trade lighthearted insults across the kitchen. Steve’s up front, running plates and charming the panties off of every old woman who walks through the door. It’s not a bad gig, this thing at Hopper’s diner, but Eddie hates the hairnet almost as much as he loves Steve’s goofy little grin every time they make the briefest eye contact through the expo window.

Eddie drinks so much coffee during his shifts that by midday he’s so jittery and anxious that he needs to get something fried and greasy in his system whenever there’s a lull in customers. He’s sitting on an overturned mayo bucket outside the propped open back door, fistful of fries in one hand and a cigarette in the other when Steve finds him. He plucks the cigarette from between Eddie’s fingers and takes a long drag.

“Thought you quit,” Eddie teases, the way he does every time Steve commandeers a cigarette from him.

“I did. Don’t tell Robin,” he smiles in return, happily continuing their little in-joke with a wink. “Skull Rock later?”

“Finally gonna have your wicked way with me, King Steve?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

It hangs between them like a living thing, this tension. Eddie would like that, and Steve would too, and eventually one of them will make it happen. Maybe today, maybe not. But eventually. Some days, when work’s been busy, they’ll sneak off to Skull Rock after their shift, just the two of them, to smoke a joint and work through a twelve pack of cheap beer together.

It’s late enough into September now that the leaves are beginning to change. It’s been doing wonders for Eddie’s mood; he’s never coped well with the heat and humidity of summer.

“Better get back in there,” Steve sighs, handing the cigarette back. “It’s about time for Mrs. Johnson to show up to try to set me up with her granddaughter again.”

“Have fun, slugger.”

“You too, and try to cut back on the coffee this afternoon, yeah? Little water never killed anybody.”

Eddie waves him off and goes back to his basket of French fries, dunking them into the pile of ketchup before shoving them into his mouth. Eddie loves their little Skull Rock dates. If you can call them dates at all. They are, but they’re not. Sure, it’s just the two of them atop the rock together. And sure, they talk about anything and everything under the sun while they drink and pass the joint back and forth. But they keep a respectable distance from one another most days. Until, of course, they get back to the privacy of Steve’s car where they can put their hands all over each other under the cover of night and not have to worry.

After work, they clamber into the Beamer and head to the convenience store. Steve buys a case of cheap beer and Eddie’s got his lunchbox in tow when they make it to their little spot, and then they help one another to climb up the face of the rock to sit together at the top. Steve tears back the cardboard and tosses a can to Eddie as he breaks up the weed to pick out the seeds and stems.

“Rob with Vickie tonight?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, they’re going into the city to see some foreign film Vickie’s been wanting to see.”

“God, she and Robin are kinda perfect for each other, huh?”

Steve hums, gazing down into his beer like his thoughts are far away. Steve hasn’t said anything about it, and he probably never will but… he’s jealous. Eddie can see it in the droop of his shoulders and the line between his eyebrows whenever they start talking about Robin and Vickie. It’s hard, when your best friend is in those beginning stages of a new relationship. You feel left out, a little lonely now that they’re cultivating something so fresh and new. Eddie can imagine that, for Steve, that feeling is even bigger.

For like a year, all they really had was each other, and Eddie’s gotten to know the two of them - their dependence on one another - pretty well over the last few months. Steve would never want to come across as needy or inconvenient, but he is needy and now that he’s gotten used to Robin being around all the time, it must be so weird for her to be around less than she used to be. She’d decided to take what her parents called a gap year between high school and college, the way they’d done when they were younger, fighting the good fight against the Vietnam War at whatever protests they could find their way to.

And so Steve had been gearing up to have Robin by his side all summer and into the autumn, just like they’d been since Starcourt, but now she’s got a girlfriend.

“Y’know Jeff got a girlfriend, too,” Eddie says. “It’s been weird, he’s missed, like, the last two Hellfire campaigns and he’s always late to band practice. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for him or whatever, but man… it kinda sucks not seeing him as much.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, I get it… I’m not, like, bitter or mad at Robin or anything. Y’know? I’m happy for her. Really. She’s liked Vickie a long time.”

Eddie shrugs. “Just sucks not seeing her as much,” he finishes for Steve.

“Yeah.”

Eddie lights the joint, takes a big hit into his lungs, passes it across to Steve. “Maybe you should invite me over then.”

Steve scoffs, takes a long pull from the joint and a deep swallow of his beer, his cheeks pink.

“Maybe I will this time,” he says on the exhale. He passes the joint back, and they let their fingers linger against each other for just a moment too long.

Eddie’s heart is racing. This might be it. He tries to not sound too hopeful, tries to make it a little teasing when he says, “Yeah? You gonna take me home with you?”

Steve’s eyes are locked with his own, and the anticipation is building, the words are right there, but Steve’s eyes flick to a point over Eddie’s shoulder and he squints. His posture changes, hackles up, and it makes something like fear creep up Eddie’s spine.

“What the fuck is that?”

The spell Eddie’d found himself in is broken as quickly as it started as he watches Steve scramble down off the rock and head over to where he saw… whatever it is that he saw. Eddie’s racing after him before he can stop himself. He lands bad on his ankle and has to hobble a little bit to keep up with Steve’s purposeful trek across the woods.

“Steve!” he’s calling after him. “Steve, what? What did you see?”

“Nothin’ fucking good,” Steve mumbles when Eddie finally catches up to him. “Do you have a walkie? I left mine in the car. Dustin’s gonna kill me if this is what I think it is.”

Steve stops short, beneath a big, old oak tree that’s rotting from the roots. And there, right at the base of the tree, growing out of the trunk, is the ugliest fucking flower Eddie has ever seen. It’s not even properly a flower, doesn’t look like it’s bloomed yet, but the bud is enormous, easily as long as Steve’s forearm and twice as thick at its widest point in the middle.

Eddie’s seen Will’s drawings of what the kids have called demogorgons and demodogs. The bud of this flower… it looks like that. It looks like it could open up at any moment with petals full of teeth and slimy spit to take a bite out of one of them.

Eddie loses the internal battle with his impulse control and reaches toward it, not sure if he's going to just touch it or rip it out by the roots altogether, but certain he doesn’t have control over himself either way, and Steve smacks his hand away as the petals begin to open. He gets in between Eddie and the flower. It unfurls into a deep, bloody red, two yellow stamen in the center poking out, and it seems to creak, the sound of an old abandoned house settling in the night.

The dread makes Eddie’s skin crawl with goosebumps. They’re too close to it. They need Dustin’s walkie. They’ve gotten too careless. The kids warned them that something could happen at any time, and they’ve gotten too comfortable thinking they’d be done with the Upside Down and the demo-everythings and the horror.

But now here’s this flower, very obviously from the hell dimension Eddie almost didn’t make it out of the first time, blooming deep red to remind them that they’ll never really be free. And its stamen is pointed right at Eddie’s face.

Eddie’s frozen on the spot, just staring at the fucking thing and shaking in his fucking sneakers. Steve’s got an arm out between the flower and Eddie, his stance defensive, and the flower --

Coughs on him. There’s no other way to describe it. It coughs and it spits spores in Eddie’s face and Eddie gasps when it happens and the moment is over in less than a second but it sinks into them both, the reality of it, and Steve takes Eddie firmly by the hand to drag him away from the flower.

The effect is crazy fucking fast. Whatever’s in those spores goes straight to Eddie’s head and makes him dizzy. That’s how it fucking starts. He shakes his head and tries to focus but his throat is getting a little tight and suddenly he’s sweating like a whore in church. His vision is a little bit fuzzy and distantly, he thinks Steve might be saying something to him.

“Huh?” he asks, taking just a second to lean against the nearest tall, hard surface to catch his breath.

“I asked if you’re okay,” Steve says, and he sounds a little muted, almost like they’re underwater. It makes Eddie laugh, for some reason.

When Eddie looks at him, Steve comes into sharp focus, and the woods around them melt away. Eddie wants to kiss him.

“‘M great, big guy. How are you?”

“Eddie. You’re soaked with sweat, dude, are you gonna be alright?”

“Pssh!” Eddie says, waving a hand at him. How many beers had he had before they ran off? Not nearly enough to be drunk.

Oh, man, maybe the pot was a bad batch.

“No, Eddie, it’s not the pot. It was the fucking flower that spit spores all over you.”

Did he say all that out loud?

“Yes. Fuck, we gotta get you outta here. Come on.”

Steve touches him again, and Eddie’s skin sings. It’s like an electric shock, everywhere they touch lighting up like tiny little firecrackers, and it makes Eddie laugh again. Steve is pulling him forward, to the edge of the wood where they’d parked their cars, and Eddie feels himself stumbling, his steps off kilter.

He can’t focus on anything that isn’t Steve, can’t see past him or around him or through him and his lips are itching with the need to press against him.

“Stevie, wait,” Eddie says, and Steve turns toward him. “We both feel this, right?”

“No, Eds, the spores only got you.”

“Not that, I…” He hesitates, his head swimming, that hunger for Steve clawing its way to the front of his consciousness until it’s all he can think about. He’s hard in his jeans thinking about before, when they were teasing each other on top of skull rock, flirting with the idea of going home together later. He adjusts himself in his jeans, hissing at the friction of his hand against himself. “This. We both feel that, don’t we?”

For a second, Steve looks like he’s in pain. “Yeah, but… I don’t think… maybe drugged up by an Upside Down flower isn’t the best time to talk about it.”

Fuck talking about it. Eddie doesn’t want to talk about it. He wants to show Steve. He palms himself again, distantly hears himself moan as he presses his hips against his hand.

“Oh, fuck, what did that thing do to you?”

“It’s not that, it’s you. I’m so fuckin’ hot for you I can’t stand myself. Been wantin’ to go all the way for weeks now but we never do. I need you, Stevie.”

“That’s… I think that’s the spores talking, Eds.”

Something bubbles up in Eddie, something like anger, something like frustration. “It’s not. Didn’t you hear me, I’ve wanted this for weeks.”

The feeling ebbs and flows. He’s light headed. He’s dizzy. All the blood in his body is rushing to his cock. He’s throbbing in his fucking jeans, leaking, the front of his boxers wet with precome. He palms himself again, little whines escaping him very much without his permission.

Steve tries to tug him along, but yanks his hand back as soon as it makes contact with Eddie’s skin. Like he’s been burned.

Eddie’s feeling faint again, wobbly. He’s stumbling along and tripping over branches and vines and it’s like he’s back there, back in the Hawkins beneath Hawkins that Supergirl and Hop and Will swore was closed to them for good and the fear grips him again.

“Eddie!” Steve is saying, clapping his hands in front of Eddie’s face and whoa - Eddie’s on his back. He doesn’t know how he got there. He isn’t even sure he can get up at this point because everything is spinning.

Above him Steve looks like a Greek god or an angel, the sun behind him peeking through the canopy to give him a golden halo.

“I’m flattered. Can you get up?”

Eddie doesn’t know. Everything around him is bathed in color. It’s all swimming and shifting, and Steve’s face is glowing. Almost sparkling. Vaguely, Eddie thinks of the time he tried mushrooms with Grant and they laid out in Grant’s backyard to watch the shifting clouds. They’d been out there for so long the clouds gave way to stars and he and Grant had laughed and laughed and laughed at the shapes they’d made above them.

This is kinda like that.

Except mushrooms with Grant hadn’t had Eddie’s cock hard as stone and straining the zipper of his jeans.

He lets Steve help him to his feet and his skin buzzes everywhere they touch. He tumbles into Steve, off balance, and Steve catches him in those big, strong arms of his. They’re pressed against each other like this and, humiliatingly, Eddie can’t stop himself from dragging his cock up the hard line of Steve’s thigh.

“Oh, fuck,” he hears himself moan, and Steve’s hands tighten in the fabric of Eddie’s shirt where he’s holding him up.

“We have to get you out of here,” Steve says, and Eddie thinks he’s mostly saying it to himself at this point because Eddie’s ears are full of cotton. He can hear Steve and he can understand him, but just barely. His head’s never been this foggy before, not even with the smelliest, stickiest pot Rick’s got to offer.

Everything goes fuzzy as Steve drags him through the underbrush toward the car.

He runs into the passenger side door of the car at top speed, the door panel bringing him to an abrupt stop as… something crashes over him.

“Oh, ohhhh fuck,” he hears himself whine. His eyes roll back, the orgasm ripping through him with the force of a fucking freight train, and his knees begin to tremble.

Eddie slides into the car and for a brief, miraculous moment, his head is clear enough to form actual coherent thoughts. He just came, un-fucking-touched, when he slammed full force into the car.

“Shit. Shit shit shit,” he’s muttering, the front of his jeans damp and uncomfortable. Steve’s getting in the driver’s seat, looking at him a little funny, and Eddie’s face is hot with his shame at what just happened.

His cock is still hard though, still tenting his fly, obvious and unignorable. “You alright?” Steve asks.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m okay for now.. Get me… somewhere, before I cum again.”

“Again?” Steve asks, his eyes wide as he stares at Eddie’s erection.

“Yes, Steve, again. Please just… not the trailer. Can we please go to your place? I need a shower. I need…”

I need to get fucked, is what he doesn’t say, but it hangs there anyway, like a living thing between them, because it’s beginning to dawn on them both now, the reality of the situation. That flower spat some really powerful aphrodisiac on Eddie, in his face, right up his nasal cavity where it’s taken root firmly in his brain matter.

“We need to get Hopper on the line,” Steve mutters. “Maybe Owens, too.”

“We are not calling Hopper. Or Owens, or anybody until this is over. Or until it looks like I might actually cum myself to death.”

“So how do we handle it?”

Things are getting hazy again, all of Eddie’s blood rushing back down to his groin to pool there and make him even harder than he already was. He presses his hand there, unable to stop himself, his head thrown back against the headrest as he thrusts and rocks his hips up into the friction, and just as he begins to realize what he’s doing - fucking jerking off right here in Steve’s car - it hits him again, the warm splash of his release in the confines of his boxers to mix with his previous orgasm. He shakes with it, his voice coming out in these strange little whimpers with each spurt.

“Oh, Jesus.” Steve’s voice sounds choked, strangled, distracted, and Eddie lets his head loll to the side to look at him. Steve is very clearly trying not to look, trying to keep his eyes on the road where they’re supposed to be, but he takes the turn into Loch Nora a little too hard and it knocks Eddie into the door again, the window knob digging into his knee, but fuck, at least he doesn’t cum all over himself again.

There’s sweat pooling in the divots of Eddie’s collarbones, the back of his neck. His hairline is damp with it and he feels like he can’t draw a complete breath with the heat and humidity in the car.

“Can you turn on the air, man, I’m fuckin’ dyin’ here.”

“Air’s up, Eds. Windows are down, it’s like in the fifties out there.”

“Fuck, man, I’m a mess,” Eddie hears himself chuckle. There’s no humor in it. This might well be it for him. He might actually be doomed to nut himself to death, right here in Steve Harrington’s car.

But then they’re pulling into Steve’s drive and Eddie is tumbling out of the car onto the concrete beneath, hauling himself to stand, a little wobbly on his shaking knees, as he makes the trek to the front door. He’s still gotta wait for Steve, though, and he stands there at the locked door, leaning against it as Steve fumbles the keys in his hand to get it unlocked to usher Eddie inside.

When the door closes behind them it’s like a dam breaks. Eddie presses Steve to the doorframe and kisses him, hungry and desperate, like he can’t stop himself from getting Steve's skin on his own.

“Fuck,” he murmurs into Steve’s mouth, uncertain he’s even forming words. “Fuck, Stevie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want it to be like this but I need you. I need this now. I think I might actually die if I don’t have you… that flower, Stevie, it did something to me.”

“Okay.” Steve’s voice is firm, certain, decisive, and it makes Eddie tremble. “Okay, what do you need?”

“You,” he says again. He’s not sure how else to convey the severity of just how badly he needs this, of the urgency curling in his gut at the idea that he might not be able to have everything the way he needs it. “Touch me.”

Steve touches him. Steve’s hand presses against his straining fly and Eddie erupts, his head damn near exploding with the force of it. He ruts against Steve’s hand as he paints the inside of his pants with a third orgasm. There’s no way he should even have anymore in there. There’s no way it’s safe for one person to produce this much spunk in such a short amount of time but as he’s coming down Eddie comes to a realization:

In the scant few moments of clarity between an orgasm and the next wave of arousal, he is able to think. He’s drained, getting more and more exhausted with each release, but he thinks he knows what the solution here is.

“We need to fuck,” he says, impressed with the evenness of his own voice around the druggy haze of whatever the flower’s done to him. “I can’t put my finger on how I know that but it’s like… I get really horny, I can’t think, I cum, and then for like two minutes I’m fine. You need to fuck me until it’s over.”

“This is going to actually kill you, Eddie. We really should call Owens.”

“Absolutely not. Let’s just try it.”

“That’s the spores talking.”

“Maybe! But, like… what else could it be? That thing spit some sort of… sex spore on me!”

“And what if it… I dunno, transfers to me or something?”

“Then we fuck until we die, baby!” Eddie’s voice comes out sounding a little hysterical, even to his own ears but he’s frantic. His fingers are tingling.

“You don’t want it like this, you already said!”

“No, but I may never get it at all if I die like this! And then how bad would you feel, huh? Sorry Wayne, Eddie died because I wouldn’t fuck him stupid when a demon flower got him all hot and bothered. Tough loss, after everything.”

Steve switches their positions, shoves Eddie back against the door and it knocks something loose in him again, any thoughts or words he’d hoped to convey just - whoosh - out the window with everything aside from his libido. He spreads his thighs and takes Steve by the belt loops to pull him into him. He’s dragging his cock over the front of Steve’s jeans, feels an answering hardness there despite Steve’s protests.

Steve, finally, is using those quick hands of his to get Eddie’s belt unbuckled, his jeans unzipped and down to pool on the floor at his feet.

“You’re a fucking mess,” he says, and Eddie whines. He doesn’t touch Eddie’s dick just yet, his fingers dipping into the sticky, cooling spend caked in his pubic hair and bringing it up into both their lines of sight. He presses his forefinger and thumb together and spreads them, a string of cum spreading between the two, and then he wipes it on Eddie’s cheek.

“Filthy,” he says, but his voice is so gentle, so affectionate that it very nearly hurts.

Eddie cums again, his cock twitching as he spills onto the floor at their feet. The sheer volume of it should be concerning - it is a little bit - but it takes a backseat to the way Steve is looking at him, hunger in his eyes now as he begins to realize, maybe, that this could be fun.

“You’re really okay with this?” Steve asks. “Us? Like this?”

“More than okay, Stevie. Been tryin’ to get you in bed for weeks.”

The white noise takes over his senses again and he pitches forward, curling in on himself because this time it hurts, his stomach twisting into knots and his cock straining and so hard he thinks it might actually fucking explode if he doesn’t get some fucking relief. His skin goes clammy and he’s having trouble staying planted on his feet, something in his head is splitting open and it’s all he can do to not pass out.

He’s clutching Steve’s forearm, the muscles there shifting and flexing beneath his grip, and it’s like the fog was so close to clearing he could almost taste it but now he’s having trouble stringing one thought into two let alone forming coherent words. He wails, can barely hear himself over the kssshhhhhh of television static in his brain, and Steve helps him out of his jeans and up the stairs.

He’s not sure how they even make it but before Eddie knows it he’s on his back atop Steve’s mattress, the sheets beneath him cool and smooth, a balm to his too-tight skin.

“Can you be good for me?” Steve asks him.

“I can be anything you need me to be,” Eddie tries to tell him, but what comes out is something closer to a long, drawn out whine of Steve’s name.

“Spread.”

Eddie does. He plants his feet on the mattress and spreads his legs as far as he can for Steve to see him, take him in, fucking pound him into the mattress already, Christ. The mattress dips as Steve crawls toward him on his knees, shedding his shirt along the way. His fucking jeans are still on but they’ll deal with those later. Right now Eddie is zeroed in on those fuckin’ paws of his, desperate to get those hands on his skin, on his cock, whole fucking fist in his ass if Steve would be so fucking kind.

Steve is up off the bed now, scrambling in the drawer beside it, rustling around in there like he’s searching for something and Eddie’s head is pounding, a headache that creeps around his eyes and into his spine and leaves him even more breathless than before. But then the bed dips again and Steve is there with a bottle of lube and a condom and he’s saying something, his words lost in the white noise between Eddie’s ears.

Steve gets a finger inside him, and everything goes utterly silent. The heat remains, the clawing arousal remains, the painful stiffness of Eddie’s neglected cock remains, but the white noise is gone. He can hear Steve now, his stream of consciousness telling Eddie exactly what he’s doing, asking him if he’s okay and Eddie feels himself nod. He's keening, whining, moaning as he fucks himself on that single finger inside him and he’s already craving more of it. He needs two fingers, needs to get his cock inside Steve’s perfect fucking mouth.

And that’s exactly what he gets. Maybe he said it out loud again, begging for more of Steve in his delirium, maybe Steve just knew, is able to read Eddie like the open book he tries so, so hard not to be. Either way, Steve’s mouth is hot and wet as it engulfs him, the stretch of two fingers shoving into his hole stinging in the most perfect way. Eddie arches, shoves himself down the back of Steve’s throat and the noise it elicits is filthy and beautiful, the feeling of his throat fluttering around the head of his cock with a gag bringing Eddie oh, so briefly back to himself to relish it, just a little, before the delirium pulls him back under.

He’s being so loud, never heard himself make these sounds before but Steve seems to be enjoying it. For just a second, as Eddie lifts his head from the pillow that smells of sleep and Steve and vanilla shampoo, Eddie can see Steve’s hand down the front of his jeans, the bulge of that cock he’s been dreaming of for weeks obvious and prominently erect.

“Fuck me,” Eddie hears himself say. “Please, pleaseplease Stevie.”

Instead, Steve bullies a third finger into his hole and takes his cock deep in his throat again. Something snaps, and Eddie cums, spilling down Steve’s throat and squeezing his fingers so hard he’s a little worried he might break them. The clarity that follows his orgasm is bright and heavy - the knowledge that Steve’s mouth and fingers have finally brought him off and he wasn’t even present enough to enjoy it… it stings a little, makes him just a little bit sad, but then Steve is shedding his jeans and his boxers and taking that big beautiful cock in his hand to stroke it.

“No condom,” Eddie says. “I think… I don’t think it would work. I think…”

I think I need you to cum inside me. He can’t say it, can’t force the words out, because his clarity is leaving him again and he shakes with a sob. It hurts - every time he gets off something in him fucking hurts so bad. There’s an understanding in him, something supernatural or magical or fucking something, that knows he needs to cum with Steve, at the same time, with one of them buried to the hilt inside the other, for this to end. And he needs it to happen now because there are knives in his body, cutting him up from the inside every time he cums without any real relief.

“I wanted this to be special,” Steve is saying, and Eddie can only just hear him past that old ringing in his ears.

He wants to respond, wants to reassure Steve that it’s okay, that this doesn’t count, really, that they can make it special next time, tomorrow morning maybe, after the spores have worn off and he can think coherent thoughts again. He can’t. He doesn’t know words anymore, thinks he might have forgotten the English language an hour ago, a day ago. How long has this been going on?

He sobs again, this time with the urgency to get Steve inside him. Please. Please. Please. He’s hot all over, burning up inside, his stomach tearing itself apart and his heart pounding so fucking hard it might actually burst through his ribs.

Eddie hauls himself over, flipping to his front to get his knees up under him, presents himself to Steve like that. Like this, like this, hard. He’s not sure the words make it out of him but god, Steve understands anyway. He shuffles closer, his hands palming the cheeks of Eddie’s ass and spreading them. He’s just looking at him, not saying anything, and Eddie’s skin is singing beneath his touch.

“Hard,” Eddie says into the pillow, his words muffled. He turns, says over his shoulder, “Fuck me hard.”

Distantly, Eddie hears the lube pop open again, feels the slippery wetness coat his hole, Steve’s fingers dipping into him just so before swiftly leaving him again, and then Steve is there - the blunt head of him pressing and stretching him and entering him. It should hurt. There should be a burn to go with the stretch but instead it’s nothing but sweet, sweet relief.

Steve bottoms out with a deep groan in the back of his throat. Something within Eddie clicks into place, and Steve sets up a punishing rhythm, his hips making these little smack smack smack noises each time he sinks home again. Eddie feels so full, the drag of Steve inside him forcing his voice out in broken little whines as he claws at the sheets under his hands. He presses back to meet each brutal thrust. He’s babbling again, unsure of what he’s saying, hears himself chanting and crying out as the heat in him builds and builds.

Steve’s hands are everywhere - they ghost over the jagged scars on his hip and ribs, grip his shoulders tightly to drag him back onto his cock with force. The long line of Steve’s chest drapes over Eddie’s back suddenly, Steve’s mouth so close to his ear that Eddie can hear now just how ragged and fucked out he is, and Steve’s hand finds its way to Eddie’s throbbing, pulsing cock.

Steve strokes him once, twice, before that hand leaves to travel even lower. He squeezes Eddie’s balls, tugging harshly at them, and Eddie lifts his head to rub his cheek against Steve’s. He turns as much as he can, seeking his mouth, seeking a kiss from him. Steve bites him, his teeth sinking into Eddie’s bottom lip before sucking it wholly into his mouth.

Eddie spills onto the sheets with a sharp cry, panic rising in him as he oh, so briefly comes to his senses enough to know this isn’t over, that he’s still hard, still needs more of this. He’s not even finished coming, each spurt landing heavily on the bed beneath him, and he takes Steve’s mouth in a kiss again.

The harsh rhythm of Steve’s hips hasn’t slowed.

That hand glides even further back now, frames the place where their bodies meet between two of his fingers to feel the way Steve is fucking him. Eddie’s senses have left him again, all narrowed down to the sensation of touch, and all he can feel is the wet of Steve’s mouth, open against his own, the thick cock impaling him and taking, taking, taking.

Steve’s voice is growing sharper, little “Ah, ah, ah”s falling from his lips the closer he gets to his own release, and he hisses out a ragged, “Fuck,” before pulling out to squeeze himself at the base of his cock. He breathes through it. Eddie doesn’t even have enough time to find his bearings before he’s being flipped to his back.

Above him is Steve. Holy fuck. He’s damp with sweat, his skin glistening a little in the golden sunset light streaming in through the slotted blinds of the window. He’s gazing down at Eddie like he’s the magical one.

“You’re beautiful like this.”

Eddie hears it, when Steve says it. He feels it in his pores. Believes it, when Steve says it.

And then there’s Steve, lowering himself to lie across Eddie’s body. He guides himself forward and sinks perfectly inside.

Everything is quiet. There’s no buzzing in Eddie’s head anymore, no ringing in his ears. There’s just this: Steve’s ragged breaths as he bottoms out again, Eddie’s audible gulp at the burn of being so full in this position, a bird outside - mourning dove, maybe, something that coos low and deep.

Steve wanted something special. This feels special.

Still the heat doesn’t subside. Steve whispers that Eddie is burning up inside, that it’s almost too much, and then he rocks slowly back before pressing forward again and Eddie feels his eyes roll back in his head. Steve guides Eddie’s legs around his waist and he hovers over him, their faces so, so close to each other that Eddie can smell the beer and the pot on Steve’s breath. Eddie kisses him, and Steve laces their fingers together, holds his hand through the first round of slow, torturous thrusts of his hips.

“More,” Eddie whispers. “Deeper. It’s working.”

“How do you know?” Steve whispers in return.

“I don’t know. I just do.”

It’s slow like that, soft and gentle in a way that Eddie never once thought sex could be, each slide home dragging little sobs from Eddie’s lips and into Steve’s waiting mouth. Eddie is overcome with it, with the simplicity of this, but after a while it’s not enough anymore and the knives in his gut are back.

“More, I need more.”

“You’re doing so well,” Steve breathes, the pace of his hips picking up speed as Eddie arches beneath him. “You feel so good. You’re so…” he moans, “oh, god, you’re so good for me.”

Eddie is coming back to himself, gradually, for real this time. He’s got the presence of mind to actively move with Steve, to rock with him, match his rhythm, bring him deeper with every thrust of his hips. Steve takes his lips in another kiss, and Eddie opens for him. It’s a real kiss, a proper one, like so many that they’ve shared before, and that’s what seems to break Steve. He holds Eddie’s face in his hands, pulling back to look at him.

“There you are,” he whispers, almost reverent. “There you are.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easy, Stevie.”

“Thank god.”

“C’mon, sweetheart, give it to me. I can take it.”

“Well I can’t,” Steve groans, laughing at himself a little. “You’re so fuckin’ hot inside, Eds. Gonna burn me up.”

But Steve sits up. He gets his knees under himself and under Eddie’s ass. Hooking his elbows under each of Eddie’s knees, he folds him in half. Eddie didn’t even know he could fuckin’ bend like that but the change in position does something, shifts something inside Eddie and he arches with it. His eyes roll back as his vision goes fuzzy, Steve driving into him with a kind of force he hadn’t expected.

The delirium washes over him again in waves. Colors swim in his vision. Steve begins to glow again, a little bit. There’s a wub wub wub in Eddie’s ears that drown out even the wet slap of their skin coming together as Steve fucks into him. Eddie’s not sure if the sounds coming out of him are euphoric giggles or fucked out whimpers but at this point either seems possible.

Vaguely, as if under water, he thinks he hears himself murmur, “I love you,” and Steve’s hips stutter a little with the declaration. Fuck. If that’s how Eddie goddamn tells Steve he loves him… Fuck. He reaches for Steve, drags him down and lets his body bend even further to kiss Steve again, will him to forget.

“More,” he pleads. “More. I love you. Fuck. Sorry.”

Against his mouth, Steve laughs. Eddie feels the shape of that laugh more than he hears it. What he does hear, though, is Steve’s response.

“I love you. I’ve loved you for months.”

“Stevie,” Eddie hears himself whine. “Close. Close, I’m close. This is gonna be it, oh god.”

The drive of Steve’s hips is wild. He’s frantic, urgent, chasing his own release. The delirium crashes into Eddie again, makes him cry out. It’s building and building to an absolute fever pitch now, very nearly fucked right out of him and when he blows this last time that’ll be it.

His cheeks are wet. Oh god, he’s fucking crying. Actually fucking sobbing as Steve fucks him hard and fast and relentless. Steve’s eyes are squeezed shut, focused on not coming too quick maybe, and thank fuck for that because there’s no way Steve wouldn’t stop if he knew Eddie was fucking crying with pleasure.

That final orgasm crashes into Eddie with the force of a meteorite. It’s a cataclysmic event. The kind of shit that could eradicate life. Maybe this is what killed the dinosaurs, Eddie thinks vaguely.

He shouts and tears at the sheets, hears them rip a little beneath his clawing fingers. There’s so much fucking cum. It’s boiling hot on his skin. He paints Steve’s chest with it somehow, and has just enough control over himself to drag his hand through it, scrape his fingernails through the mess of his chest hair and that’s what does it for Steve.

He drives deep, deeper than he has yet, his balls trapped, squeezed between their bodies. There’s a hot blooming sensation inside him as Steve fills him up with his release, and Eddie can feel Steve’s cock twitching inside him with each spurt.

“Fuck, oh fuck Eddie, holy shit.”

Slowly, Steve draws out of him, and Eddie winces. He feels empty. Empty, but satiated and relaxed. Beside him, Steve collapses onto his back.

Everything is so quiet in the aftermath. Eddie’s cock is finally going soft. He��s drifting in and out of consciousness, just a little nervous he might not wake up if he gives himself over to sleep. The poison is out. He knows it is. He’s coming down from it, the euphoria and delirium finally leaving him altogether.

He’s exhausted. His body fucking hurts.

But Steve is here. Steve is kissing him. Steve is murmuring love against his mouth, giving him praise, telling him he’s beautiful, telling him he’s good.

“Thought I was gonna lose you again. ‘M sorry.”

“Hey, don’t do that,” Eddie says, breathless. “No apologies. You did…” he swallows, “you did exactly what I needed.”

“You were crying!”

“Good tears, I swear!”

Steve narrows his eyes at Eddie at that but doesn’t fight him, and Eddie feels a smile creeping across his face.

“God, it feels so good to be able to think straight again.”

“Nothin’ straight about the way you think.”

Eddie huffs a laugh. “True enough. C’mere. Wanna cuddle you for a minute before I try and get up.”

“Eds, you need a shower.”

“Need you more. We can shower after.”

He pulls Steve into him. He tangles their legs together and pushes Steve’s sweaty hair back from his face and just looks at him. He wants to apologize for getting too close to that fucked up flower, for forcing a situation that Steve might not have been ready for just yet.

“What are you thinking about?”

“You didn’t want to… I just… like, I know you wanted to eventually, but… I’m sorry you had to, like… do this. Today. Because of this. Because I was stupid and tried to touch a fucking demon flower I had no reason to fuck with.”

Steve sighs. “It would have gotten one of us either way, I think. And it’s not that I didn’t want to, Eds. I’ve been… I’ve wanted to, for weeks now. Months, maybe. I just wanted to make sure we were both… that we were on the same page before we did.”

“What do you mean?”

Steve’s fingers trail lightly over Eddie’s brow, as if mapping his face, committing it to memory. “I needed to know you loved me.”

“Of course I do.”

“I just fall really hard and really fast. You know? I didn’t wanna be there before you, do this, and then find out afterwards that we… that whatever this is is just… physical to you. I can’t have another relationship that revolves around sex.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get that,” Eddie sighs. “Well for what it’s worth, I’ve been struggling to not tell you how I feel for… Jesus, for months. Think I might’a fell for you that first time I saw you in the hospital, after everything was over.”

“Yeah?” Steve smiles. “Tell me about that.”

“Nah. Maybe another time. Let’s shower. This shit is starting to flake and I’m startin’ to get itchy.”

The shower is lukewarm. The shampoo is expensive, and smells of vanilla when Steve works it through Eddie’s hair. He groans at Steve’s fingers on his scalp, more relaxed than he’s been all day, maybe even in weeks. After washing his hair, Steve works out the tightness in Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie might fucking cry again.

“I didn’t expect to see you, in the hospital,” Eddie says quietly as Steve drags a washcloth over his skin. “Max had just woken up, too, and… I get it, I wasn’t upset about it at all. If I’d made it out the way everyone else did, I’d have been right there with you.”

Steve is quiet, the washcloth slowing its scrub across Eddie’s back as he listens.

“But there you were. You came in while they were changing my bandages and you… fuck, Steve, you looked like you hadn’t slept all week. You smiled. I think I was a goner right there.”

“You smiled first,” Steve tells him. “When you looked up and saw me. You smiled, even though the old bandages were sticking to you when they pulled them off. I never thought I’d see you smile again.”

“Were you a goner too Stevie?”

It’s meant to be teasing, but Steve says, “Yeah. Yeah, I was a fucking goner.”

“What took us so long, huh?”

“I don’t know. Glad we figured it out.”

When Eddie’s clean they switch positions, and Steve lets Eddie return the favor. He washes Steve’s hair and his body and he kisses him all over his face and neck, counting those perfect moles with his lips as he goes. The shower is nearly cold when they finally shut it off and step out onto the plush mat on the bathroom floor. Steve’s towels are soft.

It’s not until they get back to Steve’s bedroom that they realize what a mess they’ve made of the bed. Steve tosses a clean pair of underwear to Eddie from his own dresser and then they strip the sheets. It’s nice, doing this together. It’s soft and domestic and Eddie is entertaining the idea of someday. Someday they can maybe have this for real, the two of them and Robin and Vickie in a little place somewhere in the city.

Maybe he and Steve can have forever.

After the sheets are changed and the moon hangs heavy outside Steve’s bedroom window, they climb back into his bed and get back to kissing. There’s no rush here, no urgency, no need to take things any further than this.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve says later, startling Eddie just as he’s finally drifting off to sleep. “We forgot to call Owens.”

#steddie fic #bee's blurbs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie

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octuscle · 7 months

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Hey there. I guess I need help with my chronivac. In my neighborhood there are more and more Arabic and Turkish men. It doesn't bother me that they are Arabic or Turkish or whatever. But they all look so extremely good - nice hair, nice beard, nice tan, nice bulges, extremely self confident... and I'm starting to get a little jealous, cause I'm a chubby, shy, white German (Alman).

Now the real Problem - the chronivac basic settings can't help me and the chronivac pro settings are way too complicated for me. So I hope you can help and change me to become less jealous in my neighborhood.

Okay, let's see how chronivac pro premium support can help you.

On your way to the subway in the morning, you usually grab a coffee to go at the kiosk in your ecologically sustainable reusable mug and buy a Süddeutsche Zeitung. But this morning you forgot your mug. So you order a Turkish mocha, which you drink directly at one of the bar tables. You also get a sesame seed curl and the BILD newspaper. For the first time, you talk to the owner of the kiosk. You've been a customer here for years. You take a second mocha and buy a pack of cigarettes. Fuck, then you're in the office half an hour later. Who cares?

You don't give a shit that smoking is not allowed on the platform. You blow your smoke onto the platform out of the subway and just throw the cigarette out onto the floor, while the doors are closing. And you snot right after it.

The work in the office pisses you off today. Boring chatter, unproductive meetings. During the lunch break, your colleagues are talking about Turkey's role in the Ukraine conflict. When you say that Erdogan is a great leader and that you would like to see more statesmen like him, everyone stares at you in disbelief. Fuck, that's right. Most heads of state are effeminate losers! We need more men who can thump their fists on the table. Like Erdogan and Putin.

You're glad when you can finally call it a day. You need a reward. Just normal people around you. You allow yourself a visit to the new barber store on your street. On the street in front of it a group of young men smoking. You have to wait only one cigarette length for a free appointment. You let one of the guys give you a light and smoke a cigarette with them. And then you sit down in the barber's chair. Can is an artist. You love the way he shapes your beard, makes your skull look more angular with the undercut, and trims your sprawling eyebrows. And he makes a damn good mocha.

When Can takes away the hairstyling cape, you're more than satisfied. Yes, to your brothers here, you're just an infidel. But you fit in quite well visually. Sure, most bros are better worked out than you. But you don't have to hide. It's just that you are so pale that annoys you. That's why you go directly before training on the tanning bed in the gym after the haircut . And so that the sweating is really worth it, after pumping up to the sauna. Hammam would be better, but there is no such thing in your discount gym.

It doesn't show that you are not a Turk or an Arab. And since you speak fluent Turkish, Arabic and Albanian, no one in the sauna would suspect that you have a German passport. Infidel! No matter what they think of you. The main thing is that nothing can separate you and your brothers!

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #male transformation #muscle transformation #race change #sweat soaked

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faeriekit · 8 months

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Health and Hybrids (VIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and whatever prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREEis here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here and this is part 8 💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Everybody got lunch! Not Danny, though. :) He was taking a nap. And Wonder Woman

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my awful attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny only doesn’t throw something because he already knew someone was on their way. The alien told him so. It’s not a surprise.

There’s someone new here. In his room. At the edge of his curtain. Too close to his bed. Danny doesn’t like it. He doesn’t hiss, because that’s Rude, but he does push his shadow to be bigger. Longer. Darker.

The human just waves. Waits. Holds something out in its hand. Danny doesn’t care. He can’t see it and he’s not going to go over there.

The human makes more words Danny can’t hear. Blech. He wonders what everyone knows here that he doesn’t. Is it French? Is it German? Jazz—

Thinking about Jazz makes his heart hurt.

Danny curls up further into the dark spots on his bed.

The human steps past Danny’s curtain. Danny does hiss, now, something long and low and halfway out of a human hearing range.

The human pauses. Its black haired-head tilts. It says—something else. Its tone is still gentle.

Danny doesn’t trust it. But it doesn’t get any closer, either. It only…holds out a hand.

There’s something in that hand.

It’s a trap, it has to be. But—

The alien said that they had friends in this tower. That the humans here are…safe. Danny doesn’t believe it. Danny is afraid to believe it.

But one of them gave him food.

…And the younger ones feed him all the time.

So maybe. Danny. Maybe he can. He flinches and he leans forward.

Danny can. He can’t see most things. But something aches in his skull where he is meant to see color and shape and familiarity, and something in his melted brain whispers wait, watch.

Danny’s back arches.

He waits. He watches.

…The object doesn’t do anything. The human simply sets it on Danny’s side table, and then it’s an object. A mostly white, somewhat red object. The other colors might be blue, or gray; they’re not distinct enough to be distinguishable in Danny’s mostly mush eyes. It’s oblong, and sort of round and—

Danny jerks upright. He snatches the item off of the table as quickly as he can, brings it as close to his eyes as he can— IT’S A ROCKET!!!! It is!!!! With fuel thrusters and everything!! If Danny had his whole brain he thinks that he could even recognize which one!!

He purrs, and he purrs, and he purrs, and he takes his pillow and he settles the hard plastic into his kind-of-damp (but mostly dry!) pillows and leans into it, happy to have this thing he likes and can recognize!!

Fine. Danny can like this human. When it comes back with little pills in a paper cup, it bravely gets closer, so Danny can see black hair pulled back, a tail swinging behind her, a tinge of red under a mostly-opaque white medical gown, and gold bracelets on her arms.

…Danny touches the bracelets to investigate before he can even be scared. They shiver with energy. Danny’s fragile form shivers back.

The human spends a lot of time with words Danny can’t hear on the paper cup, and she pulls out each little pill inside so that she can say more things, show him what it looks like, let him smell each capsule and tablet.

When the buzzing human comes back with a vibrato of joycurio/us!/joy in its wake, eager to see Danny as he is relieved to see it, Danny shows him the little paper cup.

The buzzing human trills with relief! Relief! Relief!

…That’s got to be safe enough, right? …Right?

Danny…

It’s been a while since he tried to dry-swallow medicine down his torn esophagus, but everyone’s immediate rush to find him water makes the swallow easier than Danny might have thought.

Some of the medicine is going to make him sleepy. Danny remembers enough about medicine to remember that. The thought of being vulnerable and not able to wake up is scary; but if Danny is going to get better, he’s going to have to trust that not every human wants to make sample slides out of his organs and jam needle-long electrodes into his brain, and he will have to fall asleep and not cry about it.

The cup of water the quickquickquick human gets him is so nice. His claws clink against the ceramic of the mug. Most of the liquid actually makes it into his mouth, and some of it even into his throat.

Danny lays down, pulls the rocket ship closer to his fragile form, and purrs. The fastquick human takes Danny’s hand so that he’s not alone.

At some point, his paper eyelids shut.

#medical proceeds to LOSE THEIR MIND that Danny actually takes his antibiotics and iron tablets #Diana: he's...small :( I want to hold him. (Is wrapped in like 30 layers of medical safety gear)#Diana pitstopped at the air and space museum in DC to get Danny something nice #dp x dc #dpxdc #health and hybrids #faer fic #dcu crossover #tw medical #tw gore #tw body horror #kinda #cryptid!au #lying and scheming #danny phantom #spooky lad roaming a space station

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hystixia · 7 months

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FEATURING 、JEFF MASON X F!READER

WARNINGS 、NONCON, DEGRADATION, MANHANDLING, DACRYPHILIA, SEMI-PUBLIC SEX, NOT PROOFREAD

Your head is spinning, hand shakily pressed to your mouth to muffle the noises spilling from your lips as the jerk behind you slams into your pussy that grows slicker by the second.

The jerk in question was none other than Jeff Mason. The guy you couldn’t stand to be around in your classes.

“What’s wrong? Can’t talk back anymore?” He sneers, breath hot against your neck as he whispers into your ear and you hate how his voice makes a shiver run down your spine. His cock drags against your plush walls in a way that has you slowly losing control of yourself, your eyes threatening to roll back and your mind nearly giving in to the temptations of pleasure shocking your lower stomach.

“S-shut up—” You gasp, digging your fingers into your cheek as you press your palm tight into your face right as you let out a shrieked moan when he lifts one of your legs and hits a soft spot inside of you that has you lurching forward into the wall of the cramped up janitors closet you were stuffed into for this whole thing to take place to begin with.

He’s hitting so deep it has tears flooding your vision and your body relaxing against his bruising grip and he knows it. He knows you’re giving in and he chuckles at your submission.

“Heh, givin’ in just like that, huh? All bark and no bite, dumb bitch.” He groans, hands grabbing your hips tighter as he pulls you back to meet his rough thrusts. You hated how his words were getting under your skin in a hot and bothered way so suddenly. You hated how you were pushing with him subconsciously now, trying to fight it but unable to stop yourself from being a complete whore for him to use. It was embarrassing and humiliating.

You whimper and whine into your hand, fighting the urge to babble his name because God, did you hate Jeffrey. You despised everything about him— well, everything but his cock. At least his thick length could bring you a little bit of happiness but the rest of him you loathed with every fiber of your being.

So why did you let yourself get put into this situation in the first place? You blame it on miscommunication and naïvety on your end but he would just call you a filthy liar. Maybe you were one, maybe all the tension built between you both finally took a shape and this was it. That was still a part of the puzzle you’d failed to correctly place together.

His hips snap brutally into yours, cock nudging your cervix painfully with each thrust until a hand is grabbing at your throat tight making you choke on what little air you had time to intake. Your hands crawl at his wrist, eyes fluttering and rolling up and back into your skull as he pulls you back and flush to his chest.

He gets to see the fucked out expression on your face and he laughs at you. “Fucked dumb already? What a deprived little cocksleeve y’are. Bet you wanted this, pissing me off all the damn time so I’d fuck you.” He punctuates his emphasis with a rough thrust that makes you cry out. Your walls clamp down tight, milking him and sucking him in more causing him to growl out a choked groan from the sudden feeling. “‘m right aren’t I? This dumb cunt wouldn’t have squeezed me like she did if I wasn’t.”

You try to speak, try to form a single word but you fall short to only strangled gasps and moans. He thinks you’re pathetic, reduced to to nothing more than a cumdump after all the bitching you put up before being dragged into this janitor’s closet.

He leans down, voice low and quiet as footsteps walk passed the unlocked closet door and it nearly makes your heart stop completely at the indication you could be caught in this act. “I’m going to fuck you until they open that door, yeah? Heh, don’t bother shaking your head “no”. I’ll do whatever I fuckin’ want.”

#jeff the killer smut #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer x you #jeff the killer x y/n #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta smut #creepypasta x you #creepypasta x female reader #creepypasta x y/n #jeff mason x reader #jeff mason smut

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iamqueenpotato · 11 months

Text

I Hate That I Love You - Part Eight

A/N- Hi Lovelies! It has been a little bit since I have posted and I apologize for the wait. I am finally getting into a better place mentally and I am excited to be writing again. This part is the longest one so far and I sort of edited it, and its very late where I’m at, so if there are some mistakes, I apologize. But I hope you guys enjoy!

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Blood, Mentions of Torture, minor character death, talks of dying, angst

Part One

Azriel could not calm himself. He had never felt such terror in his life. Your voice echoed in his head, the pain and fear resonating in his body. He looked down at his hands and the uncontrollable tremble that overtook them.

He had searched the entire camp, ravaging through each inch of Windhaven, with no sign of you. The men there probably assumed he had lost his mind. And perhaps he had. Until he could find you, his sanity was as good as gone.

He cornered anybody he thought may know what has happened to you. And the constant lack of information was beginning to piss him off.

Azriel made his way up to the cabin, and before it was even in his sight a rancid smell hit him like a strong gust of wind. One that was all too familiar.

Blood.

And lots of it.

He flew closer to the ground as he approached the land around the cabin. And as he landed he took in the massacre that had occurred there. Bodies laid mutilated across the snow. Many of them were Illyrians, ones that Azriel had never seen before. He had counted fifteen bodies before he even reached the front door. His heart raced each time he flipped one of them over, hoping to not find your lifeless body hidden underneath. Azriel couldn’t fathom the thought of losing you, if he had to ever bury you, he wished to be dead alongside you. There was no life worth living without you in it.

“Y/N!” He called out as he burst through the front door, but to no surprise there was no response. Which in turn only made his panic worsen. He had hoped to find you safe within the cabin walls, but with the scene outside, something else had happened entirely. He knew your handiwork when he saw it, and those men were each victims to your blade. But Azriel needed to know why, Were you in danger? Why had they come to ambush you?

He looked around the front room, the questions and worries filling his mind like rising water, each one building that fear of what may have possibly happened to you. There was no sign of you at all, until a puddle of thick liquid caught his attention, his shadows rushing down the hallway where the blood stained the floor. Azriel felt his face go pale, his blood rushing to his ears, the cabin and the air around him had gone silent, all except for his own heartbeat that pounded in his ears.

If he was too late-

He shook his mind of the thoughts as he followed the trail of blood that led him down the hallway. There was a significant amount of blood, and if this was from you alone, whatever wound you had was fatal. And Azriel did not know how to feel with that information. He observed the smears of bloody handprints along the walls, the marks from your hands gripping the door frame. Azriel’s fingers shook as he traced the shape of your handprints that led him into the bedroom, his heart sinking further down, deep into his darkness that you helped pull him from, but at the sight of your blood on every inch of this cabin, the light slipped further away from his grasp. He attempted to pull on that bond once more, but there was nothing, not even a hum, it was like it was never there in the first place. And it terrified him.

“Find her.” He commanded his shadows and they slithered out into the wilderness, leaving Azriel to follow your trail of blood to an open window. When he peered over the window ledge, he saw another body laying in the snow. An Illyrian with a butter knife sticking out of the side of his skull. But his eyes followed the traces of blood and footprints running away into the trees behind the cabin.

Azriel ran out of the cabin, following the bloodied footprints further into the woods, his body felt heavy, his feet dragging along the ground, his fear took over, making him feel far from himself. He wanted to find you, but he was horrified by the worst possible outcome. And when he reached the end of the trail, his shadows returned back to him, leading him to the small stream a few yards ahead.

He followed their directions, when he stumbled across a collection of rocks, another dead Illyrian floating in the shallow water. But he didn’t care for the male, his attention was drawn to the blood that painted the rocks, and the torn female Illyrian leathers that rested against the ground. His shadows swarmed around him in a frenzy as he kneeled down to pick up the chest piece. He was certain it was yours, your scent was all over it.

He heard Cassian land behind him. “Azriel, what happened?” There was concern in his tone and Azriel couldn’t tell if it was for him or for you.

Azriel held on to the discarded Illyrian leathers that he gave you, the ones now covered in blood, that had confirmed his fears. He handed them to Cassian who cursed as he took in the scene. Azriel moved his gaze back at the blood on the rocks. “They took her Cassian. They have my mate.”

You didn’t know how it happened. One moment you were walking around the camp in search of Madok and the next thing you knew, twenty Illyrian males ambushed you in front of the cabin. You knew you took down a decent amount of them, but if it weren't for the blade laced with faebane, you would have finished the rest of them off. It seemed Madok had got word of your search for him, and if your mind was not already so clouded, maybe you would have seen this attack coming.

Now you were chained up in a dungeon of some sorts, your wound still oozing blood, and you could tell it was getting infected. The faebane was slowing down your healing, your body slowly giving out.

Your arms were chained tightly above your head, barely able to feel your fingertips. You couldn’t help but think of your friends and family, if they even knew you were in trouble. If they were worried at all. You felt like a fool to come here by yourself, but after hearing Azriel’s confession, you needed to get away, even though it meant Windhaven. You weren’t running away, it was time you needed to think, to understand the mix of feelings you had inside. But being attacked was the last thing you expected to happen. Now you are facing those consequences.

You attempted to call down the bond, to warn Azriel, to call for help. But you heard or felt nothing in return, perhaps he had closed it off, and by the time you were knocked unconscious the bond felt weak, like it was dying, or more so that you were dying. But yet there was no telling if anyone would come and save you. You were alone in all of this. And there was nothing you could do.

You kept your head down when you heard the door to your cell open. Sensing at least four men surrounding the area where you stood in the middle of the room.

“You are quite hard to kill Y/N” Madok spoke next to your ear, but you did not move, keeping your head hung low, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Look at me when I am talking to you.” He seethed, but you refused. One of his men pulled your head back by your hair forcing your eyes to meet Madok’s. His eyes were wide, hungry for violence. Then his fist connected with the left side of your face, a noticeable crack as your head flung to the side. The taste of iron fell across your tongue, you spat up the blood onto the ground in front of Madok. “Now here is how this will work. I will ask you questions about the high lord, you answer, and I don’t kill you.”

You looked up at him now, and laughed. His men stepped backward startled. But you laughed louder, the manic laugh you forced out, they could harm you all they wanted. You would not betray your family. “Fuck. Off.” You spit out, with a crazed grin across your face.

Madok’s face was expressionless as he nodded to one of the males, suddenly you were pricked with a needle, followed by an uncomfortable sensation across your arm as they injected you with the mysterious fluid. Then the pain hit you, like a thousand knives scraping underneath your skin, it was like being carved from the inside out. A scream erupted from your throat as you thrashed against your restraints, your body began shaking, white spots filled your vision.

Your breathing was ragged when Madok lifted your chin, his face was blurry but you could clearly see the smile on his face as he landed a few hits to your stomach, enhancing the torture you felt inside. But you bit back your scream. “I hope you enjoyed that. My own personal faebane mixture. Enough to prolong the effects, make the pain ever so sweeter for you to endure.”

“You’re psychotic.” You attempted to control your breathing as you spoke, but it felt as though the air was being snatched from your lungs.

“Tell me all that you know about the high lord and his family.”

You laughed again, spitting more blood towards his direction. “Go fuck yourself. I won’t tell you anything.” Your head began spinning, forcing out those words took more effort than you could have ever imagined. It was a feeling you had never experienced before, and it terrified you.

“Oh you will, everyone gives in eventually.” Madok spoke and before you could respond, he brought his fist to your ribs, jolting your body to the side, making it harder to catch your breath. Again and again he hit you, until you coughed up blood down the front of your already red stained shirt. Your entire body felt on fire, the pain growing past tolerable. “How do I get into Velaris?” Another punch to your side. You felt the room spin slightly, vision fading.

“Fuck. You.” You spat out, your mouth filling with blood, making your words muffled. “They will come for me, and you’ll be as good as dead.” You only could hope that your words would be true.

Madok laughed as he gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Is that why your precious highlord let you come here by yourself? That is why I doubt no one is coming to save you. You are worthless to them, just some lonely fae that thought she had found her family. When in reality it became more people for you to disappoint.”

You launched at him, but the chains held you back. “Shut up.”

“I will break you Y/N. And then I will kill your precious inner circle. Starting with the babe.”

“I swear to the mother if you hurt him.” You seethed, attempting to launch at him again but Madok moved away, each of his men following his steps out of the cell.

“You’re stuck here dear Y/N. There is nothing you can do to stop me.” Madok smiled before he disappeared from your sight.

And you screamed in anger, all the air leaving your lungs, desperate to be free from these chains.

A few more days had passed, each day filled with your daily injection of faebane. His goons had beaten you to a pulp each time, attempting to pull information from you. But you took each beating and each new wound without uttering a single word. You figured most of your bones were broken, the new wounds on your sides were exposed to the dirt and grime of the cell. You couldn’t tell if your fingers were broken, but you faintly remember two men laughing as they cracked each one. But you did not break, no matter the torture he had put you through, you remained silent about your family.

You were shocked your body had held on this long, and when you heard the cell open, you prayed this would be the last one. After this, you would simply cease to exist. You had never truly wanted death, but your body did not feel like your own. You were floating in your own mind just to escape the pain, and you were prepared to embrace the reaper with open arms. If dying meant your family was safe, then it would be a death you would gladly accept. You were growing weaker, the will to heal and live fading each day.

Madok stepped through the cell door, dragging in someone with him. It took a minute for your eyes to adjust to see who it was but the blonde curls were all too familiar.

“You know, I amend this male for trying to protect you, but he is just another fool that trusted the wrong fae.” Madok threw Surin at your feet. His face was bloodied and beaten, his green eyes were swollen and bruised.

“He didn’t do anything wrong, let him go.” You begged, your throat felt dry as you spoke.

Madok leaned over Surin, lifting his head off the ground. “Our dear Y/N here only fucked you to make the shadowsinger jealous. You truly think she cared for you? Is she really worth saving?”

“Leave him alone! Please!” You couldn’t stop the tears from falling, even as one of his men slapped you across the face. “You are feeding him lies.” You choked out. Surin didn’t deserve this. “It is me you want, not him. So please just let him go.”

Surin looked towards you, showing you a smile that broke your heart. “It’s okay Y/N,” He spoke as if he already accepted his fate. “I’ll be okay,” A tear slipped down his cheek. “Thank you for indulging me, even if it wasn't real.” You yanked at the chains that held you back, if you could just get to him, guard him, save him. But you knew there was nothing you could do. His green eyes stared at you, as if to assure you it wasn’t your fault, you wished that was all it took.

“It was real Surin, all of it. I promise you.” You cried, your eyes never leaving him.

“I’m glad. Thank you Y/N. For giving me a taste of life outside of the camps.” He smiled wider, blood staining his teeth. “Do me a favor. Make this bastard pay for it.”

“Pity.” Madok scoffed, slicing Surin’s throat, letting his lifeless body hit the ground. Leaving him to bleed at your feet.

“No!” You screamed, you pulled harder at the chains, your tears blurring your eyes, you hated how weak you felt. The sobs shook you to your core. And your heart ached as you looked at Surin below you. It was your fault. All of it.

Someone had to know you were gone. Someone had to care enough to notice. But you were all alone, only the sound of your own cries to drown out the silence.

It had been a little over a week since Azriel had discovered you missing, and each minute he found no lead, no way of finding you, a piece of his heart felt as though it was being ripped out, consumed by the dark thoughts of losing you. Each person he had interrogated knew nothing, and he became so frustrated he killed each one, with no remorse as their blood spilled onto the ground.

He found himself a couple days later, sitting back at the house of wind, listening to his brothers converse about mother knows what, they had not mentioned you or your situation and yet they haven’t done a single thing to look for you, it felt as though he was the only one worried.

He had left his shadows at Windhaven, ordering not to come back unless they had found you. But every part of him wanted to be out there, searching those woods for you, yet Rhys had called him back here, and had not said a single word since he had arrived.

Azriel tapped his forefinger against the wood table in front of him. Watching. Waiting. Their voices were infuriating and Azriel had enough.

“Is there anything important that you need me for? Or can I go back to looking for Y/N?” He knew he had an attitude with his question, but if there was no reason for him to be here then he shouldn’t be. “Do you even care that she is in danger?”

“Brother.” Cassian warned, placing himself between the two of them.

“My mate is out there somewhere Rhys. Probably cold, hurt.. She could be dying and you have me sitting here, while you two bicker like old hags.” Azriel stood from his seat, his wings tense behind him. “I cannot feel her, that part of me that I only had the pleasure to know for a short moment is gone and I am dying without her, it feels like the breath is being sucked out of my lungs. Please tell me you have been doing something other than talking.”

“I know you are worried Azriel, but-”

“There is no but Rhysand! I am more than worried, I am terrified. I cannot even comprehend the thought of what she is going through, she would go to the end of this world to protect this family, to protect you. Who knows what Madok has done, if she is even still alive..” Azriel choked on those last few words, the tears threatening to fall if he held onto that thought any longer. Cassian placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder as Azriel took a steadying breath.

“I know the lengths she would go for us, that is why I have Mor and Amren and a few Illyrians I can trust out there right now looking for her, they picked up where you left off.” Rhys stood with a stoic expression, the way the High lord of the night court should behave but his violet eyes were filled with concern, for him and you. There was no hiding that.

“Then why am I not out there with them?”

“You have not slept since she has gone missing, and before you say it- I know you won’t rest until she is found but I need you to take a breath, you will drive yourself mad if you continue this path.” Azriel stared at his brother, he knew Rhys was right, he knew he had been draining himself, but he could not sleep, because each time he closed his eyes, he saw your lifeless body, your eyes that he adored, glossed over and empty.

He would not know a peaceful rest until he had you back in his arms. “I appreciate your concern, but I promise I will be fine.”

“Azriel-” Cassian started, but Azriel’s shadows rushed around him, whispering the one thing that he had been waiting to hear.

“They found her.” Azriel’s voice was barely louder than a whisper, before disappearing into his shadows.

Azriel followed his shadows to the bottom of Ramiel, a cave entrance that was hidden by trees. One that Azriel had sworn he had passed a thousand times. He found Mor and Amren standing at the entrance, two Illyrian guards dead at their feet. “She was in there the entire time?”

“Don’t blame yourself boy, they had warded the entrance to be hidden from anyone passing by, I even had a difficult time discovering it. Whoever set the wards was good, but still not good enough.” Amren moved aside, so Azriel could take the lead into the cave.

Cassian, Rhys and Nesta appeared behind them, ready for whatever would greet them. “Azriel you focus on finding Y/N. We will take care of everyone else.” Rhysand stated and Azriel nodded in agreement.

They all rushed in at once, the gloomy tunnel was barely lit, but he saw clear enough to take down two males that approached him. He followed the corridors, killing whoever crossed his path, the stone walls covered in their blood. Azriel reached a collection of cells but found them all to be empty, except for the bloodstains across the walls.

Azriel kept moving forward, you had to be in this hell somewhere. He ran through the halls and the agony that surrounded them. And when he turned that final corner he saw you.

Azriel’s stomach dropped as he took in the scene of you hanging from the chains, your wrists purple and swollen, blood covering almost every inch of your body, slashes across your arms and abdomen. He stepped closer, noticing the male dead at your feet, his hand shook as he reached to feel your pulse, silently praying there would be the slightest movement underneath his finger tips.

He lifted your chin, taking in the dried blood and bruises across your face. His anger for Madok grew. He felt a light pulse as he tried to hold his emotions back, he needed to get you out of here first, then he could unleash his anger on the male who did this to you.

You groaned in pain as Azriel rushed to free your arms from the chains, your body collapsing into his arms. He held you carefully, pulling you tight against him, hoping he wasn’t causing you any pain.

You withered in his arms, and when he looked down at you, your swollen eyes were barely open, but you were awake, yet barely alive. In that moment he felt that bond reopen, but it was faint, quiet. Like a whisper in a storm. You were dying and he was running out of time.

He stood quickly, following his path back out of the cave. His family is waiting for the two of you outside between the trees. Madok was tied in chains in front of them. And when they saw you, Azriel heard the collective gasp of horror.

“Your little mate is hard to crack, so sad you won’t be able to save her.” Madok teased, Azriel was prepared to kill him, but when you moved once more in his arms he refrained himself. Instead, Cassian slammed the hilt of his sword to the back of his head, knocking him unconscious.

“Inform Madja I am on my way back.” Azriel’s voice cracked as he spoke, but he took off into the sky, flying as fast as his wings would take him.

You barely could open your eyes to see his face but you felt his arms wrap around you, the cool breeze of the mountain air brushing across your skin. He felt so warm, even as he launched the two of you into the snowy weather. You never thought you would have made it out, but he came for you. He was truly with you. Yet you didn’t exactly feel as if you were going to make it out of these mountains.

“I’m scared. Azriel, why am I so scared?” Your voice was nothing but a whimper, your body was shaking, nothing felt in your control. You forced your eyes to open, memorizing his features.

Was this death? Had Azriel come just in time to see you perish? There was so much more you wanted to do with him, you knew things were rocky, but you didn’t want to die leaving that wedge between you two, you wanted to fix it, to see what it would be like to be loved by him. But then again you always had been, the two of you were just too foolish to admit it. It was a mistake that you wouldn’t make again. Maybe in the next life you could be together. Maybe then you could have more time.

“Hey sweetheart, hold on for me. Please.” His voice was like a heavenly whisper in your mind. If you were to die in his arms, you would gladly accept it, the last sight would be of him and you would be okay with that. “Y/N, please we’re almost there, just don’t give up.”

You smiled up at him, finding the strength to run a trembling hand across his cheek. Catching sight of the mangled state your hand was in. But it didn’t matter, you needed to make sure this was real, just in case. “Azriel if for some reason I don’t make it-”

“You will make it, darling please save your breath.” Azriel’s voice shook, and you could tell he was scared too. But if this was your last moment together, you wouldn’t spend it in silence.

“I am sorry for how things have been between us, you’re my best friend Az, and I was scared that I lost you when you got with Elain. I am sorry we didn’t have more time for us, but I promise I will look for you in my next life, and even the one after that. I will fight harder next time. I promise not to run. I won’t be afraid.”

You looked into his hazel eyes, and the tears that fell down his face. You wanted to reach up but you found there was no strength left in you to move. “Y/N, we will have all the time in this life, we will have the life we deserve, please just-” His voice cracked and he took a trembling breath. “Stay with me. I’m sorry for it all. I hate that I didn’t tell you I loved you sooner. But please give me the chance to tell you for the rest of our lives.”

You smiled up at him, and you wished it could be true. But you could feel your body failing, you just wanted to close your eyes, rest for a little while. Gods you were so tired, your brain didn’t know what to do, but you knew what you wanted to say.

“I don’t hate that I love you.” Your words wobbled, feeling an unknown warmth, you stopped fighting and Azriel’s screams were just a faint echo in the back of your mind as your eyes fell closed to the darkness.

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