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gojonanami · 8 months

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BLOODSUCKER - SATORU GOJO

✴︎ summary: you had avoided your ex for so long, only to run into him at a halloween party, and he's the same as ever but has his teeth always been that sharp? ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, nsfw, dub/con, blood kink, gojo has fangs, biting, marking, bloodsucking, fingering (f!receiving), swearing, semi-public sex, sex against a car, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (sweetheart, pretty, baby), ✴︎ wc: 2,704

“Can I have a bite?” He whispers, lips against your ear, his breath hot against your skin, sending a warm flush down your body — and why did he smell so intoxicating?

The night had gone on normally enough — yet another Halloween party you had been dragged to (after you had lost a bet and ended up being the designated driver for the evening) in another coordinated themed costume — this time for the Barbie movie. Yet another throng of costumed drunks and weirdos you had to wade through while your friends had their fun. And you thought the night would be boring.

Oh, you were so wrong.

He saw you first. You were only sure of that, after, because you remembered the prickling of your skin when his ice blue irises had found you lounging in the loft area upstairs — where most people had begun to clear out of after the keg had arrived downstairs. You had let your hair out of your wig, your head aching from the weight of the hair on your head and the cheap elastic band trying to work its way into your forehead.

You unlocked your phone, looking at yourself in your camera, pouting at the state of your hair — unkempt and unruly from the wig, but you only could do what you could.

“Great, now I can be a scary Barbie,” you murmur, locking your phone, as you pocket it.

“Oh, you’re not scary,” and your head snaps up, eyes finding those pools of still blue that looked like you could drown in them — and you very well would. His lips were curled in a small smile, his skin looked pale in the harsh fluorescent lights of the kitchen, “but I wouldn’t mind seeing you be a little scary,”

“Satoru,” your lips twist, fuck, you thought he’d never show up to this party — you had avoided him flawlessly since your breakup — if you could even call it that. You never official — you were never anything, just a situation that was more than a booty call, but less than a relationship. Every invitation was only accepted with assurance and recon that Satoru would not attend, every exit strategy was planned, and every move was carefully made.

Except this one.

“Oh, you recognize me?” he gasps in mock surprise, lips in that shit eating grin you had loved to kiss off of him, but now, all it did was make you want to slap him, “surprised you did after you’ve avoided me for so long, sweetheart,”

“And apparently you’re the one with brain damage because we broke up — don’t call me that,” you sigh, eyes glancing down at his outfit — a black and white suit with a high collar, as his mouth moved as he spoke, you caught sight of fangs on his teeth, and his eyes glinted with a crimson tint dipped in an ocean of blue, “your costume is fitting — you definitely did suck the life out of our relationship,”

“Bitter doesn’t suit you, baby,” your eye twitches, as he dares closer, eyes glinting in the low light of the kitchen, “plus y’know, you always did the best sucking,”

Your traitorous cheeks flush, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes betray you by flickering downwards, “fuck off—“

“Oh, I know you want me to fuck something — don’t think it’s off though,” he looms closer, licking his lips, as he smiles — and your heart forgets to beat — did he always smell this good? He smelt of musk, wood, and everything warm and honeyed — the scent melted over you, plying your resistance with sweetness in contrast to his vulgarity, “look at you, haven’t even touched you and you’re so pliant, where’s that mouth now?” And his thumbs drag down your lips, pulling at the bottom one — “looks better wrapped around my cock, doesn’t it?”

And his words snap you from your trance, slapping his hand away, “didn’t expect an apology from you, but I thought you’d do better than this shit,”

“Can you blame me for missing you, pretty?” He pouts, “thought you loved me more than that,”

“And I thought you loved me enough to commit but looks like we both are wrong,” you roll your eyes, “go find someone else to fuck with, Gojo,”

He raises an eyebrow, “Aw, baby, don’t act so unfamiliar, you had my dick in you after all, you can still call me Satoru,” and then there’s a cheer in the living room that cuts off your retort, as he turns to look.

And that’s your cue to leave, you slip away from him, grabbing your jacket, making an Irish exit, slipping through the throng of people partying. You manage to get down the street, the streets quiet now, the sounds of the party growing more distant by the second. A sense of dread settled over you the more you walked, forming a lump in your throat and a pit in your stomach. The streetlights flickered above you, the wind cutting through your jacket as you pulled it closer around you. Your car was close, right past this wooded backyard, trees lining what seemed to be an abandoned home. There was only a few more yards — and then you heard a twig snap — your head snapped around to look behind you.

And that was your mistake.

A hand clamped over your mouth, as you gasped against it, another tight around your middle, your scream was muffled against the palm. And then a familiar voice whispered in your ear, “Boo,” before he lets you go, and you whirl around, smacking Satoru against his chest, hard.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Your heart was pumping, hard, nearly banging against your ribs, body still shaking with adrenaline, “what the fuck - that’s not fucking funny,”

“It wasn’t supposed to be funny — it was supposed to be spooky,” he grins, unaffected by your anger, as your fingers clench into fists, “you didn’t give me a treat so I had to play a trick. It’s the rules of Halloween, pretty,”

“It wasn’t spooky, it was fucking scary—“ you move to hit him again, and he catches your hand by the wrist, and he’s pulling you close, “let me go, Gojo—“

“Satoru,” he corrects, his fingers caressing your cheek, and you feel your knees knocking together, the world shifting beneath your feet, “I’m sorry for frightening you, sweetheart,” and he’s helping you walk over to your car, “just wanted to make sure you get to your car safely,”

Why were you letting him help you? Why was your body leaning against his? Why were you letting his arm slink around your waist, fingers squeezing your hip? But those same questions sunk away into the inky abyss of your mind, as thoughts blurred over each other, and all you can think about was him.

“Satoru,” you murmur, as you stumble against him, and he catches you by your waist, steadying you, “I don’t know what’s wrong,” your head rests against his chest, but you felt so comfortable, so…content.

“It’s okay, baby, I got you,” he purred, his words only intoxicated you further, drizzled like melted molasses down your throat, “that spook I gave you earlier really took it out of you, but,” his fingers tilt your chin up, his eyes finding yours — and they glowed, a shiny blue that unnerved you, “should I show you something really scary?”

“Satoru, what—“ and he’s kissing you, lips sliding against yours — he tastes familiar, hint of candy corn that he was always a fiend for, but he tastes even sweeter than that, headier too — before he parts, “what are you doing?”

“Showing you just how much I missed you,” he hums, thumb gliding over the length of your cheek, “y’know how hard it was for me without you? Wouldn’t be able to sleep. I could only think about how I had screwed thing up. Would take these long walks at night when I couldn’t sleep,” and his fingers trace down your jawline, before reaching your neck, his thumb resting against your pulse, “turns out those walks were good for one thing,”

“And what’s that?” You murmur, still utterly distracted by his touch.

And he brushes his lips against your neck, teeth grazing against your pulse, “Finding a way to keep you — forever,” and his lips find yours again, more insistent this time, as his arms press your body to his, your hands sliding up his chest, caged in by his form, “can I have a bite?” he whispers, lips against your ear now, sending a flush across your cheeks, “just wanna mark you again, like i used to, make you mine,”

For a moment, the curtain snaps back, mask slipping, as your eyes flutter open without the rosy glasses he had slipped over your eyes, “I’m not yours,” and you only see him — the true him — for a moment.

His muscles tighten, fingers digging into your sides harshly, gripping your flesh hard enough to bruise, his gaze is dark, navy instead of the usual cerulean with a ring of red that pierces through your skin, but his teeth — his teeth scare you the most — his fangs aren’t fake, his tongue sliding against them both, as he flashed an unnerving smile at you that sends your blood running cold.

But not colder than his.

“Satoru — what—“ and his lips find yours again, sending a headiness throughout your body, from your head to the tips of your toes, “I-“

“Just let me have this, just this one night,” he murmurs, words as smooth as glass and as needy as need itself, “please,”

And you’re the one pulling him to you, back against the cool metal of your car, and your fingers cup his face, pulling him against your lips. He tastes like want, his tongue parts your lips, as his fingers slide up your dress, sending goosebumps up your thighs, “Fuck, all it takes for you, huh?” He murmurs, and his fangs nibble at your bottom lip making you gasp, pressing wet kisses down your jaw, until he reaches your neck.

“Been thinking about this for far too long, sweetheart,”

two fingers drag down your neck first, as he tilts your head for easy access, and you shiver at his touch — was he colder than before? “I’m going to be doing a lot more than marking you like I did before,” his lips press a delicate kiss to your neck, “need to taste it,”

And his fangs drag over your soft flesh, before he finally bites you. Your mouth hangs open in a sharp gasp as his fangs pierce your skin, and your head lolls back, as pleasure floods your body. You feel your warm blood dripping from your neck, slipping down your skin, as he sucks from you.

He pulls away for a moment to look at you, your scarlet blood dripping from his mouth, painting his pale pink lips burgundy, as his tongue darts out to catch the blood slipping down your chin.

“You taste like everything to me,” he murmurs, pressing his nose against the nape of your neck, “sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted, aren’t you?”

You whimper, “Satoru, feels so good,” and he’s kissing you again, letting you taste your own blood on his lips, it only makes you want him even more. But this isn’t right, something wasn’t right—

“Just give in, sweetheart,” he’s dragging your hands down your sides, squeezing your hips, as his palms rest under your thighs, “let me make you feel good,”

And he lifts you, guiding your legs to wrap around your waist, as his large palm slides up your thigh, hiking your dress up. He grins, looking at your soaked panties, thumb pressing against your puffy clit, making you gasp and squirm, “wonder if you taste even sweeter down here, baby?”

You whine louder, as his fingers slide into the waistband of your underwear and snaps it against your skin, “Your blood is pumping harder than ever, bet it tastes even better like that — full of your fear, full of your pleasure,” his fingers are sliding your drenched panties down, “fuck, you’re a little freak, bet you got wet when I grabbed you, can’t all be from the last few minutes,”

And his lithe finger sinking into you, as your lips part in a gasp as he bullies your walls, “So tight for me,” he groans, as his finger curls against you, making you moan, and his teeth graze against your neck, before sinking in. You both moan in tandem, as he drinks more of your blood, as a second finger parts into your folds, your release dripping down his palm. He’s stretching you out — fingers pistoning in and out, Pleasure courses up and down your body, toes curling, as all you can hear is the sucking of his fangs and the squelch of his fingers in your cunt.

And then he hits that spot, and you’re cumming, slick dripping down your thighs as you moan, as your hips move against his fingers, riding out your orgasm. He pulls your fangs from your neck, letting your blood drip down your neck.

He tilts your head back, letting him look at your fluttering eyelashes and fucked out expression, lips parted, as your blood paints your skin a beautiful maroon.

“So fuckin’ pretty, sweetheart,” he’s pulling his fingers from you, as you gasp from the emptiness. He places them in his mouth, cleaning them of your release, “think I may get addicted baby, gotta have more of you — doesn’t matter if it’s your blood or your cum,”

And you hear the clink of your belt buckle and sound of his zipper, as he frees his cock, rubbing against your dripping pussy, “Gonna let your ex fuck you against your car? Gotta have you baby, but if I take you now, I don’t know if I’ll ever let you go,” he’s teasing the head of his cock against your pussy lips, “do you still want me to do it?”

You whine, back arching against the hard surface of the car, “please, I need you,” your fingers wrap around his neck, his lips against yours, “Satoru—“

And he’s sinking his cock into you, as he’s lifting your legs to your ears, ankles by his ears as his hips flush against your ass, “Fuck, can you feel me kissing the deepest part of you?” His hips roll into you now, slowly at first, again and again, as your walls throb around him, the car groans and your ankles ache against his slow thrusts, “best cunt I’ve ever had, and all fucking mine now,”

“Toru, please, more—“

And he barks a laugh, sweat slipping down your forehead, his balls slapping against your ass, “so needy f’me, you’re mine aren’t you? Say you’re mine,” he’s grunting as your walls flutter around him, and he knows you’re close—

Your orgasm washes over you, toes curling, and he leans forward, fangs sinking into you, as he fucks you through it. The blood he drinks makes your head dizzy with pleasure, until he pulls away, letting your blood drip from his lips. And he’s grunting, hips stuttering as he bottoms out — making you gasp and whine again. Until he’s cumming inside you, painting your walls white, emptying his load into you. He’s fucking his cum inside your cunt.

And he’s easing your legs down as the two of you come down, his face buried in the nape of your neck, licking at the blood dripping from his bites — your neck beginning to ache and sting now.

“So pretty, so perfect,” he coos, his lips curling still red from your blood, as he’s curling his arms around your waist, “gotta take you home so I can taste you all over again.”

“No, I can’t. This was a one time thing—“

And he’s tilting your chin up, eyes flashing dangerously, as his lips curl, “I told you, I’m not going to let you go, besides,” he turns your head towards your rear view mirror, your eyes beginning to glint red, “I have to let you have a bite of me later,” and you can feel your blood run cold, “it’s only fair, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

✴︎ a/n: was possessed to write this by the halloween spirits -- also i have a thing for bloodsucking now unfortunately. have a spooky season :)

✴︎ tag list: @d1rtv, @crazynocturnalkiki, @ichikanu, @dazailover1900, @sinnerstardoll, @bisexualpanicwentoutforasmoke, @dumbabie, @aureatekintsugi, @mooly-artistic, @happymangospot, @hiimarandin, @bunsunee, @5-xiaoo,

#sab [mlist]#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fanfiction #satoru gojo smut #jjk smut #satoru gojo #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru fanfiction #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction

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princessbrunette · 8 months

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kinktober : oct 5th

könig x cumming in panties

he’d cornered you when he knew you couldn’t bring yourself to run from him. könig was sick like that.

he’d been depriving you all week. you weren’t too sure on the why, but you figured he was punishing you for something. or maybe he wasn’t, maybe könig had just wanted to toy with you, get you all desperate just for his own twisted entertainment.

on monday, he’d had you speared on his cock— but not allowed to move, and overall not allowed to cum, removing you from his lap when he was finished with his work at the desk and never revisiting, leaving you empty and needy whilst he beats off in the shower. tuesday he’d insisted on teaching you self defensive moves, pinning you with your knees up and dragging his heavy bulge over your puffy slit through your leggings until you’d soaked through the material, and then getting up like it had never happened and even having the audacity to berate you for being distracted.

wednesday, he’d forced his way into your shower and you thought you’d finally get some relief— instead he’d crowded you against the cold tiles, ran his hands over your body greedily, fondled you and kissed you enough to get you whiny — before pulling away, continuing on with his shower as you stand pressed to the tiles panting in disbelief, and climbing out alone. thursday, he’d ignored you completely — which only made you want him and his approval more. it had reached friday, and you were at your breaking point. not only had you reached physical desperation, but you felt emotionally needy and fragile beyond belief too, breath hitching in your throat when you spotted him by the gymnasium on base.

when he spotted you wandering over, his eyes lit up through his hood and he smiled. he smiled and you thought thank god, it’s over. your knees are weak and trembling by the time you reach him, hands clutching his black military issued shirt. “kö,” it comes out as a sweet whine. he tilts his head, hulking frame looming over you as he cups your cheeks gently.

“hmm?” he hums lovingly and you inhale shakily, your own hand laying over his.

“its aching— need you, please. have twenty minutes until my meeting n’i won’t be able to focus.” you press yourself to him, all but begging with tears in your eyes.

“t’aww, schatz.” he whispers hoarsely, taking your waist and walking you backwards into a hallway that no one ever seems to go down. “i can give you something, yes?” he cooes and you nod so furiously you think your head might come off.

he crowds you to a wall, so that if anyone was to enter the hallway, their vision would be obstructed by his giant frame anyway. you don’t know how he’s done it, but he pulls out his cock and it’s already fully hard, thick and pretty in his grasp. he stands with his legs spread wider to lower himself a little, the height difference almost obscene and he runs a thumb over his tip, full balls resting on the waistband of his cargos. you whimper, just from the sight of it.

a low hum leaves his throat and he lets his tip graze your stomach, dragging lazily across the material of your shirt, smearing the slightest bit of precum onto it. “please.” you whisper, teary eyes searching for permission. he tsks, and pulls your skirt up to sit around your waist, gently but slightly impatiently tapping your inner thigh so that you’ll stop pressing them together tightly.

“you missed me, little one?” he questions, pressing his tip harshly over your pantie-covered clit, rubbing it in circles making you buckle.

“mhm, missed you a lot.” your hips jerk off the wall, humping back against his tip. each time you squirm, you can hear the obscene wetness in your panties making you whine in embarrassment. he chuckles harshly, pulling back.

“poor thing.” he responds cooly, accent thick and low. he pulls down the waist band of your panties and stuffs his cock inside making you grip at his clothes so that you don’t totally collapse. gripping your hips, he begins to slowly thrust. the height difference is a slight hinderance, and he’s hunched over you, but once he gets the angle right you’re whimpering helplessly, his cock sliding back and forth over your soaked slit and never once inside.

he has the audacity to laugh, strong arm bracing the wall beside your head as he leans over you, his hood tickling your cheek. “what if someone were to come down this hall, hmm? see my cock stuffed in your little panties. that pussy all needy for the colonel. you would probably like that, yes? you like to show off.” your brain was hazy but the last part rung an alarm in your head. was that what this was about? was he still punishing you?

“just wanna— wanna cum!” you cry, and you’re not aware of the mascara pooling beneath your eyes until he harshly wipes the tears with his fingers and pulls away. you groan, devastated, bleary eyes watching him rub the wetness from your tears against his own shaft. he grabs your wrist, roughly and maybe a little desperately and guides your hand to pull your waistband down a little more, exposing your needy cunt to him.

“hold this. like this.” he sneers and you do, not having the capacity to question him let alone argue. he stops touching you completely, focused on fisting at his own cock, tip aimed down your panties and you sniffle, staring up at him pitifully. you longed to touch him, have him praise you, kiss you — but all he did was stare down his nose at you with his hood still firmly in place as he jerked himself off.

your pleas and wobbling bottom lip only seemed to push him further, and soon — he was cursing, pressing you to the wall with his weight and unloading his balls into your thin delicate panties. you whimper sensitively, looking down at the way his hot seed seeps into the baby pink panties. your brain is mush by this point, and you stare up at him obediently, albeit sadly.

he recovers, jagged pants leaving him as he stands back up to his full height, tucking himself back into his pants. he takes the material of your panties and pulls them firmly back up, his cum pressing against your folds. his big warm hand comes up, rubbing you over your panties to make sure his cum has spread around and you moan at the touch, but as soon as it came it leaves— the hand grabbing your jaw for a moment and looking at you before he steps back, eyeing you with his hands now clasped behind his back. he watches you fumble to adjust your clothes and pull your skirt down, hands and thighs shaking.

“keep that in there all of today. i will come to visit you later on.” with that, he coldly steps aside. oh, he was mean. “off to your meeting. cannot be late now, liebling.”

#könig smut #könig call of duty #call of duty smut #könig x reader #cod smut #könig cod smut #könig cod

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shrubberylogistic · 6 months

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Waking Up Fat

Dawn’s warm light filtered through the curtains, and Lily slowly roused from her slumber. With a sleepy stretch, she lifted an arm, then her back, attempting to sit up. Her body pulsed with a clammy heat, fixed and unresponsive.

Lily tilted her head, mouth dry. Her eyes fluttered open to the ceiling. Something felt funny. Groggy and disoriented, she gently nudged an elbow over the pillow, reaching for her phone. Her arms were heavy.

Too heavy.

Something was up. Lily’s heart raced, her senses ratcheting. Something wasn’t right. She craned her neck, trying to rouse her legs. Gravity strengthened its welcome. The bed creaked beneath her, and it took all of Lily’s strength to crunch her palms, pressing, hoisting a shoulder to the headboard.

Her movements were wearsome, stunted - strapped down, somehow. Lily felt through her bedsheets, under and around. Layers of sloth shifted with her soft, cumbersome frame. She thrust the duvet off, looked down, and froze.

Her body had ballooned, languid and overwhelming. Lily stopped breathing. Her belly loomed - an immense mass that flopped half way to her knees. Her legs creased together where her bedtime shorts had burst open; too tiny to contain her new curves, the few pink scraps left faltering around a snapped, sunken waistband.

A panicked gasp left her lips. Lily shuffled free, kicking her sweaty covers, her hips spilling to the edge of the mattress. She stroked chubby, fidgeting fingers over the contours of vast, foreign curves. Summoning every ounce of strength, she swung her colossal legs over the bedside. The floor trembled as she stood, gripped by arousal, stunned by the pressure on her muscles. She wobbled unsteadily for a moment before grabbing the dresser for support.

Gazing at herself in the mirror, Lily whimpered. Her face, once delicate and angular, was now round and bloated, framed by a cascade of unruly hair. Her pyjama tee was a strap of twisted, fraying threads, banded around her heaving chest. Lily clapped a flat palm to her mouth, blushing. Every movement was an effort. Her breathing came in frantic, laboured wheezes.

She was massive. Not an inch had escaped change. Lily rubbed her eyes, balking at her reflection. Her slender cheekbones had gone. Her neckline had vanished. She had gone to bed slender, shapely, poised and assured. Yet clear as the crisp sky that stretched above the neighbourhood, she’d woken up a quaking, panting blob, shorn of most what she’d been wearing. Her hefty chest hunkered as she peeled off her shirt, casting a marvelling glance at her adopted form. A deep relish, a groundedness, filtered through her stretching, timid skin.

Lily giggled. Tensing her toes, she gingerly made her way to the bathroom, her footsteps resonating throughout the house, thudding on the hardwood floor. She bit her lip at the swing of her gut, quivering at the way it gently kneaded her thighs. The scale was a challenge to see beneath her paunch. Steadying herself with a shaking hand on the sink, she quietly stepped on, scanning the display and confirming her thoughts with a gulp.

350.8 pounds.

Disbelief rallied, engulfing her. Lily let out a moan. A turgid heat took the space between her legs, her mind spinning, her heartbeat soaring, her feet tingling. She was lardy, for the first time in her life. She was a whale. She rested her belly on the sink and let it drop, hanging in a long and lazy curve that filled the bowl to the taps.

Lily crossed her throbbing fingers. Her face was a picture of intense, awestruck wonder. She knew there was more to discover. The simple act of showering felt like a Herculean task. Lifting a huge leg into the tub, she spread her stance, struggling to balance while she twisted the tap. Hot water flowed down her bulky form - a comfort she clung to as she dreamed of the big, wide world outside. She dried her body and towelled her hair, squeezing her arms into a gown that clung to her like a second skin.

Downstairs, preparing the most important meal of the day became an ordeal. The staircase was a heart-stopping descent, knuckles white with every crunching, undercalculated step. The kitchen was a maze of limitations. Wide and ungainly, Lily struggled to stretch for the cupboards - too big-bellied to climb up on the counter like she used to. Every step, every task took longer.

She watched helplessly, beholden to urges as the cereal box slipped out her grip, spilling across the floor. Her ass clipped the cutlery drawer, wobbling as she seized on a knife and fork. Fishing four thick slices of bread from the packet, she was in minutes munching woozily through a clutch of syrup strewn pancakes and slices of peanut butter on toast, smacking her lips, perched precariously on the edge of her old kitchen chair.

Lily took a long draw of milk from the bottle, head in her hand. Even the motion of eating felt different. Her stomach gurgled, and she found herself groaning, turgid and stiff. Lily swallowed a burp, doggedly reducing her breakfast to crusts and crumbs, slurping and inhaling. Sucking her fingers, she gave her belly a friendly pat. She was still so hungry. Reaching for the remnants of the cereal in the box, she took a pudgy fistful, then another, and another, cramming them into her mouth in peals of indulgent bliss.

The thought of ordering in struck her like a thunderbolt…

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 7 months

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Steddie Upside-down AU Part 21

Part 1 Part 20

Steve’s dragging his feet on their way out the door, not that Eddie can blame him. He’s practically been vivisected by that thing twice now, and Eddie can’t blame him for not wanting to see it again.

Eddie wants to sandwich Steve in the middle. He’s listing on his feet, and his skin’s ashy and pale from all the blood loss. But he’d shoved Will in-between them like usual, and that was that.

He keeps his pace slow and measured without making it obvious he’s doing it. Steve will kick up a fuss if he realizes it’s to accommodate him. He keeps his ears peeled.

They’re walking around in a hellscape, weaponless. Just like old times.

They don’t make it to the quarry. They’ve barely made it anywhere at all when there’s a scream that sounds alarmingly human.

It, of course, comes from the woods. The trees tower over them, casting looming shadows. They all freeze like dear in the crosshairs of a car’s headlights.

It’s quiet.

So, so quiet.

Then, “Nancy?” muffled, like it’s being screamed through a straw. “Nancy, are you there?”

“Jonathan,” Will says, taking off into the woods, Steve right behind him because “Nancy” can’t mean anyone other than Nancy Wheeler.

“No, no don’t,” Eddie says, knowing it’s too late. “Son of a bitch!” The trees cast shadows, long and menacing as they swallow Steve and Will up. Eddie runs. “Oh, this is so stupid, this is so stupid.”

“Follow my voice!” Jonathan calls again. Eddie does.

He doesn’t hear the clicking of the Demogorgon until he sees it. Will and Steve are frozen, watching it stalk toward where Nancy Wheeler is crouched, peering into a pulsing red light between two trees.

Steve turns toward Eddie, eyes wild. “Keep the kid alive, Munson.”

Eddie’s stomach lurches violently enough that bile fills his mouth. Because Steve is standing there, weaponless and injured. There’s ash coating his hair, band-aids plastered to his forehead, dirt caking his pants to his thighs. A fallen angel in the making.

“No,” he whispers, voice gaining volume as his words gain speed. “No, no, don’t do this to me.” He takes a step toward Steve, not caring at the twig snapping beneath his foot. “Come on, come one, I dare you to stay alive.”

Steve smiles with his whole face. Blood drips down from beneath the bandages on his forehead. It looks black in the shadowed wood. “I didn’t pick dare he says.”

Then, beautiful, brave, fucking stupid Steve Harrington runs at the Demogorgon, screaming as he punches it in the back of its head.

“Come get me, you fucker,” Steve spits. The Demogorgon’s face splits open, and it screeches, guttural.

“Steve?” Nancy calls. Her hands stuck in the red light now, but she’s just sitting there, staring at Steve like she’s never seen him before.

The last thing Eddie sees of Steve Harrington is his back as he bolts through the trees, the Demogorgon following close behind.

“Eddie,” Will cries. He’s tugging Eddie relentlessly toward where Nancy’s still crouched. They’re stumbling over every root and rock because Eddie refuses to look away from the spot Steve had been. If he looks away, that’ll be it. Steve will be gone.

But then the kid shoves him, hard, and he falls. Nancy Wheeler latches onto his arm hard. Just as unrelenting as Will’s grip on his waist.

They’re pulled through the pulsing red hole in the world. It’s a squeezing, almost violent pressure, that pops along with his eardrums once they’re free.

It’s nighttime in the real world. He doesn’t realize the shadows of that place had been wrong until he seems the right once more. His breath comes easy, clear of ash and that pulsing red. He doesn’t care.

Eddie turns back to where they’d come, but it’s just fucking bark. Innate fucking wood. He slams the heel of his palm on it, trying to find any give at all.

“Will?” Jonathan says, voice breaking. Eddie doesn’t care, barely registers it at all.

“No,” Eddie cries. He doesn’t feel his nails give as he starts clawing at the thing, like he can scratch his way back to where he’s supposed to be. “No, no, no!”

He doesn’t stop until someone pulls him bodily back and away. He struggles like an animal in a trap. Doesn’t stop until another set of arms box him in, holding him back.

He sags, bringing all three of them to the ground. His throat feels raw, like he’s been screaming. Maybe he has.

He lands partially on other bodies, feels them shove him off. Doesn’t care. Just stares at the bark where Steve Harrington isn’t until Will calls, “Eddie?”

He turns on hands and knees. The ground is cold, but Eddie barely feels it. Will’s in his brother’s arms, face pressed into Jonathan’s chest, one eye watching Eddie, wide and trusting.

Nancy is on her butt in the dirt, mouth still parted in shock as she looks at the same spot Eddie was just staring at. She’s wearing a brown jacket with pristine white trim, hair in a perky ponytail. Eddie wants to yank it clean off her head.

Beside Nancy, her redheaded friend sits, squinting suspiciously between Eddie, and Will, and Nancy, then back to Eddie, like she can’t figure out who’s fault this is.

It’s Eddie’s. He sinks his fingers into the dirt, clutching it in his fingers, even as his messed-up pinkie screams. He barely feels it past the shock.

He can still see Steve Harrington’s back as he turned away for the last time.

“I’ve got to go back,” Eddie says, looking up at Nancy imploringly. “How do I go back?”

Nancy shakes her head, shaking loose a few tears that trail down her cheeks. “I don’t—” she says, swallowing. “I don’t know.”

Eddie makes a sound like a wounded dog, full of unwanted pain and impotent rage.

“Why the hell would we go back?” Nancy’s friend asks.

It’s like the words are the last cut needed to break him. Eddie starts sobbing, barely hears Will’s answer over his own devastation.

“It’s Steve,” he says. “He’s still there.”

Part 22

#steddie upsidedown au #steddie fic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #my fic #eddie in my outline was supposed to stay in the UD but then he just didn't???? so

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starlightsearches · 2 months

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track 8 with eddie!

all i ask is that it’s sub!eddie 🤞

Brat

So I lied earlier about deleting all of the requests for the mixtape milestone 😬 i did get rid of the some of the requests i hadn't started, but i couldn't let go of the ones i drafted, which is good news, because inspiration struck for this one!

Ex-boyfriend! Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+, pussy eating, bratty eddie but he gets put in his place super quick, bondage, not a happy ending if you want them to get back together, language, and i think that's it!

You never thought you'd be back on Eddie Munson's doorstep.

Hands hanging heavy at your sides, a little taste of a summer breeze teasing at the hem of your skirt. You'd been full of a strange mixture of righteous fury and sick anticipation on the drive over but it's all gone now, a choking feeling in your throat when you lift up your hand to knock.

And you still can't do it.

Your eyes rake over his completely uninteresting door (are there even interesting doors?)— pockmarked with random dents and dings and sticky residue from long gone flyers—but you study it like it's the Mona Lisa, like it's got the meaning of life hidden somewhere in its peeling paint.

Fuck that. You didn't come here for the meaning of life.

Your knuckles meet the cool metal, once, then twice. The door flies open before you get a chance to drop your hand.

Eddie was waiting for you on the other side.

Heat floods through your entire body—and not the good kind—the oily feeling of embarrassment creeping up your neck. Had he been watching you through the peep hole?

He leans casually up in the door frame, arm stretched long above his mess of curls. The smile on his lips is so familiar it makes you ache.

"Hey, sweetheart."

Eddie looks good. Better than the last time you saw him—a little over a month ago, although not much as changed. Kind of stubbly, kind of toned. Still very, very hot.

There's no need to feel guilty for thinking it, but that doesn't stop your stomach from sinking as you drag your eyes down the white t-shirt he wears, band logo faded and the sleeves cut off, knees poking out of the rips in his jeans.

It should be ridiculous—a fucking caricature of a cool guy with his artful rips and the tats littering his arms. A Halloween costume on anybody else. But not on Eddie.

You push past him, like you push past the thought about how tight he wears his jeans. "Don't call me that."

He follows you into the living room of his shitty little apartment, kicking the door closed behind him. "What can I call you, then? Sugar tits?"

He doesn't even pretend to whither under your stare, although you feel like you cut glass with the look you give him.

"I thought I told you not to call me at all. Where is it?"

He's standing too close, looming over you with a little smirk. You can feel how hot his skin is. Feel the warm puff of breath from his nose on your cheeks. "Where's what, gorgeous?"

He never called stuff like that when you were together. Baby was his favorite. Princess when he was feeling sassy. Honey, but only on the rarest occasions, the sweetest mornings. That one always made you weak at the knees.

"The box of my stuff," —you're mad at him, at this, and it hits you hard, has you jamming a finger into his sternum, feeling the wiry muscle of his chest underneath the tee—"the one you left me three desperate messages about."

That humbles him a little bit. A very little bit, but enough to make Eddie shut his mouth for once. He points down the hall behind you.

"Bedroom."

You know the way, but let him lead. It's colder in his apartment than it was outside, the hair on your arms standing up, and you hold yourself a little tighter, cussing yourself out for leaving your jacket in the car.

"You look good," he calls back without turning in your direction, eyes on the clutter covering every inch of the floor, maybe hoping you won't notice the edge in his voice, “going out tonight?"

That was the plan—before this. "Yeah."

"Who with?"

Eddie doesn't even have enough shame in him to look embarrassed about asking, staring at you openly, like he has any right to know anything about your life now that he's not in it.

"You don't know them," you answer, and he laughs.

"Come on, sweetheart. Your friends are my friends."

And yeah, that used to be the case. Robin still called you up some weekends, inviting you out to girls' nights in a sad little tone. You made up excuses every time, but she still called.

Whatever. They were Eddie's friends first.

"Well, I made new ones."

Eddie runs his tongue over his bottom lip, crossing his arms across his chest.

“What’re their names?”

Jesus, he's such an ass.

"Just a bunch of guys I met outside a liquor store. Said they'd buy me shots tonight if I let them motorboat me in the parking lot."

"Har-har," Eddie rolls his eyes, but you didn't miss the look. His concern for you makes you itch. "Seriously, princess, just wanna know if you're keeping good company."

"Well, I'm not. Can I get my stuff now?"

And maybe you feel kind of bad for lying to him, but you can't let him know the truth—that it'll just be you and a couple girls from work. A few glasses of wine and some gossip. Hell, you'll probably be in bed before midnight.

Eddie digs around at the bottom of his closet, producing a cardboard box littered with garbage—a stack of magazines, some stupid teddy bear he won for you at an arcade, and a couple of bras you'd never be able to wear anymore with the way Eddie's spit is probably permanently fused in the fabric.

A wasted trip.

You try to take the box from him, but Eddie's grip doesn't budge.

"I can carry it out to your car, sweetheart," he says, standing up tall, "unless those biker guys are out there waitin' for you."

"I never said they were bikers," you respond, adjusting your grip on the box, pulling it tighter to your chest. It just has Eddie taking another step closer, big, warm hands sliding over yours.

"Good, 'cause I don't think bikers are your type."

He's whispering a little, lowering his voice all sexy in the way that always used to get you into bed with him.

Not this time.

"Oh fuck you, Eddie. What would you know about my type?"

"Uh, at least a little, honey," he laughs, smiling wide and boyish—so confident, self-assured.

"Don't—" you snatch the box out of his hands, "call me honey."

That's the landmine he's been waiting for you to step on. Eddie looks at you, ready to mash all your buttons until he figures out which ones will have you on him. You wish he wasn't so close to the right combination.

He stalks closer, trapping you up against the closet door, both hands planted above your head. You can't feel anything below your knees.

Voice low, breath wet up against your ear, Eddie says, "what are you gonna do about it, honey?"

The box falls with a whump, spilling all your shit across Eddie's bedroom floor. It's nothing compared sound of your body slammed against the door when your lips finally meet his.

You don't know who started it—whether it was your hands tangled up in his hair or him pinning you in place with his hips. You just know you don't want it to stop.

Eddie's running hot—hot hands at your waist and stubbly skin scratching up your jaw and his whole, hot body pressing up against you, moving just the way you like.

Liked.

You push his hands away with both of yours, trapping them against his sides, but it's not enough to stop him, his mouth at your neck.

"Come on, honey," he whispers, "I said I was sorry."

"I don't want an apology, Eddie."

He tries again, fingertips just brushing against your hips. He looks at you, eyes a little sad, a little too honest.

"Then what can I do to get you back?"

Fuck him. You didn't come here for that either. There's only one thing you want from Eddie Munson, and it's not a box full of bras.

"Get on your knees."

You're surprised his bones don't break with the speed he falls to the floor, thumping against the carpet. Hands already pushing up the hem of your skirt, face pressed low against your stomach. Maybe he's missed this as much as you.

"God, baby," he whispers against your thighs, fingers snaking under the hip of your lacy underwear, "knew you couldn't stay away."

Your knee juts out against his sternum, pushing him back.

"Stop that."

The look on his face is a little stupid, jaw dropped open and his brows furrowed. You were never like this when you were together, always deferring to him in one way or another. But you’re not together anymore.

You crouch down to his level, tracing the tips of your nails over the distended veins in his neck. Eddie's lids flutter, and then fall closed when your lips run over the same path, hand stroking faintly down his arm.

"You don't get to touch me, Eddie," you tell him, and he starts to nod, until his eyes flicker open again and he gets a good look at you, zeroed in on your tits and the low-cut of your dress.

"I- I don't, I mean . . . how?"

You slip the black bandana from his back pocket, give his ass a little squeeze. "Don't worry, honey, I'll help you out."

Eddie doesn't fight you when you push his wrists together, wrapping the cloth around them. He just stares, like he's trying to make sure this isn't a dream, his throat trembling when you pull the knot tight, letting the coarse fabric bite into his skin. You can almost hear a moan on his lips. But maybe you just imagined that.

Besides, you're not worried about what he likes right now.

Back on your feet, you rest your shoulders against the door, jutting your hips out toward him. Eddie looks up at you, big eyes wider than you've ever seen them, wiggling his wrists a little to see if there's any give.

You raise a brow, nudging at the ripped knee of his jeans with your bare toes. "Well?"

Whatever doubts Eddie may have had, they're out the window the second he sees you lifting up your skirt, revealing more and more of the soft skin of your thighs, the black lace you're wearing underneath it.

"Jesus, honey," he shuffles forward until his face is sandwiched between your thighs again, "you wear these for me?"

There's a little laugh on your lips, if only to cover up the way your breath hitches at the way he kisses at your skin, squeezing you between his teeth.

Even without his hands, Eddie Munson is dangerous.

You shift your legs wider so he can fit better, plant a hand in his hair and pull him closer to wear you want him.

"Not a chance, Munson. You think the next guy will like them?"

Eddie can't answer. Not vocally at least. His mouth is busy, tongue splitting your lips, before he stops to rub slow circles over your clit through the fabric. Like he's trying to tell you that there's not gonna be a next guy.

Fuck. You thought you were stronger than that, but maybe he's right.

Because, for all his faults, Eddie really knows how to eat pussy. Even without the use of his hands he's got you shaking—better than the feel of his fingers splitting you open, maybe even better than when he'd rip your underwear off you and dive in, nothing to separate you from the pleasure Eddie loved to give.

You're underwear are soaked, and not just from his spit, the sloppy way Eddie devours you, big eyes dark, looking up at you past the bunched up hem of your skirt. He's got you dripping, a little desperate.

Or more than a little.

Eddie's whispering when he pulls back enough he can speak, and you're shocked you can even hear him with the way he's talking directly into your pussy, and through the buzzing in your ears.

"Come on, princess. Let me taste you."

You snake your free hand down—because you want to, not because he asked, pulling the sticky wet fabric to the side. Eddie whistles low and soft when he sees your glistening cunt, the breeze sending a shiver up your spine when it meets your feverish skin.

He moves back in, slower this time, savoring the taste of you, his tongue peeking into your dripping hole and circling the edges, collecting your cum, drinking you up.

You press tighter against him to improve the angle, one leg coming up to rest on his broad shoulder. Eddie groans and the vibrations go straight to your clit.

Fuck, you're close. Close in a way you haven't been since you slammed the door to this apartment all those weeks ago—the kind of close you'd been looking for with your hand between your legs ever since, losing the feeling every time you were reminded that you should be thinking about anyone but Eddie.

But how could you manage? Head like this was hard to find.

Eddie knows that, the fucker, lips circled around your clit, sucking at you like his life depends on it. Your vision goes dark, eyes rolling back of their own accord. The only thing louder than your moans is the sound of Eddie's sloppy most working at your core.

You grind your hips down against his face, riding his mouth when the feeling overtakes you, body buzzing as those little uh uh uhs spill from your lips. Shock waves like fireworks traveling through you with each stroke of his tongue.

Fuck.

Eddie doesn't slow down, still abusing your poor clit, sucking at your puffy lips, trying to drain you of all those moans from you until you've got to drag him away by his hair or else he's gonna make you cum again.

And then you'll never want to leave.

Eddie looks up at you, face shiny, and he smiles.

"How was that?"

And it's almost as thrilling as that orgasm, the way his brain so clearly shuts down and stalls when you shift your clothes back to where they were, unphased, patting his cheek with a patronizing little look.

"Passable. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have plans."

Eddie doesn't have quite enough balance to get back on his feet with his wrists still tied, so he shuffles after you on his knees, tripping on clutter and knocking shit over.

"Wait a second, what about me?"

He waves his hands in front of his face, like you might have forgotten that you tied him up, like it wasn’t the highlight of your day.

"I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out, princess."

You don't even bother to look back, and the satisfaction that washes over you probably feels better than heroin.

You're in the living room before you hear Eddie call out again.

"Hey! You forgot all your stuff!"

He doesn't get a response to that one, either. The last Eddie hears from you is the slamming of his front door.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #my writing

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aswaki · 2 months

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i could take matthew no prep (i am half his size and delusional)

- 🐠

aahh stop because im tiny (its so weird to be saying this) so i think about this a lot too. imagine taking him in full and raw as well!!! (but safe sex!!! i'm on pills!!!) matthew would so fucking cocky if he knows you want to take him on, no prep, raw, and all. he likes knowing you're shorter than he was since he was usually the small guy in the group. he'd be so obsessed when showing off his strength and skills with you. (and you love it!)

seok matthew x reader | flashfic | explicit (minors dni)

contains: fem!reader, brat!reader, dom!matthew, size difference (reader mentioned being smaller/shorter), no prep, rough sex, pet names ("pretty girl", "good girl", "brat")

“i promise, i can take it!” you exclaimed, fluttering your lashes. they moved as if they were butterfly wings trying to impress a potential mate. sensual, alluring, pretty.

“i need you.” you were so horny. you could take anything. you’d literally do anything.

matthew was concerned at first since you were pleading to go straight at it— to just have his dick inside you —but the incessant begging dissolved all traces of it.

“you don’t need anything— you want it.” his hand circled your wrist to stop you as you made an attempt to reach the band of his sweatpants. you whimpered when he touched you.

“oh no, pretty girl, you don’t get to touch.” he continued to speak. the tone of his voice was so low that it made your insides flip. your gazes met. you could see his gaze darkening. on matthew’s end, he could see excitement swirling in your eyes as he got rough with you.

“please,” that was all you could say before matthew suddenly pushed you to the bed. given your size and his strength, it made this easy to do. things happened so fast that it amazed you that you didn’t get a whiplash.

the pillows cushioned your fall. his body loomed over you while you were laying down. his boxers were discarded quickly as his sweats were. it revealed how his erection stood, almost angrily. your mouth almost watered at the sight. you wanted to grab it, to feel his intimidating cock like you were taming it.

“no touching. only i get to feel you,” matthew said like he could read your mind. before you knew it, your dress was bunched up to your waist. your damp panties were exposed to him. you would be embarrassed by how wet you were but your arousal didn’t make you give a fuck about anything at the moment.

matthew used his teeth to drag your panties. the feel of his lips and teeth bloomed goosebumps across the flesh it trailed down. noises left your mouth as the cool air hit your pussy. you bucked your hips at the sensations— he wasn’t even inside of you.

his hand finally did get to touch you as he gripped your hip. he lined himself to your entrance and thrusted his cock in. his lips parted, enjoying how good it felt to be in you.

your whines got worse as his girth stretched you out with no warning or whatsoever.

“take it like a good girl and stop whining,” he warned you as he pushed his entire length in. your walls quickly clamped around his cock. tears threatened to spill out of your eyes. you didn’t want them to fall. you had to hold on to the end of your promise (“i can take it!”).

by now you should have been accustomed to his size but it’s been a while since you’ve done this and he was just so big. his name left your lips repeatedly like an incantation so that your tightness would be malleable to his girth.

before you closed your eyes, you could see matthew smirking down at you. cockiness written on his face as he moved inside of you.

“what happened, huh, pretty girl? you wanted this so bad five minutes ago.” his words were kind but his tone held a sneer to it.

you reached out to touch his chest— to relish his closeness? to make him stop? you didn’t know. all you knew was that you wanted to touch him so you did.

want. want. want. it was all about your wants.

“what do you not understand, brat? i said- no touching,” matthew said gruffly. each word was punctuated with sharp, brutal thrusts. you gasped when he grabbed your wrists. you wriggled as he placed your hands above you, trying to be free from his hold.

“no m-” your words were drowned out by your moans as pleasure washed over you. matthew's hand left your hip. instead, he let his free digit be in contact with your clit. his finger circled it as his cock slid inside of you. your body shivered.

the both of you knew that you actually liked him being rough with you; how he can manhandle you with ease. your faux defiance were futile to his ears.

“you said you could take it, so prove it.”

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i-love-you-just-the-same · 14 days

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alright sleep token and 141 type collab because brain rot (tldr: 141 are a masked man rock band)

soap always wanted to be in a band. gaz thought it was something cool to try. price played drums in highschool. and ghost of course introduced the aire of mystic that made them really take off.

def have a good fanbase of punks and their girlfriends. they get a lot of interest because of the unique sound and also. hot guys in masks brain go brrrrrrrrr...

totally see gaz and soap interacting with the crowd and the pretty girls that catch their eyes. totally singing something like "show me those pretty white jaws" and caressing someones throat in the crowd (actual sleep token lyric... this was a dream to think about). def have people trying to figure out their identities so they can try to call them up.

gaz for sure finds a girl at a little bar showing in the beginning that he tracks down in daylight to ask her on a little date. ends up being surprised by her with tickets to his own bands concert. needs to show him the appeal of her favorite member. ends up having soap and ghost beat the shit out of him after the concert to have a good excuse for flaking. def puts tidbits in one of the songs about her that she totally freaks about because "shes exactly his type!" yeah baby you are.

ghost probably writes a lot of the lyrics for their songs. def is thinking of some birdie that he thinks is "the one that got away" when he writes shit like "i'm still full of the love you want / i reach for you on faith alone." happens to see her at one of their concerts and obviously she doesnt know its him, mask in all, but he still gets her vip tickets or ones in the nosebleeds. takes more of a part in crowd pleasing, confusing the fuck out of soap and gaz.

price is more of the stressed punk dad. keeping gaz and soap contained while helping ghost with lyrics and keeping up with everything else with the band is a lot but he loves his boys. def got a few piercings when he was younger that he will not share with the class no matter how much soap begs (eyebrow and three cartilage.... but also be creative). def still has a septum piercing he pretends is a fake (only ghost knows).

price convinces ghost to give it a go with this bird he writes about. just let him come with ghost to scope her out again. scare off any new boyfriend looming around the corner. needs to be sure his boy is well taken care of.

sleep token songs mentioned: jaws and the love you want

def writing about this again sleep token type 141.... shewwww. def didnt get their vibe completely right but no one can do sleep token like sleep token yk (masked british men have me in a 'chokehold' :) )

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xanderisbraindead · 7 months

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How to get scene accessories!

Accessories are pretty important especially in scene but you don’t have to exclusively go to hot topic or spencers, you have other options. GET CREATIVE. ANYTHING CAN BE SCENE!! THIS IS JUST TO GUIDE YOU!! THINK OUTSIDE OF THE BOX!!!

Kandi! It might take you time to learn to like do an even peyote cuff but you can do singles and stuff off the gate. When coupled with pearler beads, you can make cute necklaces. Try loom bands too, those are cute

Clay! My favorite necklace atm is a clay replica of a dropdead necklace. Flatten some air dry clay and shape a pendant. Do i need to elaborate on this? You can also make hair clips like this in theory

Party city has very colorful fingerless fishnet gloves, bandanas, tutus, boas (?the feather things), those bead necklaces?? They also have like studded cuffs for $6. I assume this would go for other party supply stores too. Stores after Halloween will have cool things.

Resale sites. You can find anything on there. Ebay has cheaper studded belts than hot topic like $11 vs $25. You could also probably find those band bracelets on ebay, depop, mercari.

Misc.- don’t forget you can paint studded belts or cuffs, cant find one you want specifically? Spray paint it. Same with shoes, get some old vans and paint them. Want a cute phone case? Paint it. Shout out to my kitty brainz phone case.

Like i said in the beginning, This isnt law, its just to help you get ideas flowing. Also, be patient, you wont build a wardrobe overnight. Tiktok has made it seem like you can just adopt a fashion style out of thin air but you rlly cant. Sometimes it may seem frustrating bc you want things now, but you need to be patient. Good things come to those who wait.

Link to the clothing post

#my post #rawring 20s #rawring twenties #scene #scene fashion #scene revival #scene kid #scene queen #scene king #fashun #alt #alternative fashion #alt fashion

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sprout-fics · 1 year

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Factions

König x 'Maus' F!Reader

(Part 6 of "Little Mouse" Series)

Word Count: 4.5k Rating: Teen and up Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Dark König, Angst, Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Found family, Hints of yandere König, Canon bending Warnings: General dark romance themes A/N: A bit of a longer chapter, and no Maus + Konig, though some desperately needed plot/character development. We will be going back to our hunter/prey vibes with the next chapter.

He rises from the shadows of the cliff.

You see him, see the way his body unfurls from where he crouches. The silhouette of him plucks at the veins of your heart, winding a song that feels ancient in its origin, primordial. Instinctive, bathed in a touch that seeps a crimson so dark and deep you think you might drown in it. It soaks you to the bone, dyeing you in a wash of terror that spreads outwards as his body towers higher, higher-

A monster.

Something from fairytales, the thing that would haunt your nightmares as a child and yet exists even now. Older than your deepest fears, the horror of the thing before you seems etched into your very marrow, an intrinsic instinct to run, run away from the massive form before you. You can only make out the outline of him as he moves, the edges of him wavering in the darkness like a supernatural entity. A poltergeist. One that stretches out with phantom limbs and whispered voices, promising sinister prophecies.

"What made you think we were done, Maus?" He murmurs into the shell of your ear, his massive arms snaking around your front, secured there like bands of steel.

"I'll take better care of you." He promises, and his hand catches yours, smoothing his thumb into the soft, sensitive skin of your wrist.

"Hello, little Maus." He purrs from where he stands, far above, backlit by the waxing crescent moon.

"I'll see you again." You hear his voice all around you, surrounding you, within you.

"Soon."

Now that same creature, that cryptid looms above you, and when he moves he seems to blur at the edges, the darkness of him shuddering into nothingness. A void. You can hardly make out the details of him. When he shifts it leaves an incandescent aftereffect that sears into the back of your eyelids. Too bright and too dark to trace. Red pulses there behind your vision with every drumming heartbeat.

He turns to you, and you can see the bleach tears that pool across his hood, draining down into lasting marks that you think will burn into your soul if you stare too long. You see his eyes then, and they glint when his eyes focus, when he reaches a hand towards you that drips of shadows-

Yet he doesn't touch you. Doesn't extend his hand to grasp at your shivering form.

Instead, there's light.

Soft, glowing, it radiates like sunlight through dappled trees, where dust hovers like glimmer dust. Enchanted, gentle, warm.

Edelweiss.

Delicate pale blossoms that spill from his fingertips, their bright centers twinkle with soft whispers of peace, an entreaty you can't fully comprehend. They sing out to you, against that terror that seems so inherent, so primal it almost pains you to struggle against it. Yet even when the scarlet of it thrums and groans in your veins it's muted by the brightness, the strange, hesitant words of the shadow that offers them to you.

"I won't hurt you, Maus."

When you look up, it's not a monster.

It's him.

---

"Rookie."

You awake fighting, instinctively throwing out your limbs in a sloppy offense that's easily deflected by broader, calloused hands. The gesture does nothing to calm you, not when the world is an enigmatic amalgamation of movement and dizzying, blurring sensations. Squirming, you try to raise your voice, arching off the thin padded cot where you lay and blindly grappling with whoever is trying to subdue you.

"Rookie!" The voice calls again, and now your wrists are caught in a steel grip as you buck, try to yell-

Light floods your vision, and there's another voice now, murmuring a question you can barely make out, startled and concerned. You blink against the brightness, stilling long enough to clear your vision, allowing the hovering face of Gaz to float into view.

"K-Kyle." You manage, and your eyes trace over the still fading scar over his brow, the one he earned on that night all those months ago, when you'd been stolen away into the darkness.

Kyle's eyes are concerned, shocked at your violent awakening. He hunches over your prone form, leaning his weight down so he pins your hands to either side of your head, his shoulders blotting out the crackling fluorescent light above you.

"You're okay." He tells you almost instantly, voice softer now. "You're safe. Take a breath."

You blink at him for a few moments, thoughts rapidly trying to process his words and your hazy surroundings. Yet you follow him when he inhales, holding the air in his chest before releasing it. The sigh whooshes from your lungs, curling up between you and draining the coiled tension from your still drowsy form.

"That's it." Your sergeant smiles at you, brown gaze wrinkling at the corners. "Just had a bad dream. You're okay."

You swallow, feel the dusty, dry air crack against your throat before you speak. "Y-yeah. I'm okay."

"Good." Kyle declares, and his fingers flex around your wrists, loosening. "I'm going to let you go, try not to punch me again, yeah?"

You manage a nod after a moment, mind still churning with the unknown waters of confusion. Yet when he releases you, you keep still, wait for him to pull completely away before trying to sit up.

You cradle your brow in your hands as you do, dragging your palms over the planes of your face in an attempt to reorient yourself. Gaz turns from you, allowing you a few moments to gather yourself before you at last turn to him. There's a pinched, worried look on his face, arms crossed as he leans against the wall.

"You good?" A voice asks from the doorway of the bunk, and it's Soap, his muscular forearm arm braced on the doorframe as he regards you skeptically.

"Yeah...yeah. I'm good." You tell him, even when he quirks an eyebrow at you. "Just...sorry. Had a nightmare."

Soap merely shrugs, but averts his eyes from you as a frown tugs at the corner of his lips. Before you can ask, he focuses back on Gaz.

"Briefing is ready, Price is expecting us."

Gaz nods, eyes looking down in thought for a moment before they refocus on his comrade.

"Give us a minute, we'll be there." He replies, and you blink at the tone in his voice. Grim, contemplative. He regards Soap with a look that conveys a meaning you can't decipher.

Whatever it is, it's enough for Johnny, who gives a single nod before vanishing, his footsteps fading down the hallway.

There's a silence that lingers after him, stretching long and tense between you and Gaz. You cast a glance at him, but his gaze is focused downwards, towards his boots. He doesn't speak.

"...We should go." You offer, standing and moving towards the doorway to follow Soap. You're stopped, however, by Gaz's hand that catches across your bicep. You blink, turn to him, brow furrowed in worry. Yet Gaz's expression is dark, serious, intent on your skittish, frightened eyes.

"He hurt you, didn't he?"

The question feels like a gunshot. You feel the impact before you hear the sound, your body tensing automatically, coiling under the blow. It's a blatant reaction, one Gaz takes it with narrowed eyes and a tightened grip.

"Who?" You manage, but it's a bluff Gaz sees straight through.

"König." He answers instantly, and you only wind further into yourself, feeling panic rise at the intensity of his accusation.

He sees it then, sees the sudden flash of alarm that glints across your gaze. Almost immediately he blinks, face softening as he realizes he's startled you, watched you poise to flee under his touch.

"...Sorry." He offers, gaze averting, hand releasing your arm and dropping back to his side.

You don't speak, trying to summon the words needed to answer his question, to grapple with the strange, forbidden secrets in yourself he can't be allowed to see.

"It's just-" Gaz tries, then stops, swallowing before he faces you once more. His eyes are sincere, open and bright as they regard you. "I can see it. We all can."

When you don't speak, Gaz takes it as an indication to continue.

"You won't talk about what happened that night. I mean, we know from your report, but you won't...won't talk about it. You try to act like it didn't happen, try to just ignore it."

"Kyle-" You try, reaching for him. He pulls away.

"Even then, when you've seen him again, anytime he's spotted over comms you get this look in your eyes, like you're trying to figure out what to do with yourself."

Kyle's fists clench at his sides, his brow knotted. Yet his gaze is unwavering, staring straight at you and almost pleading.

"You keep saying he didn't hurt you, but every time you hear his name you tense up, go all stiff like you're scared. It...it makes me think he hurt you, and you won't tell us."

"No!" You try, voice rising quickly, trying to step towards him. Yet the sudden pitch of your voice betrays you, and Kyle's eyes widen then darken at the tone of your voice. You cut him off before he can say more.

"Kyle I swear to you, he didn't hurt me."

Yet Kyle seems unconvinced, lips pursing into a thin line as he stares at you, his eyes trying to uncover the secrets hiding below the surface.

"You don't have to hide it." He offers after a few moments of tense silence. "Nobody is going to judge you for it. I just..."

You see it then, the flash of something across his gaze that looks upset somehow, poisonously guilty.

"I need to know if it was my fault."

You blink, lips parting as Gaz's gaze shifts away.

"Kyle." You ask gently, and when you step forward this time he doesn't retreat. "Why would it be your fault?"

Kyle doesn't answer straight away, nor does he move when your fingers skim across his arm. He allows the touch, even as he avoids your gaze.

"I was your partner." He murmurs at last, and his voice drips with hurt that's self-inflicted. "I was supposed to keep you safe, and I failed. I'm...I'm sorry."

In the silence that trails after Gaz's words, you hear the sound of your heart cracking.

Frozen where you stand, hand outstretched and skimming across his arm, you feel the weight of your secret weigh down inside you. Like a taboo, forbidden gravity, the truth of your answer, of the reality within you drags you downwards into yourself. The pressure of it threatens to fracture outwards, cracking along your sinews, your spine, the shadowy depths of you.

What do you even say?

It's true. König never hurt you. He's saved your life more times than you care to count by now. He was your captor, your abductor, and yet his touch to you has never been anything other than firm, guiding, grounding against the conflict of mystery that churns within you.

You see him even in dreams, your mind conjuring visions of bleach-streaked tears and shadows, only to douse it in his gentle entreaties, the lulling warmth of his words. He ripples across your thoughts, a massive, hulking behemoth that you should be terrified of, and yet somehow find that fear within you absent.

No, you're not afraid of him. You're afraid of the truth, the raw jagged breadth of it that threatens to slice your heart from the inside out.

You don't want him to be your enemy.

You...you want him.

The realization comes so sharp and fast you jolt, flinching away at the exact moment Gaz turns his gaze to face you once more.

Silence, stillness between you both.

Then, blooming deep and wounded across Gaz's face: Hurt.

"N-no, Gaz." You try, voice cracking in your throat as his expression changes. "It wasn't your fault, you were injured too, I-"

Yet Gaz seems to have found whatever it was he was looking for inside your eyes, wild and panicked as they are at the revelations he can't see. His face sours, mouth dipping and brow furrowing as he turns from you, shrugging off your hand.

"I get it." He tells you, and even with his terse tone you can hear the pain there, the aching sensation of regret that clings to his skin. "Just...don't blame yourself. Please."

You don't dare to breathe, and it's within that absence that Gaz brushes past you, makes his way down the hallway to the briefing room. His footsteps fade, and you're left behind, hands clenched at your sides, trembling as you try to hold back the warmth that pricks against the corners of your eyes.

Don't blame yourself, he said. All while his own guilt growls, gnaws at his bones, hidden away in a place you couldn't see until it was too late.

You're such a fool.

Too obsessed with your own guilt and shame over the conflict of your feelings, you didn't notice how much he was hurting, how he watched every expression flicker across your face and betray you.

If you just told him, confessed to him the truth, then surely he wouldn't harbor this hurt, this pain inside him over his supposed mistake. How were you supposed to do that though when you could barely accept the truth yourself? What would he even think? To realize you...might have feelings for the man who hurt him?

"Rookie!"

Price's voice echoes gruff and loud down the hallway, calling out for you.

You wipe your face dry on your arm, swallowing down your bitter regret and turn to follow him.

The team murmurs amongst themselves, but when you step into the main area with the table full of maps and supplies they hush, turn to you.

You see Soap's hand fall from Gaz's shoulder quietly, tucked back to his side.

When Price clears his throat you all turn to him, with his hands planted on the table, body leaning forward and head raised to return your gaze.

"Our enemy is KorTac." He states grimly, taking a pause to fasten his eyes around the members of his team. "An elite private military company composed of international operators that are highly skilled and extremely well-armed."

You watch as Price's hand smooths across a number of manila folders scattered across the creaking metal table.

"We don't have names of every agent listed within this company, but Laswell has managed to compile a number of reports on some of their members."

When Price looks up, you see his brow is pinched, his lips a tight, severe frown.

"Many of our allies died to obtain this information."

There's a current of unease that ripples through the team around you, unspoken and yet sinister as the reality of your captain's words sink in.

"These are all operators that have gone rogue from their government and have been privately enlisted in KorTac. They operate outside any government and with full discretion. However, we were able to compile certain information on their previous training and deployments, which allows us an idea of what they're capable of."

Price's hand lands on the first folder, his voice rising as he announces its contents.

"Tor Eriksen. Callsign 'Aksel'. Former Norwegian Maritime special forces. He's a utilitarian. Knows everything from HALO Jump to bomb disposal."

"Jack of all trades." Soap offers, thick, brawny arms crossing.

"Exactly right." Price replies, looking up sharply at the sergeant. "Laswell is certain he's KorTac's specialist. He's highly trained, extremely intelligent, and adaptable."

You watch as Price's hand drifts to the second folder, plastered with a grainy picture of a soldier in full camouflage, his face obscured by a matching mask and sunglasses.

"Kim Hong-jin. Callsign 'Horangi', the 'Tiger'."

"Why do they call him that?" Gaz interjects, and when you look at him he stubbornly avoids your gaze.

"We don't know." Price replies bluntly. "What we do know is that he's former RKAF, sniper training." Price's eyes briefly raise to you, and you try your best to return his even stare. "He's been recorded as the executor of several high value targets on the CIA counter-terrorism wanted list. Highly effective and very dangerous."

"Another sniper." Soap mumbles, and his elbow bumps against your side. You manage to shoot him a nervous smile, but the expression feels forced, hollow.

"Rozlin Helms." Price continues, pointedly drawing your attention back to him. Yet before he can go on it's Ghost who interjects.

"Helms?" He questions from where he leans against the wall, outside the reach of the overhead light. "Thought she was with Shadow Company."

"She was." Price returns. "After the clusterfuck in Las Almas it seems she jumped ship, ended up in KorTac. Now she's their munitions expert and weapon procurement specialist. MI6 has tagged her name attached to several illegal weapons sales moving through Eastern Europe."

"Might explain where that one grenade came from." Gaz mumbles, and you feel his eyes dart to you for all of a moment before they vanish from your form. "Maybe."

"Laswell is arranging an information swap with MI6 regarding her whereabouts. If we can pin her, we may be able to pin where the company is currently operating from."

"We're going on the offense, Cap?" Soap asks, his voice dipping, leveling into a harsh, rough grain at the seriousness of his query.

"I'll be covering that in just a moment, MacTavish. Hold your tongue until then." Price replies, voice smooth and yet managing to convey his annoyance for the repeat interruptions.

"Yes sir."

"Good." Price nods. When his hand drifts to the next folder, however, you see him pause, glance at you.

There's no photo.

"König."

The room stills.

"No real name that we can gather. Former German Special Forces Command. Extremely skilled, extremely dangerous."

You feel them, the eyes of the team sliding over to your stiffened form. When your hands shake, you curl them at your sides, refusing to meet their stares.

"Failed enlistment as a sniper, was assigned as an insertion specialist under the first platoon. His former comrades describe him as a human battering ram. He's recorded as single-handedly eliminating an AQ cell in Berlin, all twelve fighters KIA. He's a weapon's specialist, but besides that we know he has a preference for flash bangs and frag grenades."

You hear Gaz shift where he stands, the hostility radiating off his form, poisonous and acrid.

"I don't need to emphasize that this man is dangerous. Given his...history attacking one of our own, you have full execute authority should you encounter him."

You freeze.

Yet Price doesn't notice your sudden stiffness, like a doe caught out in the open, seeing the glint of a rifle from the trees. Instead, he focuses on Ghost's voice that growls from where he lurks.

"Who's their commander?"

Price pauses, takes a drag of his smoldering cigar caught between his fingertips. The ashes spill downwards onto the reports below.

"Declan O'Conor."

"O'Conor?" Soap exclaims abruptly, arms falling as he takes a step towards the table. "Of the Irish Defense Forces?"

"The same." Price responds gravely, and this time he doesn't bother trying to correct Soap, likely allowing Soap's outburst due to his own sense of shock.

"I thought he was dead! They said he was KIA during that raid in Mozambique two years ago!"

"…They never found his body." Ghost adds in the tense silence that follows, voice deep, cutting as he absorbs the information Price has laid out.

"No, this doesn't make sense." You watch as Gaz shakes his head, stepping closer to look at the clear photo attached to the commander's profile. "I knew Conor. He's a good man. Why would he defect? More than that, why would he go so far as to fake his own death?"

You look between the group, watch as their faces morph from surprise to confusion to anger. Yet when your eyes land on Price, you stiffen at the cold, unflinching weight of them, gazing past you, into the possibilities you don't yet see.

"The agent who compiled this report was found dead at her safehouse last night, just outside of Minsk."

You suck in a breath, feel the air in the room drop several degrees as the men around you straighten, stiffen in surprise.

"Wait." You try, and when you raise your voice for the first time during the entire briefing, four sets of eyes turn to you. "Are you saying that...O'Conor had her killed? For just finding out who he was?"

Price is silent, doesn't respond. Yet the grim, fatal glint in his eyes tells you everything you need to know.

"Creepin' Jesus." Soap breathes beside you. You shiver.

Price straightens then, looming above the table as he fixes his gaze on each of you.

"From what we can gather, KorTac has been mobilized against the 141. We don't know from where, and we don't know by who. What we do know is that they've already proven they can strike anywhere, anytime. This puts not only us, but also our allies at risk, and that is something we cannot allow."

Your allies, you realize. Farah, Alex. Alejandro, Rudy. Nikolai. All them, walking with targets on their backs. Because of this.

Because of you.

"Your company, Maus." He insists, voice lowering. A hand flexes on his knee.

He won't hurt you. He said he wouldn't hurt you.

"The 141." You murmur, and something stabs inside you, guilty and hurt over your own betrayal.

"One four one." König echoes, accent turning over the numbers in a low rumble.

Something changes then. You feel it. There’s an energy that seeps from you, coiled in anger, in determination. It unspools from your veins, spilling loose so the threads of it graze against the men around you.

Ghost straightens from where he leans against the wall, and you catch his eyes as they blink open. Dead, empty, cold. Yet there's an energy there, primal, instinctive, calculating and premeditated. When he steps forward into the light his mask catches the fluorescent glow from above. Not a halo, but a radiance that burns dark at the edges. Mesmerizing. Fatal.

Beside you Soap straightens, rolls his shoulders back and you hear them grind, crackle with years of strength built into his bones. The curve of his jaw grits harsh and unrelenting, eyes piercing. Like a live, sparking wire Johnny oozes raw energy, motion, a durability you can only dream of.

When your eyes move to Gaz, you find him already staring at you. There's a clairvoyance there, an insight you know only him to possess. Gaz divines the shifting currents of events like he's tasting the wind and summoning rain. Now that same acumen seems to extend to you, peeling back the layers of your thoughts and exposing the vile, verboten interior of your mind.

You close your eyes against it, try to blot out despite the howling gale of treachery inside your chest, seeping dark and oily into your bones.

You can't tell him. You can't tell any of them. These men, your brothers, who have fought by your side and come to your aid, who have stemmed your wounds and been the shield for your spear, they should never know the horrific, undeniable truth inside you.

You can't deny it now, the fatal secret exposed in the light of your own realization. The outline of him, of König lurks in your mind, turning as you watch, offering his voice in a double edged greeting that seeps of gentleness, of a sinister threat.

"Hello, Maus."

He haunts your daydreams, your nightmares. He stalks you across the battlefield, keeps you safe, only to turn around and reach for you, threatening to drag you under into his beckoning embrace.

"I'd never hurt you, Maus."

He refuses to kill you, choosing instead to poison you, the drip of his curiosity treacherously sweet and sour against your tongue. It winds through your veins, tinting the color of your blood into something you can't discern, a syrupy intoxication that leaves you breathless, reeling from his onslaught.

It will kill you.

You'll kill him first.

You turn to Price then, see your conviction reflected in his knowing, piercing stare.

"When do we start?"

----

As the sun sets over the Svislach river, and twilight oozes from dusk to darkness, the stars in the heavens above Minsk twinkle distantly. Here, in the metropolis, the lights of the city drown out the constellations above, obscured by wispy trails of clouds. The lingering taste of snow clings in the air, blank and frigid, a clean slate of which to start anew. Yet the stars shine, pinpricks of light against the dome of growing midnight that stretches gently against the horizon.

A set of eyes watches them from atop the warehouse in the center of the city. Crouched, hidden by the shadows, a single breath fogs, curls away from him, up into the sky. Beside him, a weapon missing a single round chills against the nighttime air.

König’s eyes open under his hood, staring out across the river, to where the lights of the city gleam and glitter like midnight lanterns. The freezing air bites at his bones, but he ignores it, seeking instead to set his sights upwards, into the empyrean atmosphere, lost in thought.

The sound of a single gunshot still echoes in his ears, the crack of thunder, loud and brilliant. It electrifies him, sends a familiar, addictive energy coursing through his veins.

Yet the excitement, the rising crescendo of feverish passion feels dulled now, obscured just as the stars by the veil of something else.

"Hmm."

The sound gusts, billows like steam, floating higher. König’s dark eyes take it in silently, mind twisting, churning with contemplation.

"It's boring." He decides at last, mouth forming the words under his hood. Even then his tongue grazes against a familiar taste, a memory.

The AQ fighter before him jerks, and there's a violent, grotesque spume of blood that erupts from his head. It sprays against the concrete wall to his left, an abstract of violence. Yet his hands remain clean, and after a moment König realizes the origin of the shot came not from him, but up from the sky.

He turns.

Backlit by the sun, he catches the shadow of your form eclipsing the light that peeks over the rooftops. The glint of your scope shines in the afternoon light, even as it points down to him, to the waiting target of his body.

You saved him.

The realization sends a pulsing, intoxicating electricity through him, rising into a wild, untamed smile hidden under his hood.

You saved him.

He sees you tilt away from your scope to regard him, blinking in the brightness, and König feels the desire to reach out, to touchyou rise sharply inside him.

Within him, a memory of a memory, one that glows against his thoughts, bright and soft with hallowed light.

"Your name, Maus."

Then, the sound of your voice.

König blinks, shifting now to try and rid himself of the cold beginning to bleed into his bones. Drowsiness pulls at him, fed by the bite of winter and the many sleepless hours spent hunting his quarry.

"Hmm." He echoes again, the sound dragging in his chest, close to a displeased whine.

"I miss Maus."

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fafnir19 · 9 days

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Hi there, don't know if you could help out, but I've always dreamed of living the pirate life in the great pirate era, like being the captain of beautiful ship full of strong, musky and obedient men... of course, being a shy nerd, I've only dreamt that world while reading novels and manga.

Can you help?

As the gentle waves rocked the boat beneath me, I lay on the deck, basking in the warm Caribbean sun. The sea breeze tousled my hair as I thought back to how I, an IT-nerd, ended up on this expedition with my archaeology classmates. They had asked for my help with their sensitive IT equipment, promising me the adventure of a lifetime. I watched my fellow students disappear beneath the waves, diving for archaeological treasures, and couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy at their excitement. Alone on deck with Captain William, I marveled at his wavy hair and sun-kissed tan, a rugged charm that reminded me of the pirate Captain Jack from the book I was currently reading.

Lost in the lull of the ocean, I found myself dozing off, drifting into a dream where I was a handsome blond cabin boy aboard a commercial ship in the year 1736:

My blue eyes scanned the horizon, my sculpted body poised for adventure. Suddenly, the tranquility was shattered as the ship was besieged by pirates, screams and clashing swords filling the air. "Surrender the cargo!" The pirate captain's voice boomed, sending a shiver down my spine as chaos and panic erupted around us. I watched helplessly as our ship was overrun, the pirates seizing our cargo and binding us in chains. Fear coiled in my stomach as I realized our fate hung in the balance, the looming threat of being sold into slavery weighing heavy on my mind. But then, to my astonishment, the pirates turned to me with an offer, their gruff voices echoing in the chaotic aftermath. "Will ye join us, lad?" Captain Jack, the pirate captain with a striking resemblance to Captain William, boomed, his eyes piercing through the turmoil of the moment.

Hesitation gripped me, the choice before me stark and unforgiving. Yet, faced with the grim prospect of enslavement, I found myself nodding in reluctant acceptance. The decision was made, and I embarked on a new chapter of my life among the rugged and musky pirates, the sea breeze carrying the echoes of my resolution into the vast expanse of the ocean. "I'll join ye," I murmured, the weight of my choice settling upon me like an anchor in the deep. I was swept into their world of adventure and danger, navigating the high seas with a band of musky pirates, my heart pounding with newfound excitement and trepidation.

Days passed in the company of my new companions, the pirates. One morning, they bestowed upon me my first test. Captain Jack turned to me with a glint in his eye. "I have a task for you, lad." Before I could respond, Jack's voice turned serious as he handed me a small pouch filled with glittering jewels. "These treasures need to be sold, but we can't risk being recognized in Cartagena. You, however, are a newcomer, a face unknown to the locals. So we're gonna make you look the part of a young nobleman." Intrigued and a little nervous, I watched as Jack led me below deck, where a makeshift bath had been prepared with warm water scented with roses. The pirates worked quickly, scrubbing away the grime of the sea and donning me in fine clothes that felt foreign against my skin. When they were finished, I caught a glimpse of myself in a small mirror—a transformed figure, a young nobleman disguised among thieves. As we made our way to Cartagena, my heart pounded with a mix of fear and excitement.

The jeweler's shop loomed ahead, its windows filled with glittering treasures that matched the ones hidden in my pouch. With a deep breath, I stepped inside, the tinkling of a bell signaling my arrival. The jeweler eyed me curiously, his gaze sharp and assessing. "So, young man, where did you acquire these exquisite pieces?" he inquired, his fingers tracing the glinting jewels laid out before him. I cleared my throat, mustering all the poise I could in my borrowed finery. "Ah, you see, sir, a rather unfortunate gambling debt led me to seek a buyer for these family heirlooms," I concocted, weaving a tale of aristocratic misfortune. The jeweler's interest piqued, and we haggled back and forth, his shrewd eyes studying my every move. Despite my nerves, I managed to secure a handsome sum of gold coins for the pirate's plunder. With the weight of the coins filling my pockets, I made my way back to the ship, my heart racing with a mix of exhilaration and apprehension. As I returned to the pirate ship, the salty sea air mingled with the scent of adventure and danger that now clung to me like a second skin. The other pirates regarded me with a mix of curiosity and approval, their rough faces breaking into grins at the sight of the spoils I had acquired.

When I walked into the cabin of Captain Jack, the glint of gold coins clutched in my hand, a sense of pride swelled within me. Jack sat there, his rugged features softened by a satisfied grin. "The nobleman-look really suits you," he remarked, his voice carrying a teasing tone. Before I could respond, he pushed me playfully, causing me to stumble and catch myself on his hefty oak desk.

In a swift motion, Jack was behind me, his hands deftly undoing my silk pants. A gasp escaped my lips as he pressed his throbbing cock into me, the shock of pleasure mingling with a hint of pain. One hand gripped my head down on the desk while the other skillfully teased my hardened length, sending shivers down my spine. As he moved with relentless passion, a wave of arousal washed over me, my body betraying my initial shock. With a husky whisper, Jack's voice caressed my ear, "I knew you would like it." I groaned in response with a surge of desire and pleasure. Gradually, the overwhelming sensation overtook me, and I succumbed to the ecstasy building inside me. With a primal cry, I shot my load against the desk, my cum painting a lewd trail down the wooden surface. After the intense encounter, Jack treated me to new, luxurious clothing, praising how well the aristocratic attire suited me. His actions stirred a newfound confidence within me, a sense of power and liberation I hadn't known before. "In these clothes, you look every bit the nobleman you sold yourself as," Jack's voice held a hint of possession, a promise of more adventures to come.

In the days that followed, a tension simmered on board the ship. The sweaty, musky crew members cast heated glances in my direction, their desires palpable in the salty sea air. "And what have we here, a little bird with newfound wings," one of the crew members intoned, his words laced with both admiration and envy. Suddenly, he lunged forward, grabbing me by the arms and attempting to force a kiss upon me, his intentions clear. Just as I braced myself for the unwanted advance, a commanding voice shattered the air. Captain Jack strode into the scene, his wavy hair tousled by the wind, exuding an aura of dominance. "Let him go, he is mine!" His voice cut through the chaos, drawing all attention to him.

The pirate who had grabbed me scoffed, his arrogance evident. "You don't have the right, we share all of our spoils," he retorted, a smirk playing on his lips. In a swift display of dominance, Jack unsheathed his saber, swift as a serpent striking, severing the pirate's finger and casting him aside. With a commanding decree, Jack directed his attention towards the lecherous crew. "You want to share? You can share a sight!" His voice dripped with a dangerous allure as he pushed me against the sacks on deck, deftly removing my pants and positioning himself over me.

The weight of his body on mine was overwhelming, leaving me with no option but to comply. In a moment of surrender, I spread my legs as Jack positioned himself above me. As Jack began to move with purpose, a strange calm washed over me. I could sense his desire, his dominance, and oddly enough, I found myself oddly comfortable and relaxed with the situation. I reached out, grabbing onto Jack's arm, wanting to feel his strength, his power over me. With each thrust, he drove me further into a state of submission, and I welcomed it with open arms. Amidst the heavy breathing and the sounds of our joining, Jack leaned in to kiss me, his lips claiming mine in a possessive manner. His words, whispered in my ear, sent shivers down my spine, "I love your surrender. I guess I will neuter you to make you even more compliant!" The crew, entranced by the spectacle unfolding before them, watched with eager eyes, their hands moving in synchronized motions while jerking off. The air hung heavy with the mingling scents of salt, sweat, and cum, enveloping us in a haze of primal desires unbound.

As I jolted awake from my vivid dream, the images of being a dashing cabin boy among pirates lingered in my mind. But something felt off, and as I glanced down at my body, I was stunned to see a physique that mirrored that of my dream self - muscular, handsome ... and adorned in a snug wet suit.

Flashes of diving expertise flooded my mind, memories that were not my own. Before I could ponder further, Captain William's towering figure loomed over me. His voice, low and intimate, sent shivers down my spine. "It's time for your next dive," he said, his breath warm against my ear. But his next words gripped me with a mix of fear and excitement, "I can't wait until these nerdy archaeology students leave. Then I will fuck you until you won't know whether you are on- or off-shore anymore, my little merman!"

My mind reeled, unable to comprehend the sudden shift in my reality. How had I gone from a simple student to a desired object of lust on this expedition boat? The allure of Captain Jack's word tugged at me and my body responded with a tell-tale response - a traitorous boner emerged to attention, a flagpole of arousal rose in the wind. Captain William smirked and teased me, "Merman, that's how you salute right! I love your surrender."

As Captain William's gaze lingered on me, a promise of untold pleasures hidden in his eyes, I knew that my journey was about to take a path beyond my wildest dreams - or nightmares.

#male tf #male transformation #mystery #nerd to jock #gay pirates #gay tf

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june-again · 1 year

Text

TIGHNARI: # deliver me.

word count. 3k. genre. adventure, pining.

overview. news of your patrol squad's brutal defeat by eremites reaches tighnari's ears. he wastes no time searching for you to save you—but in the end, who will be saving who?

warnings. blood, action sequences, tighnari & y/n both being badass AND down bad for each other. read at your own discretion.

Tighnari shifted his weight to his other leg, trying to focus himself on his work at hand. A dark cloud had been looming over his mind all day. It had obscured his path to understanding the recent outbreak of withering zones all across the forest; he seemed to have hit a roadblock in what to anticipate in coming weeks. Some information from forest logs pointed to the archon’s situation, and other clues pointed to misconduct of both Akedemiya researchers and bands of Eremites. Still others seemed to lead him somewhere deeper, somewhere within the very Ley Lines of Teyvat. But there was more that was bothering him today which he could not lay his finger on.

“General Watchleader, sir!”

He looked up to see a Forest Watcher at his doorway.

“Come quick,” she said. “Something’s happened to this morning’s patrol squad.”

Tighnari wasted no time following her to the infirmary hut, where but one Forest Watcher was lying wounded on one of the beds. It was indeed one of the Rangers that had been sent out this morning, along with you and two others, who he did not see now.

“Kamran, what happened?”

The poor man clutched his bleeding side, which was dressed mildly with a makeshift bandage from his scarf. Tighnari gently removed this to treat the Ranger’s wound, listening to his tale.

“Eremites, General Watchleader. We were ambushed, and they—they had no mercy. The two others died, sir, and our patrol chief told me to get out of there. I made it out by the hair on my neck. Or rather, my side—yahhh!” Kamran yelped as Tighnari applied an ointment along the edge of the wound.

“Sit still, Kamran.” Tighanari tried to steady his hands. He’d elected you chief of this patrol—and so, it was his fault if you were dead. He might not ever forgive himself for this. He should have sent stronger defense along. He should have seen this coming.

Damn, he might have lost you, now, and might never get the chance to tell you what you meant to him.

He tightened a liquid bandage over Kamran’s wound. “Tell me, Ranger: where did this occur?”

<*+`,.>

Tighnari’s boots were laden with mud by the time he and two others had reached the reported location. Rain was falling hard, emphasizing his growing dread and causing his ears to fold back. Finding nothing initially, one of the other Forest Rangers suggested they split up.

“Hold that thought, Ranger,” he said, kneeling at the sign of discolored mud. On closer inspection, he realized: “Blood.”

None of them could locate directional footprints near this point, but there was a clear indication of a fight, one that ended quickly. The three swept the riverbank for more clues with no luck. But upon a tree Tighnari noted a fresh gash around half of its trunk. It looked like one your knives might have made it, though it was higher than you would have naturally reached.

Perhaps you had been carried. Perhaps they kept you alive.

“We go West,” Tighnari declared. “Iraj, take the Southernmost route! Shirin, you take the Northernmost one!”

“Sir,” they nodded, gathering in front of him.

“Don’t stand there. Lives still may be saved today!”

And off they ran, all three praying he would be right.

Tighnari was relieved when he found another fresh cut in a tree several paces West, indicative of your survival past the ambush. He later found the ground to be firmer, and the marks of several footprints created a reliable trail. Now he had a feeling he was drawing closer—but at the same time, a feeling he might still be too late.

The discovery of one of your blades in the dirt a bit further along concurred.

It had occurred to him quite soon after Kamran’s arrival that this may be a trap for Tighnari. The Forest Rangers of Gandharva Ville had had a rocky relationship with Eremites, and being known as the leader placed a target on his back. However, he feared more the blood of the Rangers on his hands than any of the enemies of the forest he may face. He had no doubt now that it was a trap, but knowing it served him very little. He’d sent the others further away so that they might not have to get involved; he only hoped they hadn’t come near enough to locate the camp.

Only then did he hear distant chatter. It sounded like Eremites, no doubt, and additionally, the whining tone of Treasure Hoarders. As he approached the camp, he quieted his paces and kept to the shadows, eyes peeled to the men and women around the wet firepit with their weapons at the ready.

Tighnari crept around the outskirts of the camp, far enough away that any rustle in the trees would be indistinguishable from the storm. He spied you, soon enough, sitting in a crude wooden cage similar to ones he’d seen at other Treasure Hoarder camps before. Guilt sank his heart to his stomach. He would get you out of this mess, no matter what.

Tighnari aimed his bow at the back of the Eremite guarding your cage, considering. If he alerted the camp of his presence, he would have to face all of them at once. If he lured some away, however…

He pointed and shot his arrow to the trees near the path, and watched a few shout and scramble over in that direction. He snickered to himself. Knuckleheads.

Back at the camp, he could just make out you standing in your cage, peering over in that same direction. He refocused, noticing how muddy your face and back were.

There would be no easy way to save you, he knew. But hesitating would make things harder, and so he crept closer to the camp. The mud was slippery and thick here, gathering a slight stream downhill. If he had sprinted for you, he would have wiped out and given himself away.

Ah. That would work.

Tighnari at last sent an arrow at the Eremite leaning on your cage, and she staggered to her feet, whirling around. “He’s there!” she shouted shrilly, and soon, a larger portion of the camp was racing towards him. He simply jogged a few steps away, turned, and readied his weapon.

Sure enough, each Treasure Hoarder and Eremite that ran close enough slid on their heel and landed on their ass. Defeating them with a few well aimed shots was no problem. A cryo-thrower tossed a solution from further away, and Tighnari just managed to dive out of the way. Gathering his elemental energy, he sent three shots at the foe and made a dash for the camp.

“Welcome, Tree-Hugger. Eat this.” A kick from an undetected Eremite struck him clean across the face and he stumbled backwards.

“My,” he said, simply. “No need to play dirty.”

“You don’t know when to drop the act, do you?” the Eremite said. She slashed her dual hydro-blades at her, and just barely missed his chest as he dodged. “You’re dead.”

He dodged another attack. He wouldn’t be able to defeat her from this close a range. He’d been hoping to emancipate you before dealing with the rest, but it seemed he had no choice.

Or, at least, that’s what he was thinking, until the Clearwater grunted and froze in place, before crumbling to her knees.

He noticed the handle of a blade stuck deep into her shoulder. Not just any blade. Your blade.

“C’mon, ‘Nari, get me out of here before I scream. They’re awfully loud bastards.”

He chuckled, noticing you watching him from the cage. Truly an ineffective sport and ineffective piece of technology, trapping someone without taking away their weapons in such a wide-barred, single-person cage. He wondered if you might have shimmied out between the wood had you not been surrounded by Treasure Hoarders.

“Alright, alright. Be patient, Patrol Chief.”

You groaned as he went to make work of the lock. “You can’t be serious. You don’t even have the key.”

“I can pick locks,” he said matter of factly, “you know.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, well, I can do this—” He halted as you wrapped your hands around two parallel wooden beams and pulled them apart, successfully snapping them and opening yourself your own doorway out. You tossed the splintered beams to the ground and dusted off your hands.

“You could have done that before I got here and saved me the trouble,” Tighnari quipped, watching you step out. “Now, then, I do apologize you landed in this mess all because—”

“It’s not your fault, Tighnari. I can be responsible for my own ass sometimes.”

Tighnari curled his lips unashamedly.

“Don’t respond to that,” you said, trudging over to the female Eremite to draw your knife out of her shoulder. You wiped the blood off with the inner elbow of your sleeve, peering into the sky. “So, how’d you find out what happened?”

Tighnari followed you, checking you over for injuries. “Kamran stumbled into camp and I was alerted,” he said, and then deemed you to be in one shape and acquiesced to your resistance.

“That coward.” You huffed and shook your head. “I don’t know what he told you, but he ran off almost immediately. And he was supposed to be our combat support. Our analyst didn’t make it.”

“Not your fault.”

“It ain’t yours either, ‘Nari. Eremites can just be ruthless. I knew they wanted you, but I was hoping Kamran wouldn’t be able to find the way back so that I could handle it myself.”

“Patrol Chief, you were still in your cage when I made it here,” he said. “I don’t think it was going as well as you claim it was.”

The Clearwater Eremite groaned, writhing on the ground. Tighnari gave her a good kick in the side. You raised your eyebrows at him. “I was just waiting for the sun to come out. It seemed awfully inconvenient to deal with the situation in the pouring rain.” You pointed into the sky. “A bit of sun’s coming out now. I would have gotten out by now with or without your help.”

“No ‘thank you’?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Not when you put yourself in danger like that.”

Tighnari shook his ears with a resigned sigh. “Well, at least it’s all over now.”

“Not yet it ain’t,” a voice boomed. The two of you whirled around to see a burly Eremite clomping into the camp. Tighnari did not recognize him from the ones he dealt with earlier. He was larger, more handsomely clothed, and angrier. “I’ve been waiting for this day.”

“Of course you have,” Tighnari muttered.

“You should be more afraid, tree hugger,” demanded the Eremite.

“No need,” he replied, readying his bow unwaveringly.

The Eremite laughed heartily and drew a long, narrow blade, eyeing both of you with evident bloodlust. You clasped the hilt of your dagger in your belt, but Tighnari raised an arm in front of you.

“Fight me all you want, but leave them out of this.” At this you started to protest but a severe look from Tighnari silenced you at once.

“Someone’s protective of his pet,” the Eremite responded. He stepped closer, dragging the tip of his blade in the mud. “Seems we were right.”

Tighnari’s face was dark. You were grateful not to be on the receiving end of that look. “You Eremites wish you had any kind of sense. Luring me here was a mistake.”

He fired an arrow at the man’s chest, knocking him back and angering him further. You stepped out of the way as Tighnari had instructed you, watching him dive towards the edge of the camp to avoid a swipe of the Eremite’s blade. You wanted to help, but you didn’t want to complicate things.

Tighnari shouted, tossing a Dendro bomb at the Eremite’s feet. He stumbled back—only to charge at Tighnari with greater force. You could just barely hear him swearing under the thundering rain, dodging the blade again. It went on for several minutes; you watched with great interest, only bothered by the fact that you weren’t part of it. It seemed that the General Watchleader was attempting to exhaust the roaring Eremite, but it was taking a while. Both Tighnari and the Eremite’s movements were becoming sloppier. The Eremite showed no sign of letting up, however; he looked like he’d been waiting for this his whole life.

In a moment that seemed to last several seconds, you saw Tighnari’s foot slip a little in the grass, causing him to stumble a little. You did not hesitate to reach your arm back and fling your dagger at the Eremite.

It sunk into his back a moment too late—the Eremite had landed a deadly strike on Tighnari.

Tighnari fell to his knees as the Eremite crumpled into the grass, groaning.

“Damn it, Tighnari!” you ran over to your leader, kneeling next to him.

“My love…” He fought to keep his eyes open. “I apologize. I thought I could—” He cut himself off, holding one hand to his mouth to cough hard. His other hand was clutching his chest. Blood came from both locations.

“‘Nari,” you whispered.

Neither of you had the time to process the use of such a term between you. You could feel his shoulders in your hands, tremble and falter. Your heart stopped as he fell forward into your arms. Your thoughts blurred as you ripped the Eremite’s scarf from his neck and tied it around his chest, trying to hold enough pressure to his collarbone to stop the bleeding. Once you were satisfied with the tautness, you took a full, deep breath, dragged him to a standing position by his armpits, and pulled him onto your back.

“Shit. You’re heavy, asshole,” you breathed. It was going to be a long walk back to Gandharva Ville. And you were not going to think about him calling you his “love.”

<*+`,.>

Tighnari came to in a very comfortable bed with a very uncomfortable pain in his chest. He could barely breathe. It was like he’d been stabbed in the lungs.

Oh. He had been. The events of the Eremite camp sharpened in his memory. He’d been trying to lead the Eremite far enough from you that you could escape. But he didn’t remember anything after being stabbed. Where were you?

His vision was peppered with dots but he forced them to focus. He was in the infirmary, no doubt. But whoever had treated his injury had done an egregious job, and he did not attempt any movement. His mouth tasted like iron. Like blood.

Tighnari heard a fuss across the room and footsteps ran into his direction. You leaned over him with evident worry. And red eyes.

“You’re awake,” you said with a tense sigh.

“No shit.”

You stared at him. Your face, previously clouded in misgiving, reconfigured to a relieved smile. “You’re quite awake,” you said.

“Haven’t you got,” he said, taking short breaths between words, “anything else to say?”

“Yeah. You’re awake thanks to me.”

He opened his mouth to voice a retort, but his throat clenched and he turned his head to cough. “I should have given you… lessons… on how to treat a chest wound.”

“I figured it out myself.”

He tilted his face back to look you in the eyes. “Barely.”

“I’m sorry, ‘Nari,” you said. “But at the same time, you could have been dead. You could have been dead because you didn’t let me help.” Tighnari noticed a tear escape your eye, which you wiped away immediately with the heel of your palm. “Asshole,” you added as an affable afterthought.

Tighnari studied your face, feeling emotions threaten his own expression. He wiggled his fingers, testing the pain. Satisfied that it was bearable, he reached up to your collar and pulled you towards him.

“Thank you,” he whispered into your ear, “for saving me. You did well.”

You seemed to hesitate. Then, ever-so-gently, you rested your head next to his and placed a careful hand on his shoulder. You were warm, and he didn’t know you were capable of such tender affection.

As you stood up straight again, you flicked his forehead with all your might.

He gasped, and then howled as his hand involuntary jerking up to his head caused his chest to strain and ache. “Ow! That was unnecessary!”

“You’re welcome, Tighnari,” you announced with your back to him. He did not fail to notice the redness of your ears.

He clicked his tongue. “You used the wrong ointment on my wound, Patrol Chief.” He took a deep breath, wincing again. “Is this Padisarah itching cream?”

You scoffed. “You can treat your wounds yourself from now on.” With that, you marched through the door of the hut, leaving Tighnari quite immobile on the bed.

He allowed himself a small smile. Alas, neither of you were dead. And something told him he would get the chance to tell you what you meant to him.

author's note. thanks for reading. if you enjoyed, a reblog would mean the world!

#MY SKRUNKLY EEPY FENNEC BOY #tighnari x reader #genshin x reader #genshin ff #genshin fluff #genshin angst #genshin whump #genshin scenarios #gi x reader #gi x gn!reader #tighnari x gn!reader #tighnari angst #tighnari #!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#juneshin impact #genshin #WE'RE JUST IGNORING COLLEI'S EXISTENCE FOR YET ANOTHER 3K WORDS ENJOY #u can tell im the sanest genshin impact player fr

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onesaltyhunter · 1 year

Text

Far Too Soon for a Sacrifice

Vessel x fem!reader

Summary: Sleep blesses Vessel with a gift like no other--to be used for one purpose, and one purpose only. To many, it seems to be a curse. How will he attempt to draw the line between what Sleep wants, and what he wants?

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI: we got HORRIFICALLY down bad vessel for y/n and we got smut WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO + unrealistic concert stuff my bad peeps, swearing

Key:

(y/f/n)○°○{gn!}= your friend's name--pick one! any one!

---

"Hello? Y/N? You there?" (Y/F/N) waved their right hand, their left one gripping the steering wheel.

Y/N's eyes had been focused on the road for quite some time, and she almost didn't have any response to (Y/F/N)'s attempt to catch her attention. They had begun to poke her shoulder, which caused your gaze to shift towards them.

"Do me a favor--when we get to the concert, don't awkwardly look at the band like that." They laughed, earning a small one from Y/N.

"Oh you think that's bad? Wait until I stare at them like that when you're trying to get a picture with them." Mimicking the stare she had been holding for the past several minutes, she broke into more laughter, seeing (Y/F/N) bite their inner lip to hold in theirs.

"They're gonna cancel the whole fuckin VIP session with your creepy ass."

Tonight was Y/N's first Sleep Token concert. Being quite well versed in knowledge about the band itself, alongside the unusual lore the members had so carefully fabricated--the excitement Y/N was holding in was almost incredible. The exhaustion that had been building over sleepless nights in the time she had waited for this day to come, was building up. Her eyes fluttered closed every few minutes, with an urge she's been trying to fight off for the past thirty minutes.

"Go on. Nod off if you have to. We have an hour ahead of us still, before we get there." (Y/F/N) placed their right hand on the wheel again. "You okay with taking an Uber back to your place later?"

"Yup." Y/N reclined her seat, reaching behind herself for a jacket, which she spread out on top of her. "Goodnight."

"It's 3pm."

"Yeah, yeah fuck you too dipshit."

Y/N's eyes shut, and the soft sounding rumble of the car slowly drifted away.

The hallways were lined with finished oak. Something reminiscent of and old church, or perhaps some old legislative building. Y/N lifted up a small picture frame, adorned with gold around the edges. The picture in the middle was pure black. She had believed it to only be some piece of dark paper, but it had that shine that those designated printers for the job.

Looking around one of the doorframes into the next room, she made sure that no one was around. A click resounded from above her--the igniter of a heater. Y/N immediately felt its warmth from the vent above her. Placing the picture frame down after flipping it around a few times, she looked up at the mirror in front of her. It was fairly small, one of those wall mounted ones a person would use to see how they'd look before heading out.

As she took a step away, she felt a few hairs upon her head move slightly. Glaring up at the vent above her, she pushed those hairs back into their original position. Before she could drop her hand back to her side, her wrist had been caught in a tight grip--with cold metal pressed against her skin. She soon glared at the figure that loomed above her.

The familiar white mask with a red sigil was almost falling from the figure's face. Vessel had loosened his grip on her, and in a panic, Y/N grabbed his shoulders firmly--turning him around and pressing him against the wall. Her heartbeat had only jumped from the initial startle, yet somehow, it had managed to stay at its fairly normal pace. Y/N began to question why the idea of fear seemed almost impossible to wrap her mind around.

"Oh come on now." He leaned his head forward, his warm breath soothing her with every exhale. "Don't act as if you haven't dreamt of this before. Don't act as if you've dreamt of something that delves farther into the...intricacies of one another."

Y/N grasped Vessel's necklace, pulling him closer to herself. A small moan escaped his mouth, as she snaked her hand around his neck , propping it on the back of his head. He softly pressed his lips against hers, before resting his head on hers.

Moving her arms lower, to his back, she pressed her face into his chest. Vessel stifled a small laugh with an exhale.

"My love, you're going to have paint all over your face." He wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Doesn't matter." Y/N's muffled voice caused a smile to form across Vessel's face. "There's far worse--"

"We're here!" (Y/F/N) screamed, hitting the horn a couple times--which sounded awful with the resonance of the parking structure. "Grab your shit, we gotta go."

Y/N looked at the dash, seeing the various Sleep Token songs being shuffled for what seemed to be the entire drive. Pressing the off button, she unbuckled her seat belt before stepping out of the car. Assuming that was the cause of the unusual Vessel related dream, Y/N tried her best to shake it off. But that feeling still lingered--something about that dream made it feel so... real. But again, its a mixture of having a "celebrity crush" and hormones was the basis of dreams like this, right?

Walking up to the venue with (Y/F/N), the two entered through the VIP entrance, which was lined with a lavish red velvet carpet. A few turns and the two were in front of where Sleep Token would perform. It was only moments until the band started setting up various bits needed to go about the show properly.

The VIP session was first.

"Is this close enough to have a make-out session with one of the band members or do I need to help you climb on stage to do that?" (Y/F/N) raised a brow, and earned soft punch on the shoulder from Y/N.

Being the first people to wait for the band during the VIP session, the 4 members gazed beyond the edges of the stage after going back behind it. III frantically looked at the 2 concert goers on the floor talking to each other while Vessel stood still, unwavering. His fingernails digging into the side of his thumb.

"What's wrong?" II picked up a new pair of drumsticks from a box, before sealing it up as best as possible. "The staring--it's a problem, you do realize that?"

You are infatuated with me; are you not? He thought, gazing longer at Y/N.

Y/N looked all over the room, wondering where a certain voice came from.

"You alright?" (Y/F/N) put their hand on her shoulder, leaning down a bit.

Get their hand off of yourself.

"Hey, I'm good, I'm good." Y/N chuckled. "Thought I heard a mosquito or something. Shit makes me go crazy."

That is not the only thing drives you insane, is it? What of the time we--

"I think I'm having a manic episode." She took a deep breath, crossing her arms. "The voices in my head are telling me that THEY'RE IN MY WALLS! THE FOG IS COMING!"

Y/N jokingly shook (Y/F/N), the whole near empty venue filling with their laughter. A small poking battle commenced between the two, which puzzled Vessel.

"Quit doing the mind thing with others." II patted him on the shoulder. "Sleep didn't give us these things for you to abuse them."

"They should have known better than to give them to me as well." Vessel adjusted his mask, and without any delay, Y/N's gaze darted over at him, peeking from the side of the stage.

Within minutes, there was a line forming outside for the VIP meet and greet, with (Y/F/N) and Y/N being first, as they had already stepped foot into the allotted area. Each member of Sleep Token stepped out and down from the stage, with an individual ready to help with pictures in front of them. (Y/F/N) walked up first to the four to get a picture with them. A nervous Y/N offered to take the picture of the 5 of them, and their friend gestured them to join them. She shook her head in response, smiling to be polite.

I can assure you, my love, the safest place in the world for you, is next to me. Vessel thought, as he scooted over the right for her to stand between him and II.

One really weird dream and all of a sudden the voices in my head are louder than my actual speaking voice. Y/N thought in response.

Darling, you know you've had far more 'unusual' dreams than just that. He smiled, looking down at the woman who had scooted even closer to him.

With her arms at her sides, Vessel slipped one of his hands to intertwine his fingers with hers. Y/N found it moderately unusual, but yet--not as bad as she thought it was. It was if her dreams had been brought to life. But no, this was wrong. She'd never met this man before in her entire life. To her, he'd just been a masked face and a voice behind the speaker in her house. Y/N pulled her arm away from his.

Vessel, hurt ever so slightly looked at her once again. He had to do the best to accept the possible forms of rejection as much as possible. After all, he knew he wasn't "forcing himself onto her." He had gotten to know her over time, but he was terrified to tell her.

The entire show, he couldn't get it off his mind. The woman he'd grown so fond of, over the years didn't seem to like him, no matter how much time they had spend together. Behind every word he sang that night, it was if a needle had been embedded in his heart, and it was pushed further and further in.

--time skip because I can't write lmao--

(Y/F/N) had already left, as Y/N waited for her Uber. As much as she wanted to leave, there was some ominous feeling tying her to this place. Something in her mind was screaming for her to go back--to yell back in Vessel's face about what the fuck was going on. To ask him if, if she... Her thoughts were all mashed together, and it was hard to process it all.

My love, please meet me here. Please. I don't know how much I can fare without speaking to you. Please. The voice in her head made her want to break into tears. It was if whatever emotion this voice was feeling, she could feel as well. And it hurt. So, much.

She changed the address of where her Uber was supposed to take her. The whimper in her head was too much to bear. It felt wrong to ignore it--it was like she had to console whatever it was. An urge to stop all of its pain that was completely inexplicable.

After it dropped her off at the front of it, she walked up and was about to knock on the door, but it immediately opened. Vessel, in full worship wear, leaned on the frame, almost out of breath. There were light black streaks down his neck as if he had been crying for hours.

"The dreams. They--" He paused to catch his breath. "You've dreamt of me, thrice a week, every week--for the past 6 years. They weren't just dreams, I was actually talking to--"

Y/N pressed her face into his chest, wrapping her arms around him just as she had did in her dreams before.

"You've told me all of your feelings--simple things like how your days have been. You've poured your heart out for me some nights and I've done the same." He choked behind another sob. "I approached you today thinking that this would be like any other 'dream' for you but, I just--I didn't know what I was supposed to do. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"All those dreams, that was, actually you and me?" Y/N looked up at him, arms still wrapped tightly around him.

"The things we did, the ways we felt, I--I just wanted to find you." He slowly rested his chin on her head. "When I found you, I treated you poorly and I just lost control of myself."

"Those thoughts, were yours? All of them?"

"Yes."

"Could you hear mine?"

"Sometimes."

What? No complaints about me getting paint on my face? Y/N thought.

No.

You're actually fucking magic.

I'm blessed, my love.

"You really suck at talking to people you know that?" Y/N chuckled, earning a small smile from Vessel.

"That's what the dreams are for, Y/N." He exhaled. "I tend to be better at such things in that form of communication."

"Next thing I know, you're going to like propose to me or something."

"I've made plans."

"That's a new one."

"What is, may I ask?"

"How the fuck am I ever going to tell people how I got to know you?" She raised a brow, licking her lips. "Yeah, 'I met this guy through my fucking mind'."

"God, you're just as amusing as you were when we spoke a couple nights ago."

"So when we--" Y/N paused, looking down at her shoes, shuffling her feet slightly. "Did the--uh. The..."

"When we had...um" Vessel scratched his head.

"Are we both just completely unable to speak right now?" She laughed again, muddling the sounds against his chest. "Where's the awfully sensual, headstrong Vessel that wanted to have a full make-out session with me in that venue?"

"You slightly, intimidate me."

"What?"

"I thought you were a figment of my imagination until Sleep showed me, and..." Vessel slowly intertwined his fingers with hers again. "I don't want anyone else to be with you. Sleep didn't only show me, you. They showed all of us."

"II, III, and IV--they know about us?" Y/N tightened her grip on his hand.

"They want you just as much as I do. I won't let them have you. We belong to each other--I will not let anything change that, love." He led Y/N to his couch, where he laid his head in her lap. "No God, or friend of mine will stand in my way."

"You're awfully possessive of a girl you just met."

"You don't know what they want of you. What they require of me to fulfill Sleep's wishes."

"Are you going to sacrifice me, Ves?"

He remained quiet, pulling her arm to set it on his chest.

"Vessel?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I know you won't do it."

"I would do everything for you. And more."

He sat up and pressed a soft kiss against her lips. Y/N leaned into it more curling her fingers into claws and digging them slightly into the top of his back. Vessel trailed his soft pecks down until his lips met her collarbone, his canines grazing it ever so slightly. She reached for the buttons of his black jeans, and he pushed her hand away, undoing them himself. He paused all of a sudden.

"Is this too soon?" Y/N pulled back, breathless.

"We have waited far too long for one another. This is long overdue." He growled. "I won't do this here, however."

Slipping his arms under Y/N, lifting her up bridal-style, he carried her to his bedroom. Setting her down softly on his bed, she stood up.

Y/N grabbed his necklace, pulling him closer to herself--earning that one particular moan from him.

"I miss that sound." She pulled him into another kiss, but this one was not like the last.

Within minutes, Vessel's kisses became hungrier, as if he needed more that what he was getting. Being pressed up against the wall as the two of them managed to throw all of their clothes on the floor in a matter of seconds. In another kiss, Vessel's tongue begged for an entrance. Once he was let in, he ravaged all he believed to be his. Y/N's tongue grazed one of his canines, almost drawing blood, but ignored it in the moment.

Vessel's kisses trickled farther down her body yet again, and he softly pushed her onto his bed. Once his attacks reached he inside of her thigh, Y/N could not hold back a moan any longer. The mere sound of it began to illicit the deepest growl from Vessel. He lined the edges of her folds with just as many hungry kisses as he has planted on her face.

"Please, Ves." She arched her back. "I need more than that."

"Darling, you deserve far more than I could ever give you." The words escaped his lips. "But I will do my best, I promise you."

"You better."

"We shall see."

Vessel slowly pressed his member against her folds, refusing any sort of entrance he was allowed. Y/N's attempts to get any friction were fruitless.

"As I said, I will not deny you of anything you deserve."

In one stroke, his entire member had slid almost completely inside her. His pace was slow, and deadly almost, as he wanted the two of them to savor every single moment of it. Y/N pressed her lips against his again, in an almost violent clash for control. Her nails dug further into his back, causing him to hiss--and she loosened her grip.

"No, I'm fine. Don't stop that." He mumbled.

"Are you sure?"

"Don't. Stop."

Y/N placed her hands around him yet again.

"Ves, please I'm going to--"

"I know. I am as well."

The sweet release for the both of them, caused them to roll on their backs, catching their breaths.

"Were those better, or worse than your dreams?" He laid his head on her chest.

"Do you even need to ask, babe?"

"That's a new one."

"What?"

"You've never had any sort of--pet name for me."

"If you don't like 'babe,' you can get 'vessy-wessy' instead."

"Please no." His laughter rumbled as he leaned more on her shoulder.

With their legs entwined, the two cuddled up next to each other, it was as if everything, yes everything, was perfect.

"So now are you going to sacrifice me?"

"My love, it is far too soon for a sacrifice."

_______

WOOOOO YOU GOT THROUGH IT ALL

sorry for the worst smut in the world, but hey, if you didn't think this fic was awful, maybe I'll give it a PART 2??? PART II? WITH II? okay I'm done :)

#vessel smut #vessel x reader #sleep token x reader #sleep token smut #sleep token #vessel sleep token

894 notes · View notes

themanfromeire · 7 months

Note

Could I request Sirius helping his girlfriend who ends up blind after a mishap with a potion? It's temporary but the poor girl still has to get around somehow!

Of course you can, mo grhá! Thanks for requesting. I hope it’s okay :) Also, thank you for the request!!

Sirius Black x Reader - Blinded By Love

A potion mishap involving a carrot, a done with everything Remus, a trying reader, and chaotic Sirius Black and James Potter.

Cross posted to AO3

```

Potions lessons where you were partnered with your boyfriend were anything but boring.

Not only did you have to concentrate on reading the instructions written in front of you, stirring the potion at a certain time, a certain frequency and a certain direction, but you also had to fend off Sirius AND James simultaneously.

God, you were a strong person.

You had proposed to Remus that he become partners with you, so that your work would actually be completed to an acceptable standard, but the lycanthrope had declined, citing Sirius’ complete and utter adoration of you as a reason not to.

He claimed that he would be unable to concentrate with the lustful looks you two would send each other from across the room. Remus also stated that unless you were partnered together, Sirius would whine to him about being separated from you all day.

The Welshman didn’t think he was emotionally strong enough to listen to Sirius complain about not being near you. ‘The year of him simping over you was bad enough!’ he had explained with a chuckle. The guy was not mean, just done with everything.

You had proposed that you keep the two on leashes, with dream catchers tied above them to keep them occupied whilst you and Remus completed the potions assignment. The idea had drawn a hearty laugh from Remus, along with a playful ruffle of your hair, but not an agreement.

So here you were, trying to brew a potion with your chaos that you called your boyfriend, along with his platonic love of his life, James. Remus loomed between the two desks, making the odd sarcastic comment to you.

It was complete pandemonium, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sirius turned the page of your textbook to distract you, whilst James added something to your cauldron. It was not an unusual occurrence, in fact, it was so common that James, Sirius and Remus frequently made bets about who out of the first two could add the largest object to your potion without you noticing.

What was unusual was what happened next.

As your lover distracted you so James could drop an entire carrot that he had stolen from the Great Hall at lunchtime that day, you realised what was happening, and whipped your head towards the cauldron.

Just in time to see it explode.

Bright orange liquid flew in all directions with a bang that you felt reverberate in every single cell of your body. The kind that shook your core, like a marching band trudging by, filling your being with the pounding of the bass drum and snare to the rhythm of their steps.

And then, silence. Followed by hysterical laughter.

The voice of Slughorn cut through, trying to calm the laughter of the Marauders, but nothing could bring that train back to the station, especially not as James Potter stood in the centre of the room, completely covered in orange goop.

“The four of you, detention. I will be deducting 30 points from Gryffindor for your antics, Mr Black, and Mr Potter. Go to Madame Pomfrey at once. The very second she dismisses you, I want all of you back here to clean up this mess. Do I make myself clear?”

A chorus of insincere “Yes sir”s that were interrupted with giggles replied, and as the other two exited the dungeons, Sirius’ arm found its usual home around your waist, and the boy began to guide you out of the room, something which you were eternally grateful for.

You allowed your boyfriend to guide you towards the hospital wing as you raised a hand to your eyes and began to rub the orange, carrot-scented potion from your them to view the spectacle that had Remus howling with laughter, and your boyfriend’s echoing along the corridor, but as you rubbed at your eyes, the darkness remained.

You dug the heels of your hand into your eyes, frantically rubbing, attempting to banish the umbra from your vision, but no change occurred. Maybe if you tried harder, it would disappear?

As you went to attempt to scrub it away once more, a cold and gentle hand wrapped around your wrist. Sirius. “Hey now, baby. Prongsie didn’t mean to explode our potion, there’s no need to cry.” Sirius’ voice adopted a soft, yet lighthearted tone as he spoke.

It only got more joking as he continued. “But I’d say karma has paid a nice visit to him. Oi, Prongs, I thought you were a proud Gryffindor, mate! What house are you now? Clementine?” He barked a laugh at his own joke, though you could hear his laugh die down as he noticed your silence.

Instead of giggling along at his quips, you were still aggressively massaging your poor eyes. Sirius pulled your hands down from your face. “Oh mon amour…” He began softly, using the caring tone he reserved only for the Marauders and you, “You’re absolutely clarried in it.”

He moved his hand from your wrist, and to your cheek. He stroked it softly. “Look at me.” He asked softly, but you couldn’t even pinpoint the direction that his voice was coming from. “Baby?” Sirius asked, and you could hear the concern in his voice rising.

“Siri… I can’t see.” You uttered ashamedly. The words froze Sirius in his tracks, and he squeezed your waist tighter, pulling you closer to his body. “We’ll… We’ll get you to Madame Pomfrey, okay? Just hold on, darling,” He assured you, but there was clear anxiety in his voice as he fumbled over his words.

Your boyfriend began to power walk towards the Hospital Wing, his arm still around you protectively. As he pushed past James and Remus, he didn’t even entertain the other two Marauders’ questions, his priority was you.

Once you arrived at the Hospital Wing, Madame Pomfrey took one look at the two of you and pointed to an empty bed where Sirius led you. The Mediwitch didn’t even ask what had happened as she began to treat you.

Years of dealing with the Marauders had numbed her to their actions and their resulting stupidity caused injuries. There was never a dull day dating Sirius Black, that’s for sure.

#marauders #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #marauders reader #james potter #remus lupin #marauders era #the marauders #sirius black imagine #sirius black fluff #harry potter #anon

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the-kr8tor · 9 months

Text

Lace

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 4.7k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Cursing, CW spiders, TW Arachnophobia, TW violence, CW injury, angst, fluff.

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Thread the Needle Masterlist

CHAPTER 6 >>> CHAPTER 7

Your pulse thumps loudly against your skin, swallowing a lump in your throat, you bravely make your way towards your friend. That word hangs loosely in the balance, you have no right to get mad at Hobie, he has no obligation towards your feelings whatsoever. Especially that you've never voiced how much you like him, no how much you came to love him.

You've never exactly pinpointed the time or event that made you love your best friend, but you know deep inside that you have. Whether it was platonic before or romantic after a few years of knowing him. You know that you've loved the same man for years. That's why it hurts so much that he's been ogling the unknown woman in his presence. Hands tucked inside the pockets of his leather jacket, he watches her through half lidded eyes, a smile curling around his lips.

The woman's giggle cuts you like a rusty knife, leaving you bleeding and doubting everything. Doubting all the soft touches and lingering gazes from Hobie all those years of hanging out with him. Maybe you are delusional, your lovesick brain making you think and imagine that a man like him could ever love you back.

You hate yourself for being jealous, the big green monster rearing its ugly head. Whispering and gnawing at your shattering heart. Trying to tamp down the ugly thing, cageing it inside your chest like a feral animal, you exhale a shaky breath. Eyes growing glassy at the sticky kiss she leaves on Hobie's cheek. The large Oscorp museum looms behind the stage, casting a large shadow on the couple, as if the building's hiding them from you, mockingly adding to your pain.

Weaving through the crowd, you catch the last bit of their conversation.

"I'll see you at the after party, right, Hobs?" Her voice is sweet yet it sounds like nails on a chalkboard when she calls him 'Hobs'.

"Sure, Lacey," his voice monotone, "go, we're almost on." Hobie nods at her.

'Lacey' winks at him, giving him a flirty smile, waving goodbye. Her long curls bouncing as she walks away.

Hobie notices someone staring, he cranes his neck, squinting, instantly grinning when he spots you. "Oi! There you are! You're late. Nice boots, are they new?"

You clear your throat, blinking away the tears threatening to spill over. "Yeah" walking closer to him, you give him enough space. Far enough for him to not be able to hold you.

Hobie notices your downturned gaze, "you okay–"

"You made it!" Yuri appears from behind, bounding towards you for a hug. "Look at our lucky charm! Lookin' pretty as always" she holds you at arms length. Giving her the best smile you could muster.

Ned and James join her side, "nice shoes!" Ned exclaims, bass strapped on his back.

"'ave you been cryin'?" James asks, concerned. He (unfortunately for you) noticed your glassy eyes.

"What?" You chuckle softly "No, I had to run here, the wind whipped at my face" trying to save face.

"You sure it's not allergies? Pollen count is at an all time high today" James adds, nodding.

"You learned that at your da's radio show?" Ned teases. James shoves him.

"I'm fine, it's nothing" you shrug, it's not nothing, your heart feels like it's been run over by a train.

"You sure you're okay?" Hobie finally chides in, closing in the distance you've put out. Intertwining your pinkies together.

To Hobie's dismay, you pull away a second later, "yeah, good luck. I'll be in the crowd" you give the band a double thumbs up, "you guys better win!" Trying to sound cheerful.

"Hell yeah, we will!" James pumps his fist in the air for added effect.

You walk away, trying to get in front of the stage for a better view of the show, pushing past the crowd, some seem to be too out of it to notice you. Spotting the familiar curls, you stop in the middle of the crowd that's packed together like sardines. Lacey laughs with her friends, hyping them up, drinks in hand, singing a familiar song.

The lights turn to a different color, red enveloping the stage. You feel like you're underwater, the loud noises muffled in your ears. You can barely hear the announcer introducing the band, eyes fixated towards Lacey, she throws a flying kiss towards the stage. You don't have to look at who the recipient was.

Guitar riffs ring out, Hobie's band starts playing their song, the crowd suddenly rushes in, trying to get to the front of the stage, trapping you. Bouncing around dancing bodies, you can't get out of the wild crowd, some noticing you trying to get out, they move and part for you. But some are way too into it to notice you.

"Excuse me, please! Fuck!" You yell out. A stray elbow hitting you right on your eye. The smacking sound rings in your ears, hand nursing the injury. A hand flings to your cheek, backhanding you. "Fuck!"

"Oi oi, stop! y/n!" Hobie's voice echoes around the venue, you deduce that he grabbed the mic from Ned. The band stops playing.

Half of the crowd doesn't stop, still jumping and bouncing around, guessing they've probably snuck in liquor. You ping pong around sweaty bodies, The only thing you could do was try to protect your head with your arms. Closing your eyes.

"Hoy! Fuckers! He said stop!" Lacey's voice screams out, trying to push past the mass. You can barely hear her through the blood rushing in your ears.

A strong yet familiar arm wraps around your shoulder, looking up you see Hobie arguing with a stranger.

"What the fuck! I said stop! Were you dropped on your head?!" He shoves the man away. Pointing at another trying to argue back. "Fuck off!" He lets go of you, shoving the other with force.

"Hey mate, if she can't handle it, maybe–" The man slurs his words, he couldn't finish his sentence, his face connecting with your knuckles. He should be glad that it wasn't Hobie's or else he would have his rings embedded in his jaw. The man keels over, sobering him up in an instant, groaning in pain.

Hobie looks at you in shock, you look at the men like you want to rip them apart.

Everything crushes you, the weight and pressure of your project, expectations from your family, your love for him. Every insecurity seeps out of your bones, drowning you in its disgusting waters.

You throw your anger at the first thing you see.

"You fucking wanker!" You seethe, your eyes darken, the strangers bear the brunt of your anger. "Stop means stop motherfucker!"

Hobie holds you back, if he doesn't you'll get kicked out of the event, "holy shit" your fist held up, ready to strike again.

You push him off, eye stinging in pain. Huffing, You give the men one last angry glare before stomping away from the crowd, too angry to care that you have an audience. Hobie follows closely behind, calling your name urgently.

"What?!" You turn sharply, the skin around your injured eye slowly turning into a darker color.

"Are you okay?" He asks, hands ghosting over your closed fists.

"Stop asking me if I'm okay, Hobart! Do I look like I'm fucking okay?!" You yell, frustrated, wincing at the pain in your socket. "Fuck!"

Your heart aches when you fight with him, moreso when you yell at Hobie. You're angry but not at Hobie, you're mad at yourself, mad that you've read his love for you as romantic, angry that you never told him how you feel. Furious at your jealousy.

One word stays in your mind, your own voice screaming it out like bloody murder: Coward.

"Love" he says softly, hands wrapping around your tightly closed fists, your nails digging into your palms leaving half moons on the soft skin. Hobie slowly unclenches your fists for you, fingers opening up yours. "You need ice over that, I'll bring you to the first aid station and–"

"You don't have to, just go. Get back on stage" you pull your hands away from him, clenching your hands into fists again.

"y/n, you might be concussed–" Hobie stares at you, concerned.

"Go" you sniff. "I'll go there myself" turning your back on him, Hobie watches you walk away.

—

The first aid station sits further away from the stage, the loud sounds can still be heard from where you're sitting inside the large tent. Cheers echoes out, prompting you to close your eyes at the booming sound.

The frozen ice pack melts in your hand, condensation dripping down on your arm. Your eye socket stings even with the pain meds the nurse gave you. Your head feels like it's trying to escape your skull. Sitting on the plastic chair, elbows propped on your thighs, biting the inside of your cheek when you hear your friends asking for you.

Scooching away from their line of sight, hiding behind a water cooler, you try to make yourself small. You groan when you hear the nurse tell them your location. Your anger has finally subsided, embarrassment replacing it.

Maybe you should've left when you had the chance.

Feet shuffle their way towards you, staying put, staring at the grey concrete, shoes fill your vision. Yuri breaks the silence.

"You've got a mean right hook, remind me to never piss you off"

You don't answer glaring at their shoelaces. The water from the ice pack drops on the concrete, painting it darker.

"Bloody hell, give her some room" Hobie arrives at your side, gesturing for them to give you space.

Hobie crouches down, leveling with your down turned stare. Grabbing the not so frozen ice pack from your hand carefully, avoiding touching your hand, in case you don't want to be touched. He stares at your black eye with concern.

"I made you all lose didn't I?" You stare up at your friends, avoiding Hobie's brown eyes.

"We got third place, I don't count that as a loss. It's better than we hoped for anyway" Ned looks at you apologetically.

"Right, not your fault." James adds. "Competition's hard, love"

"You're just saying that, if Hobie didn't interrupt by saving me, you would've won"

"If Hobie didn't jump in I would've jumped after you instead" Yuri chides in, pocketing her drumsticks.

"Me too" Ned says.

"Me three" James raises his hand, "Hobie just beat us to it" he shrugs.

"Still, I'm sorry," saying it softly. You don't miss the way they avoided asking you if you're okay.

"You're the one with the black eye" Hobie stands up, "can I talk to you?" He asks.

"We'll see you later, yeah?" Ned places a comforting hand on Hobie's shoulder. "As for you," Ned looks at you, "you've got my number, call me whenever or better yet visit me sometime"

You manage to crack a small smile, "I will" you stand up, giving him a hug, squeezing your friend. "Richmond's only an hour away" letting him go, you give him a sad smile.

"That's right, I'm only an hour away" Ned pats your shoulder.

Yuri steps in, holding both your hands, "and I'm just in Cambridge" she hugs you tightly, "don't be a stranger, yeah?"

"I'll come visit you whenever I can then" you squeeze her hands.

"You better" Yuri gives you her rare ten megawatt smile.

"Yuri and I will be classmates so you can visit me too if you want" James pats your back awkwardly.

"Fuck off, no we're not" Yuri scrunches her nose at James.

"We'll see you at the after party, Hobie?" Ned asks the unusually quiet man next to you.

The after party, where she will be waiting for Hobie. You try not to think about it, mentally chastising yourself.

"Nah, I have to get ready for her show."

"That's rescheduled actually, it's happening next week instead of tomorrow" you correct him. Hissing when your skin tugs at your eye.

"We'll be there then if you ever decide to pop in" Yuri informs Hobie.

"Alright, see you" Hobie waves them off. Sitting back down you watch them walk away with sad eyes.

"Can I have my ice pack back?" You groan when the pain pinches your eyelids.

"It's basically water, I'll get you a new one" He moves towards the nurse. You sit there, contemplating the past events.

The green monster peeks back out, shaking its cage, shackles straining against its leg. You try to move away from the image of her hands wrapped around Hobie's necklace that you've given him three birthdays ago, cherry red lipstick sticking to his cheek. The way he looked at her, the fucking pain in your eye. You start seething again, wanting to punch something.

You sigh, palms over your tired face, avoiding your injured eye.

"You al–" he stops himself, walking on eggshells. You don't want him doing that around you. "Here's your ice pack, the nurse said you don't have a concussion so I can take you home. Only if you want to" Hobie hands you the ice pack.

"This seems familiar, huh?" You wince at the cold hitting your skin, trying to cut the tension.

"What?"

"Can you fucking sit down for a second" you gesture towards a chair.

Hobie sighs, sitting down backwards on the chair, resting his chin over the plastic back of it, arms wrapping around it.

"When we first met? Remember that? It was almost exactly like this"

He lets out a breathy laugh, "Right, you threw that sketchbook at Terry. Yuri's right, you've got a dangerous arm"

"Should've gone into baseball, or volleyball at least" you avoid his stare. "We were sharing an ice pack, while we bad mouth Terrence" chuckling sadly at the memory. You don't regret meeting him that day, if you could do it all over again even after knowing what will happen, you would, without question.

"Will you fucking look at me" Hobie asks softly, you jump slightly at his angry tone. "Can you tell me what's eating you, is it the project?"

You wait a few seconds to bravely look at him, your face unreadable. "It's not the project"

"Is it really rescheduled, or you're just trying to get rid of me?" Hobie narrows his eyes at you. You can't read him, his expression flat, except for the slight scowl.

You shake your head, "Why the fuck am I trying to get rid of you? Mrs. Williams had a change of heart and gave us an extension, that's it!" The conversation escalates, frustrated at Hobie for implying that you're getting rid of him. You would never.

"Then why are you angry?" He doesn't raise his voice, he never does, and he won't ever start to.

"Because! I'm–" you hear a loud cough, the nurse glares at you two. Hobie notices, standing up.

"C'mon let's go inside" He stands up.

"Yeah, because arguing inside a museum is much better"

"You think those fucks care about a museum?" He points towards the concert with his thumb, "I looked inside, no one's in there. They're all going to the after party anyway"

Sighing, you want to go home, but knowing Hobie, he won't relent. You wouldn't dare to go to his place instead, not wanting to taint your future home with a fight. Your dorm is out of the question, it's almost midnight, your RA wouldn't let Hobie in. You don't want to run from this, even if it means lying to his face.

"Give me the bloody card" He asks for the favour card tucked inside your pocket.

"You're gonna use one on this?" You hand it to him.

"Yes" he pops one off, Hobie doesn't want to ruin his relationship with you, especially with him not knowing the cause of your anger. So he's willing to do anything to prevent that. The wind carries the logo somewhere.

You wish you're that piece of paper right now. Only seven to go.

—

Walking around the futuristic room, the walls white and pristine, covered in blue neon lights. It looks like you're in one of Ned's favourite sci-fi movie, you can't quite make out the title though. The entire place is silent, with only a handful of people walking around, the only sounds are from displays, machines whirring in the background, and noises made by the displays' speakers. They opened up the museum really late for the concert as a promotion even though most people only stayed for the show.

You stop in front of a display, a projection of some enhanced spider lifting something that's apparently fifty times heavier than its weight. Sitting down on a bench in front of the display, eyes glued to the presentation.

Hobie sits next to you, giving you space. He watches the projection's glow on the side of your face, making it look like there's a giant spider crawling on your skin.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you" you finally break the silence. "I shouldn't have done that, you were only trying to help," eyes still watching the educational video. Taking a deep breath, "Why do you think I'm trying to get rid of you?"

"It's nothing" he watches as the enhanced spider bites another spider, fighting with it.

"It's clearly nothing" you scoff, "that's the first thing you thought of when I told you that the show's rescheduled"

Hobie wishes he brought Terry with him, his leg bouncing, a nervous habit of his. "I'm holding you back." He confesses, wincing, regretting it almost immediately.

Your neck snaps to look at him, "You're not, why would you think that?" You sound angry, but your concern for him wins over. "Why?" Tentatively scooching over, you close the distance, cupping his hand in yours. "If anything I'm holding you back, you could've gone anywhere after you left school. Yet you stayed"

Hobie raises his brow at you, scoffing. At first you thought he'll pull away his hand, instead he drops his forehead on your shoulder, fitting right in. He feels the roughness of your denim jacket, squeezing your hand.

The projector's light envelopes you two in emerald green as it switches to a different scene.

"Why do you think I'm still here?" He finally answers after a few seconds. It felt like hours for you.

"Because I'm your best friend" you say softly.

"Best mates don't look at each other like we do" he gathers all his courage, tired of all the pushing and pulling, tired of being selfish, locking his feelings from you. Hobie cranes his neck up to look into your familiar eyes. The same eyes he's longed for. He's so close to you he could see himself in your glassy eyes.

Your heart beats a thousand times per second, Hobie cups your jaw, gaze falling on your slightly parted lips. You hold his wrist, thumb right on his hastening pulse, you cup his jaw with your free hand, hand soft against his slight stubble.

"Best mates don't touch each other like this," he continues.

Your eyes wander around his face, looking for any lies of what he's told you, flabbergasted at his confession. Your breath is seemingly stuck in your throat, heart stuttering when he slowly closes the gap between you.

You don't pull away.

You can feel him tugging at the loose thread, it feels like it's tightening around you instead of breaking you two apart at the seams. The dam has a sizable crack in its foundation, threatening to burst open.

Hobie leans towards your lips, now or never, he sees you flutter your eyes close, taking it as a sign to seal your lips with his. He feels a crawling sensation on his back, ignoring it, thinking it's his nerves acting up. His heart pounds like a drum, he can't back down now.

"Agh! Fuck!" Hobie suddenly screeches, hands flying towards his nape.

"What? What is it?!" You panic, turning him around, yelping when you see a bright spider latched on his neck. "Fuck!"

"What is it?!"

"Spider!" You try to fling it away using your sleeves, avoiding touching the arachnid.

"It fucking bit me!" Hobie slaps his neck in one swift movement, the spider lays dead, still latched on his skin. "Did I get it?"

"Yeah, let me just–" you take a handkerchief from your pocket, taking the spider away from his skin, "there, got it" showing the spider laying on your pink handkerchief. "Oh god it's red"

"You think it's venomous?"

You laugh wholeheartedly for the first time that night.

"I'm serious, I could die from this" Hobie pokes the spider.

Like it's comedic timing, the narrator from the educational video says, "it's not venomous but it is advised to seek professional help when bitten by the wolf spider, some people could be allergic to their bites–"

Staring at each other, "wow" you manage to say at the same time, you giggle nervously, having no idea how to proceed with how things are now.

"It doesn't look like the wolf spider, they're a different color" Hobie pokes the spider to look at its underbelly, "yeah, different one" he acts as if he's suddenly interested in arachnology.

You look at him with so much endearment, your eyes are practically shaped like hearts.

"What?" Hobie catches your staring, a smile playing on his lips.

"Nothin'" you taunt him with a cheeky smile. He rolls his eyes at you but his smile betrays him.

The intercom rings out, "The museum is now closed, sorry for the early closing" a nasally voice says. "There has been an incident in one of our displays, please leave the museum in an orderly fashion"

Hobie clears his throat, hand scratching at his nape, also not knowing what happens now. "I'll take you home," He stands up, offering you his hand.

"Okay" you feel giddy as you take his outstretched hand. It feels familiar yet oh so different now. You've finally got confirmation about his feelings towards you, no matter how vague it was. You two have all the time in the world to discuss it. You've waited this long, you can endure a few more days of tiptoeing around each other. Baby steps, you think.

Swinging your intertwined hands, you look up at him. "Do you think the incident that they're talking about is this spider?" You pat your jeans pocket where the covered spider is kept. "Like it came out of its enclosure or something?"

"They don't have live specimens here, probably not" he entertains your question, squeezing your hand.

You both leave the museum, hand in hand. Ignoring an alarm blaring from somewhere.

—

You hug Hobie's leather jacket tighter around you, the cold air biting at your cheeks, helping numb the pain in your eye. Hobie takes your helmet off for you, the simple action he's done a million times before makes your heart skip a beat. You watch him with curious eyes, waiting for something to happen between you. The large brick building that houses your dorm looms overhead.

You notice him sweating despite the cold, "How do you feel?" You ask, concerned.

"I feel fine" he takes your helmet back towards the compartment of his motorbike. "Why?"

You step over to him, your palm feeling his forehead for a sign of a fever. "You're sweating, it's like fifteen degrees, why are you sweating?" He leans into your touch, sighing a bit.

"It's because I'm bloody fit" Hobie smirks, winking at you playfully.

You roll your eyes, "what if you're actually allergic to that spider bite? We might need to get you to a hospital" pulling back your hand to your side.

"I'm fine, seriously. I have no idea why I'm sweating though" He wipes his moist forehead.

"Okay. I can come with, just to make sure you don't have a weird reaction to it"

"You'll come to the after party?"

"You're still going to that?" Why? She'll be there, you bite your tongue, jealousy gripping you again. He's not going because of that, right?

"Yeah, It'll probably be the last one with the band, I want to make the most of it"

"Okay, just be careful" you wrap your pinky around his, "ask the others for help if you suddenly feel sick, please?"

"I will. Go to bed, you're knackered. Get some ice on that once you wake up, yeah?"

You bravely stand on your tiptoes to reach his cheek, kissing his skin softly. It feels just right, like your lips were perfectly molded for his cheek. Hobie seems like he ran out of air, frozen into place. He has no idea where to put his hands, your waist seems to be a little suggestive, arms seems to be more on the friendly side, if he grabs the back of your neck, Hobie's afraid he might pull you in for a kiss, which you might not want right now. So he settles for your shoulder, it feels awkward still.

You pull away, seeing a very rare sight of a flustered Hobie. Almost giggling, you clamp down, not wanting to tease him more or he might start hiding this kind of face he's currently making. His pupils are blown out, mouth agape. He returns to his nonchalant expression when he notices you biting your lips to stifle your giggling.

Grabbing his hands in yours, you bat your lashes, "Drive carefully, please?"

Hobie pulls you in by your belt loop, hugging you, his chin rests on the crown of your head, long arms enveloping you. He pokes your scalp with his chin. Your laugh pierces through the dark.

"Yeah, yeah" Pulling away, he carefully grazes his forefinger over to your black eye. "Sorry, 'bout this"

"Not your fault. Thank you for jumping in to save me, even if I yelled at you after" you look at him apologetically. "I'm sorry, again"

He shakes his head, not knowing the exact words to reply to you. Rubbing your leather clad arms, he stops when he reaches your hands. "Keep this for tonight, you can bring it back to me tomorrow, yeah?" Hobie subtly asks you out.

You grin at him asking for you to come visit him the next day. "Mm-hmm, I was gonna visit you anyway. You're due for a fitting"

"Yeah? Finished our baby then?" An excited smile appears on his lips.

"Almost, I think you'll like it" You say smugly.

"You made it, it's a guarantee I'll like it"

—

You adjust the weight of your heavy bag on your shoulder, walking along the water towards Hobie's houseboat. Grinning at the familiar boat, you speed walk to the doors. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, excited to see Hobie again after last night, After his 'confession'.

Hugging his leather jacket around your torso, moving the bag slightly away, just to show him that you didn't forget to bring it with you.

Knocking, you call out to Hobie. "Hey, it's me!"

The boat rocks a bit to the side, tilting your head, curious at what might've caused its movement since the river is calm. Finn is right, you can't hear anything happening inside. The boat tilts again, you hold onto the wall for support.

You knock again, "Hobie! Are you okay in there?"

Hobie finally answers the door, it swings wildly, sweat dripping on his bare chest, still in his boxers, his wicks uncharacteristically standing in messy angles. Gripping the doorknob in an iron hold, his chest heaves up and down like he's run a marathon, or like he just–

Hobie seems like he can't properly construct a proper sentence, he blinks at you through watery eyes, licking his dry lips.

You were about to ask him if he's okay, you freeze in place, face falling when a female voice rings somewhere inside– "Hobs?"

You feel a hole caving in your heart, leaving a Hobie shaped chasm, eyes glistening in the morning sun, you don't even wait for his explanation. You just run, run as fast as your legs could take you. You have no idea where to go. Your heart is shattering with every step, you have no time to pick up the pieces, leaving it scattered in the wind.

You can hear Hobie yelling your name, ignoring his urgent calls, you sprint away.

A/N: Everything will make sense in the next chapter 😉 thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it, it encourages me to write more ❤️

*pictures above are from pinterest*

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