#it was so strange to see him out of the fine line boots
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Rural Bliss.
Real Dad! Leon X F! Reader (smut)
A/N: You, as a reader, are responsible for your own media consumption. It is up to you to read the tags that I have provided and determine whether or not this is a piece of writing that you would like to partake in. If not, scroll on by, if you do, please enjoy! Remember, I am not responsible for any discomfort you feel if you choose to read this.
Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), dub-con, oral (f receiving), LARGE AGE GAP (18 and 40+), pwp (light plot), mentions of predatory behavior, mutual creepiness, dark and disturbing content, choppy ass writing
Wordcount: 1.8k
!!! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT/DARK CONTENT !!!
Your mom had finally done it. She found a halfway decent guy and let him wife her up faster than you could say 'I do.' You weren't exactly mad about it. He was a decent enough guy, and he made your mom happy, so whatever. The only part that you were against was the fact that you would be staying with your estranged father for the rest of your summer until your mom and her boy-toy got back from their extensive honeymoon.
Your dad fucked off pretty quickly after you were born. Moved himself far away into the middle of nowhere, not once reaching out or keeping in touch. A small part of you wanted to know him, but a larger part of you was pissed that you would have to now temporarily live with a man who you could just barely remember the name of.
What was it again? Leonard? Lucas? No, no, that's not right. Leon? Yeah, something like that. Leon.
Leon, the man who left you and your mom. The man who, instead of raising you, decided to lick his wounds in the deep country, likely making a meager living off of growing potatoes and carrots. The man who was a stranger, connected to you only by blood.
The man whose front porch you were currently standing on, banging on his door without a care in the world. You looked around while you knocked. It was a large bit of land. A few neighbors nearby, but not within spitting distance. At the very least, this town had a few stores with maybe a few people your age lingering around them.
"I'm coming, damn it!" His steps were loud, you could hear them from all the way outside. The heaviness of his work boots must've weighed him down quite a bit. The screen door flew open and his face softened. "Oh, hey kid. Didn't know you'd be here so early. Come in."
You followed him inside, letting your eyes trail his face and frame. You'd only seen a picture or two of him before. He wasn't quite what you were expecting. He looked a lot older now than he did in the photos. More tired, less lively. His crow's feet and smile lines stuck out, but if the lonely, uncomfortable vibe of his house was any clue, you assumed he hadn't been smiling much in his life.
He wasn't bad looking, though. Time hasn't weathered him, and you could tell he took care of himself. His arms and chest looked strong, clearly he had found some way to stay fit out in his desolate chunk of farmer-country. You could see why your mom picked him. He looked like a good one, despite his fleeting nature.
"You're gonna be stayin' for a few months, yeah?" Leon didn't seem uncomfortable with your presence, so you felt a bit more calm.
"Yeah, I guess so. Mom didn't really give me all the details, just kinda sprung it on me."
"Believe me, I know," he said under his breath. "Well, this place isn't much, 'm sure it's not what you're used to." He locked the door behind you and flashed an apologetic look.
"It's fine. I'll make it work." You looked around. It looked lived in, strangely worn despite nobody else ever living there.
He led you down a dimly lit hallway, the floorboards groaning beneath their weight, until they reached a single room. It was a small bedroom, adorned with faded wallpaper and completely wooden furniture. The single window offered a glimpse of the bare, green landscape outside.
"This'll be your room. You can unpack your things."
Hardly a week passed by and you were already sick to death of living with your dad. His jokes were bad. His cooking was shit. His attempts at bonding with you were creepy at best and damn near-assault at worst. He let his hands drift all over you when he pulled you in for hugs and tried pecking a kiss on your mouth before you went off to bed each night, and damn it, you let him.
Again and again, every night, letting that old man press his chapped lips against yours, holding back your urge to force your tongue into his mouth.
He bought you gifts that no other fathers would think about getting their daughters. Skimpy little clothes that left nothing to the imagination, while he wrote it off by claiming ignorance.
"That's what girls your age wear, right? I can't keep up with what you kids are into," Leon would say, covering his ass with feigned dopiness.
His only redeeming quality was that he was hot and mostly oblivious. It was fucked up to think about it that way, but without having much other male contact during your stay, Leon was starting to becoming quite the piece of eye candy. The best part is that he thought nothing of it, acting like his teenaged daughter spending hours staring at his half-naked, sweaty body while he worked in the hot sun was normal. Just another day. Nothing special.
He didn't make you work on the farm with him, so you got to do all the watching. You got to see those strong arms lift hay bales for the horses and chop trees for firewood. Most of your days were spent watching him from the front porch, mentally cursing yourself out when you felt your thighs clench together instinctually at his sexy movements.
What was wrong with you?
Were years of fatherlessness finally catching up to you? Couldn't muster any real love for the old man, so sexual yearning was the next best thing? Eye-fucking your dad and sharing touches that lasted too long were the cost of him skipping out on you.
You rationalized it the best you could. Maybe you didn't actually want him, maybe the solitude of the countryside was getting to you. Maybe there was something in the air, some kind of sex-pollen floating in the breeze that made you wanna get bent over by a man twice your age that just so happened to be related to you. Closely related.
Leon didn't really know how to treat a woman well, but he tried his best with you. It was his first time really being a dad, but honestly, he hated it. Being a 'dad' sucked, especially when he'd rather have his daughter as his girlfriend.
You made him so frustrated, so unsure of himself. Leon's only experience with girl's your age was in getting them liquor they couldn't legally buy themselves, fucking them like plastic sex dolls, and leaving them for someone else to woo and screw.
He couldn't quite do that to you, though. He couldn't get you drunk and take advantage of you, pumping and dumping in you without a care about your pleasure. He had to take care of you, your health and comfort. All he really wanted was to take care of your body.
You were his little girl. He'd fuck you like he actually gave a damn about you if he ever got the chance, and he most definitely wouldn't be leaving you for anyone else.
That type of thinking brought him here.
"Daddy, please..."
The walls in his house were too damn thin. He could practically hear each thrust of your fingers into your cunt from his bedroom. Your bed screeched agonizingly against the floors, punctuating your moans and hisses of pleasure.
He saw his opportunity and took it. He had waited long enough, and this was the least he could do, right? You needed him, right? Right.
He pushed your door open, not having the decency nor the self-restraint to knock. You felt your body go still, but kept your hands between your legs.
"If you needed me, coulda told me. Don't like t'hear you in here whining." Leon sat on the edge of your bed, crawling his way between your legs. "Fuck, that's pretty."
He took in the sight of your fingers stuffed into your pudgy cunt, slick dripping between each digit.
"No, you're—! this isn't what it—" you tried prying your fingers out, but a strong hand wrapped around your wrist to keep you in place.
"Isn't what it looks like? How about what it sounds like, huh? Sounds like you want your daddy to dull that ache in you."
He was so far gone. He normally never did this. Leon was a man who took. He took younger girls virginity, mouth, pussy, or other. He was the one that got sucked off and got his perv dick wet. But for his baby? You, the little nymph who fell gracefully into his grasp? He was foaming at the mouth for a chance to slurp your pussy.
"Open up, come on. Got nothin' to be shy about," he urged, forcing your legs open, pulling your fingers out, and shimmying closer to you. "Nothin' I haven't seen before."
That was somewhat of a lie. Sure, he saw pussies all the time when he bullied his cock into them, but he was normally never nose to clit, ready to lick.
He stuck his needy tongue out, lapping up the juices that you worked up when you rubbed yourself raw. He swirled around you clit as a test, trying to see what felt good for you. He soon settled on puckering his lips around your bud and sucking, swapping his spit in and out of his mouth to keep you lubed up.
Your voice broke with hushed whines and chants. Yes's and oh's rang out, filling Leon's ears and his ego.
He pulled his head back and lob a wad of spit onto your clit, chuckling when you shivered.
"Feel good?" His thumb traced your clit in little figure eights.
"Mm, s'good." Your hands trailed through his thick, soft hair. You gripped it tightly, pulling his head back to your cunt. "No, don't stop, jus' need your mouth again."
His sharp, strong nose bumped against the top of your pussy while he munched down on you greedily. His tongue traveled around you in an indecisive manner. One moment, he was using flat strokes to lick on your swollen nub, then pointing his tongue while he fucked it in and out of you.
Despite the sporadic nature of it, the warmth and wetness of the contact of his mouth on you felt like heaven. It didn't matter what he was doing, as long as he was looking up at you with his piercing eyes and swallowing down your slick, you were satisfied.
"Dad, oh my God, yes!" It felt like venom coming off of your tongue when you moaned it, but tasted like honey at the same time. Something about it was so wrong, but felt so natural.
As your legs tightened around Leon's head and trapped him between your thighs, you knew it was meant to be. You were meant to be your daddy's princess. You were meant to feel like mouth on you, to be spoiled by his tongue, words, money, and his cock. You had been missing out on it for so long.
You spent the rest of your summer making up for lost time, discovering just what having a daddy was meant to feel like.
#smutfic#leon s kennedy x reader#cw incest#tw inc*st#dark content#dead dove fic#resident evil x reader#resident evil#leon s kennedy smut#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x y/n#leon s kennedy#resident evil smut#resident evil x you#leon kennedy imagine#leon kennedy x you
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Your Nothing Without Me
Simon "Ghost" Riley either really really hates something or he really really loves it. There is no in-between. It's just such a shame you happened to catch his attention.
Yandere! Simon Ghost Riley x Reader
Word Count: 2,916
Warnings: Original Characters Yandere Dead Dove: Do Not Eat Horror toxic Toxic Ghost Yandere Simon Ghost Riley Murder Kidnapping Stalking Obsessive Behavior No use of y/n
A/N: This is my first ever x reader fic! It's kind of rushed but skskks
AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46432570
He thought that maybe you knew. That you couldn't actually be this stupid and unaware. Despite his military training he truly wasn't being all that sneaky. Part of him wanted you to know. Wanted you to turn around. He wondered if you would scream. If you would try to run? Maybe you would trip? Fall straight to the floor as he slowly walked towards you like in all those slasher movies you loved?
But much to his dismay, you don't turn around. You continue your way down the street. Stiletto heels hitting the concrete as you stumbled your way home. Maybe you would fall after all. You were drunk that was for sure. Your friends had left you alone to find your own way home. Ghost hated your friends. They were always abandoning you, and even if you never noticed or cared Ghost did. They didn't deserve you. Ghost would never leave you drunk and alone.
It was too dangerous for someone like you. Who knows what could be lurking around the corner?
So he followed you. Under the mask of the night you didn't even notice. You didn't hear the sound of his combat boots hitting the sidewalk just mere feet behind you. He was naturally a light stepper but he wasn't even trying to hide the fact that he was behind you.
You trip and tumble to your knees, rough concrete ripping through your tights and into your palms. You cursed at yourself and tried to push yourself up. You only got one knee up before a hand is gripping your upper arm and pulling you up onto your feet.
You turn your head only to be met with a clad black chest. You tilt your head up to see just who the hell currently has your arm in an iron grip. But you move too fast and it sends your world spinning and out of focus. You squint your eyes and you can just make out well nothing. As your eyes come into focus you realize you are staring at a rather tall man with a skull for a face.
Well not a skull, you squint through your drunken haze, but rather a skull mask. And your first thought is you somehow died on your walk home and are now face to face with the Grim Reaper. Your second thought is this strange man is grabbing you and you are in danger.
Your heart rammed against your ribs and the adrenaline that pumps through you is enough to sober you up just enough to realize your situation. His hand gripped your arm harder and you can't find it in you to pull away, all you can do is stand and stare back into his piercing brown eyes.
You freeze like a deer in headlights. Forgetting about your voice and the pepper spray in your purse.
Your chest rose and fell quickly with short bursts of breath. And just when you're about to pull away, almost as quickly as it grabbed you the hand is leaving. And the man is turning on his feet and walking away from you without a word.
You make it home eventually and collapse in your bed, forgetting all about your encounter. You didn’t even bother closing your blinds.
You fall asleep, completely dead to the world.
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You go about your day with nothing but a slowly fading hangover. The three cups of coffee you snuck when your manager wasn't watching were at least doing something. You had woken up late and had a little less than five minutes to rush your way to the cafe you worked at.
A few more accidentally messed up orders and you would be perfectly fine. It was relatively unbusy for a Sunday morning, it wasn't like there was a line out the door. A few messed-up orders were no big deal.
It was a quiet place really. Even on the busiest days. Most of the people coming in and out of The Coffee Dove were regulars whose order you knew by heart.
Quiet and cozy with a dark interior. With rustic hanging lights and cozy chairs, it attracted bookish types of people. Bookshelves lined the walls and left the cafe smelling like old books under the thick scent of coffee.
Although the cafe conformed to a certain aesthetic it really didn't affect the hiring process at all. YOu had a wide array of coworkers from all different sorts of styles and aesthetics.
“Omg?!” Your coworker, Angelica exclaimed. One hand flew to your arm and pulled you towards her.
She was staring down at your arm with wide eyes, a manicured hand over her mouth. You followed her eyes to see what she was so shocked about. There, on your upper arm, was a rather large bruise. She placed her own hand over it, Her slim fingers didn't even cover the width of it. Her bright pink nails are a striking contrast against your bruised skin.
“Who the hell grabbed you?!”
You pull away from her to examine the bruise yourself. It was large and when you placed your own hand over it darkening and slightly purple was still very visible.
“I don't know,” You muttered, feeling quite self-conscious. You hadn't even noticed the bruise in your rush to get ready. You don't remember much of last night either. You knew you must have fallen on your hands and knees. When you had pulled your tights off in the morning the ripped material was stuck onto your skin with dried blood and some asphalt and tiny little pebbles were embedded into your skin. But you don't remember getting grabbed.
“Must have fallen or something.” You shrug it off.
Angelica doesn't seem convinced. You wish you had brought a jacket or something to cover it up, but it was a good 98 degrees outside and even though The Coffee Dove had AC you were still hot.
Thankfully the doorbell rings signaling the arrival of a customer. Angelica moves on to greet them in her honey-sweet customer service voice. You don't bother looking up, too busy rearranging the pastries in the counter display.
You almost look up at the sound of a gruff accented voice ordering tea but another voice much closer to you steals your attention.
“Hey!”
You look up. There, leaning on the counter, beaming down at you is Connor.
“Connor!” You exclaim, you quickly stand up and lean over the counter to hug him. He returns the hug laughing into your hair.
Connor was
You pull away and smile at him. He smiles back, the corners of his eyes creasing ever so slightly.
“Did you already order?” You ask.
Connor shakes his head, a small tuft of brown hair falling against his forehead. “Thought you could make it for me? You always make it perfect.”
He tilts his head to the left. And just like a puppy dog, you can't resist.
“Are you normal then?”
“Yes Ma’am!”
You roll your eyes. Connor was only two years younger than you but he still insisted on calling you, ma’am. Probably because it annoyed you. You whip up his order in no time. When you go to hand it to him his hand grabs your wrist and he leans in close.
“What's with that creepy guy in the corner?” He whispers.
He tilts his head to the side as a gesture and you look. There sitting in the very corner of the cafe is a man, a black balaclava covering his face. He looks uncomfortable, slightly cramped in the cafe's chairs. His legs are too long to fit under the dark oak table so he has pushed his chair back.
“He's just a customer?” You say.
“Yeah, but he's just… sitting there.”
Angelica leans in close to you two, completing a conspiring triangle, “I gave him his tea five minutes ago and haven't even taken a sip.”
You roll your eyes. Angelica loved conspiring.
“Probably just waiting for it to cool down.” You place Connors's cup down and move on to pretending to work, “Or you know Angelica did make it. I bet it's horrible.”
Angelica takes it in stride, “You know he did have a British accent, you should make him tea. Since apparently, mine are so bad.”
“Not like he could drink it with that mask on,” Connor replies.
You take a rag and wipe down the already clean counter. Anything to look like you aren't in fact gossiping about a rather creepy guy in the corner.
You shake your head, he's probably not creepy. Just some guy here for some tea. Connor watches many true crime documentaries.
“But he likes-” Connor pauses and looks over his shoulder, “He keeps looking over here.”
“He’s admiring your beauty, Connor,” You tease.
Connor smirks but still manages to look uncomfortable, “I think he might rob us. Do I look rich?”
Alright, thats it. You throw the rag in the sink and exit through the swinging half door. You make your way across the cafe towards the man determined on showing your friends that nothing is wrong.
He doesn't even look up when you approach, too busy staring at the new eco-friendly cups The Coffee Dove had started ordering. Horrible they were, they fell apart too easily. Not to mention the straws. A small price for the planet you, suppose.
You pause, waiting for him to acknowledge you and look up. He doesn't. So you say, “Is everything to your liking?”
He looks up then. Brown eyes staring you down, his gaze makes you uncomfortable and you slightly regret even coming over here. He's looking at you like you just insulted his entire family. He finally nods, the smallest tilt up of his chin.
“Alright, Well, I'll just be behind the counter then,” You scurry back to the counter. You can't shake the feeling that those eyes are still staring you down. The feeling doesn't leave until three minutes after your shift when that man also leaves.
Connor hangs around until the end of your shift, goofing around and getting in the way. But it makes the time go by faster and before you know it your shift is over. He walks you to the door. He tries to insist on walking you home you refuse, saying you have things to do. When you both finally do leave he kisses your cheek goodbye. Something he has done countless times before but this time it feels different. It spreads fire from where his lips softly pressed against your cheek to all the way down your toes. It leaves you walking home with a smile on your face.
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It isn't the first time Ghost watched you. But it is the first time he entered the Cafe you worked at. Usually, he would just sit inside his car parked across the street. It was amazing how far phone cameras could zoom in nowadays. But here he was. Sat in the far corner with untouched tea. He was hoping you would make it. But your coworker had instead. He wasn't going to take even a sip.
Despite this little hiccup, he was having a rather great time seeing you this close-up. That was until your friend showed up. Hugging you and making you laugh. The way you smile at him made Ghost sick to his stomach. It was quite obvious you were all talking about him, but Ghost didn't really care all that much.
He was too distracted by imaging crushing Connors face with his boot. And then you approached. He didn't have to look up. He knew it was you based on your steps and the smell of your perfume. Something that had been ingrained in his mind from the time he allowed himself into your apartment.
“Is everything to your liking?”
He should just take you now. You're so small it would be easy. He could just throw you over his shoulder and walk out. He seriously doubted either of your friends would be able to help you. Though he wishes Connor would try, so he could break his face. How stupid you are to let Connor be around you when it's so obvious what he wants. Don't you ever wonder why he wants to hug you so much?
It doesn't matter. Ghosts can be smart for you.
He left only three minutes before your shift ended. He finally realized he had just sat there for an hour with an untouched now cold tea. He left the cafe in his car and waited for you to clock out. While sitting there in the cafe, alone with his thoughts and the beautiful view of you he made a decision. He was going to get you today. And he had plenty of time to plan.
Connor walks you out and before he leaves he kisses you on the cheek. Ghost’s grip on the steering wheel tightens and his knuckles turn white.
Plans change.
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You make it home without any trouble. You stumble through the door already hopping on one foot as you pull your shoe off. You do a little hop farter into your house before you can get the shoe off, and you fling it somewhere, too tired to put it away. The second shoe follows.
All you wanted was to lay in bed and watch stupid youtube videos till you fell asleep. You leave your purse on your walk-in table.
You are just about to walk into your living room when a strong arm wraps around your waist. You gasp in shock and it is the only sound that gets out before something is clamping over your nose and mouth.
You try to buck out of the hold, twisting your body any way you can. This proves difficult when you can't breathe and the smell of chemicals is quickly making you light-headed.
You try to remember something, anything, from the self-defense classes you took but through your panic, everything is fogging and hard to remember. You're running out of time and you know it. You scratch at the hand that is covering your face, and you dig your nails into the flesh of your attacker.
And then everything goes dark.
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You wake up with a fogging mind. Like you had been out drinking the night before. You groan and try to bring your hands down to rub your eyes. Only your left-hand reaches its destination. Your right stops and cold metal digs into your wrist.
“What the hell..” You mutter.
You give your arm a rather weak tug, you can't move it far. You're barely able to bend your elbow down.
You look up to your right, squinting through the thick haze that has glossed over your eyes you can make out the metal wrapped around your wrist and attached to the white bed frame.
And then it dawns on you. You are handcuffed to a bed. Your bed frame is brown, not white.
You sit up as fast as you can, wrist once again catching and pulling harshly against the metal handcuffs. It sends your head spinning and everything doubles. The rest of your limbs are free and you scramble up onto your knees. Placing your free hand onto your wrist, overlapping the metal, you pull against the bed frame. The bed frame creaks but nothing happens.
“Those are military-grade, you aren't getting out of them so no point in trying,” An accented voice says.
You whip your head around. There, a few feet away from the bed, is a figure sitting in a chair. You can only make out the white skull mask through the shadows. Like something from your nightmares. A demon, or perhaps, the Grim Reaper himself.
A scream catches in your throat coming out as nothing more than a pitiful squeak.
The man stands up and it sends you scrambling as far bask as you can go, your back hits the headboard. He walks around the bed and it sends you pushing yourself to the very corner, right arm bent at an awkward angle as you try to get away from him. You think you might recognize him. That there's some very hazy memory in the back of your mind.
He uses your name, and it shocks you. The closer he gets the more you can smell it. An ironic metallic smell. He's dressed in all black the only other color being the white of his skull mask. Now as your vision focuses you can see it's not even fully white but instead speckled with red.
Blood.
The relaxation sends you gagging. You are going to die.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
Like hell you believe that.
“I can be rather nice when I want to. You'll see.”
He outstretches his hand and you think he's going to strike you. But clenched in his fingers is a small polaroid. You make no move to take it, too afraid to even breathe properly. He lets it go and it flutters down to your lap.
It's Connor. Or at least you think it is. You can just barely make out his features through the red. But what really gives it away is his eyes. Wide open and staring straight into your soul.
“All I feel is love for you. I will do anything to keep you safe. You don't understand now. But you will.”
Receding footsteps.
The sound of a slamming door.
Connor stares back at you and all you can do is shake.
#yandere#simon riley x you#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x y/n#ghost x you#ghost x y/n#yandere simon riley#yandere ghost#cod x reader#cod x y/n#cod x you
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Like Blood on Iron | Part 2
Historical Executioner AU
Summary: The executioner has always been an enigma to you - drawing you in. His sword drawing a line in the dirt as he made his way to the village center, and leaving back to his cottage on the outskirts of town. However, your curiosity can't stop the future your family has planned for you.
Warnings: mentions of blood, family dynamics, semi-forced marriage mention, implied age gap, future smut, future blood and gore.
Word Count: 4.6k
A/N: I fall off in second chapters. Odd-number chapters are really my strength. Anyway, if you like the story and you'd like to donate to my ridiculous expensive wisdom teeth removal, consider donating a dollar. I only need 2,000.
If you'd like to be added to the tag list, comment below. If I cannot tag you, I will reply to your comment to let you know next chapter has been written.
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Neither of you moves; the lighting crashes in the distance - electricity crackling in the air. Your anger at your family overcomes your fear of him; you stalk towards the water, hands reaching behind you to try and unlace the stays. The dress pulls uncomfortably at you, and you can't reach the back.
"Are you just going to stand there? Or are you going to lecture me like last time?" You yell at him across the sand.
You come to a stop feet from the water, hands still fruitlessly trying to unlace your dress. He doesn't speak, and your anger grows. Your hands turn from trying to unlace your dress to being balled at your side.
"You're bleeding," his voice is low, nearly inaudible over the waves that threaten to crash into the two of you.
"It's nothing. Just a scrape." You feel his eyes on your hand; you move it behind your back so that he can't see it.
The silence grows, and your anger starts to wan - it feels strange to just stand there and say nothing so you turn away from him; you stare out at the dark ocean and rolling storm and wonder if you'll have to stay here all night. You don't know if you can go home and face your mother and father.
"You're unhappy," the execution says - voice flat and firm. As if he knows what's happened at home.
"You're the observant type."
He comes to stand beside you, cloak swishing on the dark sand. His presence is imposing, pushing you out of your comfort zone. You get the feeling that he's waiting on you to speak. It takes a moment of your thought; what repercussions could happen from explaining yourself to him? Who would he tell?
"My parents are forcing me to marry a man I don't want to marry. And I'm stuck in this stupid dress." It comes out of you all in one rush, a confession you didn't know you were making. You feel silly telling him your problems, but there's no one else to speak to.
"Is he a bad prospect?"
You scuff your shoe against the sand, carving a line between the two of you.
"No - that's the difficult part. He's perfectly fine. Perfectly nice. Nothing wrong with him at all - I don't like being forced into things."
Another pregnant pause.
"What would happen if you refused?"
You snort, and it hurts your ribs.
"I'll be sent to the convent to be a sister for the rest of my life."
"So you're unable to refuse." His voice is flat, empty but leading enough to make you want to talk.
You don't want to agree with him so you choose to ignore what he said, turning the conversation around to him.
"What are you doing here? I don't see anyone in need of beheading."
"I can't leave my own home?"
"I didn't say that."
You sink to sit in the sand and pull your shoes off. When your bare feet hit the sand you sigh, digging your toes into the warmth. After a moment, the executioner lowers himself down beside you; out of the corner of your eye you observe his clothes: black tunic and black pants, tucked into black boots. You suppose it comes with the occupation, the need to dress like midnight.
It's uncomfortable to sit there with the dress laced so tight, so you do something risky.
"Can you untie this dress, please? I can't breathe."
His hands twitch against his thigh.
"I can."
You turn slightly so that he can see the stays. His fingers are gentle, you can hardly feel them as he pulls on the string.
"I can't get them undone; whoever tightened them is an expert."
You let out a mirthless laugh at that.
"You can cut them for all I care - the dress is ruined anyway."
Out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift, a flash of silver coming from beneath his cloak. He grabs the stays, pulling them back. There's a small snick and the bodice loosens all at once. You take the first decent breath you've taken all evening, your hands coming up to hold the bodice in place across your chest.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
He slides the knife - the blade as long as your forearm - back into a sheath at his waist. So many questions clamber to the forefront of your thoughts. Why are you out here? is the one that slips from your lips first.
He answers you with a question of his own.
"Why did you come out here tonight?"
In the distance, you see something flash in the water. You keep your eyes trained on the horizon waiting for it to appear again, but it doesn't.
"I just needed to get somewhere I could breathe," you admit, thinking about the storm brewing at home.
"Likewise."
You trace patterns in the sand with your fingers before you speak again.
"How many times were you out here when I was?"
How many times did you see me through my chemise?
"A handful of times."
"And you never thought to say anything to me?"
He doesn't answer your question. The waves pull in closer, the tide coming in just reaching the two of you. A boldness takes over you - you push yourself to your feet, your bodice falling open. You pull the dress over your head, struggling for a moment before getting it free. You feel almost embarrassed by the thinness of your chemise, but you ignore it as you throw the dress to the side.
You don't look at the executioner as you wade out until the water is at chest level - everything is hidden. On the shore, the executioner looks politely to the side.
"You can look now! I'm assuming you have before."
"I've always looked away."
His tone is almost affronted. You can't help the grin that breaks out on your face.
"What is your name?" you ask, the warm water making you bold again. "I don't want to keep calling you 'the executioner' in my head."
"Why should I tell you my name; I don't know yours."
"You tell me your name, and I'll tell you mine."
You think of the fairy tales Mother used to tell you when you were young: about fae in the woods, merfolk sunning on the beach, ghouls under the bridge. Never tell them your name she'd whisper dramatically, because your name has power in it.
"You can call me Ghost."
"That's not your real name is it?"
"No."
You level a look at him - his brown eyes barely visible in the darkness. It's part of being the executioner, you know, the loss of the name you were given under god as a child. You wonder if you can remember the last time anyone knew his real name.
You tell him your name, calling across the water to him. The power is his now.
You dive under the water until you can touch the bottom, scraping the dark sand with your fingertips. You push yourself towards the shore, skimming the bottom until you have to resurface for air. You keep yourself down in the water so that everything is still covered. Ghost has shifted in the sand, one leg stretched out in front of him.
"Why do you wear the hood? Do you ever take it off?"
"Sometimes."
"And the mask?"
"Don't you think you're asking a lot of questions?" His timber goes down half an octave - a warning for you to stop prying. He speaks again, getting you off of the subject of himself. "Do you plan to stay out here all night?"
"I suppose I have to. If I go home now my mother will probably use the whip on me."
"Has she done it before?"
"Once when I accidentally set my sister's bed on fire."
"Accidentally?"
"I swear."
Lightning crashes, close enough now that you can feel the vibrations; the sound is like a cannon in your ears. Pushing yourself out of the water, you clamber back toward your clothes. Ghost keeps his eyes on the horizon as you lift the dress, too ruined to put back on.
"Damn it," you mutter, "I'm going to have to run home in this."
"I thought you weren't going home?"
"Where else am I going to go in the middle of a storm? I'll just have to brave the whip. Unless you know somewhere I can hide for the night."
There's the sound of Ghost standing behind you; you're too busy trying to plot a way to make it home without anyone seeing you notice how close he is to you until he drips his cloak over your shoulders, heavy and warm. The smell of him envelops you.
"My mother is going to whip me if I come home in this," you mutter to yourself, pulling it around you - it pools at your feet, too long for you to hold up.
"Tell her you stole it," Ghost says, stepping around you, and for the first time, you see him without the cloak. Without the cloak, he seems larger, with a black tunic and pants, tucked into black boots. His mask, smeared with white ash, wraps around and covers everything but his eyes. The smell of him envelops you as you pull the hood of the cloak over your head to protect yourself from the coming rain.
"Yes, because that will make everything better."
You try not to stare at him as rain droplets start to fall, heavy and fat against the hood of the cloak. It feels almost intimate to see him like this, to see the distinct curves of his body, the way his tunic falls open, just slightly at the top.
"Anyway, I need to get home before the storm rolls in. Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Like before, he walks up the steep and slippery path before you. You follow, far enough behind that you can stare at him as he walks, committing his shape to memory. At the top, he leaves you and you watch him until he disappears into the darkness. The rain is heavy and fast when you finally turn back home. Your feet squeal in the mud as you walk, the bottom of the cloak becoming caked in it, your shoes held in your hands to save them from the mud.
The house is cold when you walk in - lighting thrashing in the background. You're met with silence; you step on the sturdy spots of the floor, trying to keep anyone from hearing you. It's dark and you have hope that everyone is asleep and you can clean up and slide into bed without anyone noticing. But that hope is dashed when you hear Mother's voice from the sitting room.
"You finally made it back."
Her voice is like swallowing a sliver of ice.
"Get in here."
You don't dare disobey - the half-veiled threat of the whip is barely hidden in her voice. You keep the cloak pulled tight around you as you step lightly into the room. She's still completely dressed - her hair so perfect there's not one flyaway. She doesn't look at you as you walk in, hesitating in the doorway. The light from the oil lamp bounces off of her.
When she finally looks at you, her eyes narrow, eyeing the cloak. Your heart picks up, wondering what she's going to say about it.
"Sit down."
You ease into the seat across from her, trying to keep the fact that you've left Maggie's dress behind. The silence grows pregnant by the second, until Mother leans across to you, a letter in her hand. She holds it out to you, shaking it when you don't take it. It's heavy in your hand, the parchment thicker than a usual letter.
"What is this?"
"Read it."
You unfold the parchment and read with growing horror. Each line is a nail inside a proverbial coffin.
"You can't be - how long have you had this?"
Mother doesn't look at you as she smoothes the invisible wrinkles in her skirt. She chooses each of her words carefully, biting them off in small chunks.
"I obviously can not stop you from sneaking off to wherever it is that you have been going at night, or stop you from seeing whoever you go see," her eyes linger at the opening of the cloak, a sliver of your underdress showing. "But I am tired of having you act like a child. Your sisters have no problem with following the rules around here - I don't know why you can't."
You try to interrupt her, but she holds her hand up to stop you.
"I contacted the covenant last year. They have a spot ready for you. I can send you today if you wish to be rid of here that badly. But I am tired of this. You made an embarrassment of all of us. By some grace, Jonathan is still willing to marry you; although it does make me question his judgment. You will marry him as soon as he gets back."
"Gets back? From where? When?"
"He is going on one of your father's boats on its trip. It leaves tomorrow evening - and should be back in six months. He was going to tell you that last night."
Your stomach rolls, and you feel like throwing up. She stands, and even though she's no taller than you, she seems like a giant at that time.
"I will not stop you from doing whatever it is that you do when you sneak out at night or stop you from seeing whoever it is. But I will send you away if I need to. In six months you will be a wife or you will be gone. And that is the end of this conversation."
She doesn't look at you as she sweeps out of the room. You can hear her walk up the stairs, and then the door of her bedroom slam shut.
You tread up the stairs lightly, listening for sounds of Lily or Maggie, but there are none. Your room is empty, the bed made up and everything swept away. You drop down to the end of the bed - completely frozen by the idea of being sent away to be locked up behind a habit.
Stiffly, you strip your clothes off. The wash basin water is ice cold, but it does good enough to rise the mud and ocean off of your skin - you know tomorrow it'll be hell to get the knots out of your hair, but that's not a problem you want to worry about right now.
The bed is cold without Lily in the bed, and the sound of the storm racks your nerves. You think of Ghost, walking in this storm to the edge of the village, and wonder if he's made it to safety. After a moment, you pull the cloak up, forgetting the mud at the bottom, and drape it over yourself, the smell of Ghost washing over you to lull you to sleep.
You're woken by the sunlight hitting your face and a banging at the door. Maggie bursts in, hair damp with a sour expression.
"Do you need to wash your hair? There's still warm water if you need it." She crosses the room and jerks Ghost's cloak off of you. "Where did you get this? It's disgusting."
"I stole it," your voice is thick with sleep, "and thank you for telling me."
"Well, I figured you would want to wash after being out last night?"
"Why are you saying it like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like I was out up to no good."
"Seriously? You came home without my dress and with a stranger's cloak. It has to be a man's, no woman in the village is this tall. I'm not stupid."
"I told you I stole it."
Maggie sighs, her wet hair leaving a small damp spot on her shoulder. Her hands wring at her skirt, wrinkling the material - something you know she's going to fret about later. She hesitates in the doorway and then crosses quickly to the end of the bed.
"You know last night-"
"Please don't start Maggie, I am not in the mood to hear you lecture me. In fact, I would appreciate it if you just kept it to yourself."
Maggie stares you down before turning on her heel and storming out. Your head is thick as you push yourself up to stand. A headache threatens the back of your eyes, a pressure that threatens to build throughout the day. There's a stale taste in your mouth that mixes with iron like you've bitten your cheek in your sleep.
You hear the general sounds of people downstairs, the heavy tread of your father's boots on the floor, and the sound of the front door slamming shut. You dress quickly, washing your hair until the ocean salt is gone.
Lily waits for you at the bottom of the stairs, twirling her hair around her fingers - a nervous habit no one has ever been able to break her of. You drop down beside her, pulling her hair from her fingers gently.
"You keep doing that and you're going to go bald."
"Where were you last night?"
You shrug dramatically, leaning back so that your elbows are supporting you.
"I got lost, and then I had to fight off a wild roving band of bears. That tore my dress, so I had to sneak into someone's backyard and steal their cloak from where it was drying. Then I got caught, so I had to run through the mud and rain home."
Lily giggles at you before her hands find her hair to tug on it again.
"You know everyone is mad at you."
"I do. As long as you're not, it doesn't matter."
"Mother is going to make you get a wedding dress this week. I heard her tell Father that we needed to take a trip to the seamstress."
You sigh, fingers tracing the worn wood grain of the steps. Years of your family tracing a passage up and down has written the story of the house: your grandfather, carrying your father downstairs in a wrapped bundle, your Mother so heavily pregnant that she needed a cane to walk, you and Maggie bashing your knees against the wood chasing your father, you carrying Lily up on your back when the sprained her ankle last spring. And in six months you'll be a memory to it.
"I figured she would do that soon. I look horrible in white. Maybe a nice black; I can always wear it again in mourning." You lean forward to look into the empty kitchen. "Where is everyone?"
"Maggie went out - I don't know where she didn't say. Father went to see his ship off, Mother went to the church. It's just me and you."
A plan hatches in your chest, radiating outward in the seconds of silence that come through the house. You stand, pulling Lily up with you.
"Come on. I have an idea."
***
"We shouldn't be here - we're going to get in trouble," Lily whines, one hand on the back of your skirt, the other holding a basket.
"No, we're not. If anyone sees us, what are we doing?"
"Looking for Danesblood and yarrow." She repeats back to you what you coached her to say before the two of you left.
"And why are we doing that?"
"Because you twisted your knee last night and you need to make an ointment for the pain."
"Right."
The two of you crouch in the thick underbrush across from Ghost's cabin - a building off-limits to everyone in the village save for the judge and the council. In the daylight it's small and unassuming, the slight smoke curl wafting from the chimney almost pastoral. You remember once when Father had to visit the old executioner, the day before an emergency execution to sign off on it with the other council members. He'd come back shaken and refused to speak about it.
"What are we even doing out here?" Lily asks, breath hot against your neck as you crouch down, scanning the road to the left and right to see if anyone is near.
"I need to return this cloak," you tell her, holding the neatly wrapped cloak in your hands. You'd quickly scrubbed it free of mud, pressing it to your face to breathe in the smell of Ghost before running downstairs to pull Lily into the street with you. She'd worried the entire time here, nettles snagging at your skirts as the two of you crept through the woods to keep from being seen.
"You stole it from him!" she squeaks, voice rising to a pitch only dogs can hear.
"Hush!" You chide, pressing one finger to your lip before turning back to the street. "And yes. I stole it right off his drying line. It was very brave."
"You're a liar!" Her voice rises a pitch.
"Just hush and stay here. Don't move no matter what."
"What if he kills you?"
"You can go home then."
You take a deep breath, gather your skirts in one hand, and dash across the road. At the door, you drop the cloak, knock on the door once, and turn on your heel to run. You can make out Lily's face, eyes pale as she peers in fear. You make it beside her, turning just in time to see the door shut.
"Do you think he saw me?" You ask Lily, breathless.
"I think he did. Do you think he'll tell anyone?"
You don't answer her, just pull her back towards the village. At the edge, the two of you pause before melding back into the streets. You grab her hand, pulling her towards the bustling market street to seem like you've been there for hours.
"Come on," you say, pulling her, "let's get home."
The walk is tense, the two of you expecting at any moment to get caught by someone who can feel what the two of you were just doing. But no one stops you as you walk - no one stops you as the two of you cross onto your street, no one-
The sound of your name stops you and Lily short. Behind you Maggie walks, a quick shuffle, her hair falling around her face. She strides towards the two of you; grabbing Lily's wrist she pulls her away from you and tries to tuck Lily behind her back.
"What were you up to?"
"Nothing, we-"
"Don't be a liar."
You've never thought about hitting Maggie, but at this moment, you think about shoving her down into the dirt. Maggie breathes hard through her nose, her grip on Lily's wrist bruising.
"Lily doesn't need you dragging her into the messes that you keep getting yourself into."
"Maggie I swear-"
You don't get any words out, your anger blistering as you watch Maggie drag Lily back towards the house. Lily looks over her shoulder at you, her eyes apologizing, her feet causing rivets in the dirt. You watch as the front door of the house swings shut.
****
That evening finds you on the pier, your feet dangling toward the water, a sense of freedom finally overtaking you for the day. Here with no one ignoring you or speaking to you as if you were simple, and no one in the village whispering about your engagement behind your back.
Boots hit the wood behind you, and you recognize the tread pattern. When he's close enough to you, he speaks.
"Not hiding in the cove tonight?"
"No - I figured that my mother is hell-bent on running my days and that I will do what I want with my nights." You turn towards him, expecting his normal cloak, but instead being met without it. He looms over you in his all-black attire, eyes shining around his mask.
"You know I returned your cloak today."
"I saw that, thank you. Does my presence scare you so much that you needed to run?"
You scoff, moving over so that he can come to stand beside you.
"No. But my little sister is terrified of you, and I didn't need to scare her by stopping to have a chat."
You push yourself to your feet, your head coming to Ghost's shoulder. You turn on your heel, heading back towards the shore - you turn to see Ghost still standing at the end of the pier, eyes cast towards the horizon.
"Are you going to stand there all night or would you like to go on a walk?"
It takes a moment, but he turns back towards you.
"A walk?"
"Yes. I'm not sitting on this uncomfortable pier all night long, and I don't feel like swimming tonight. I'm going on a walk - you're welcome to come with me if you wish."
Ghost catches up to you by the time you reach the end of the pier, falling into step beside you, hands clasped behind his back. The two of you stride back towards the main section of the village, window shutters closed tight on each house.
"You're not worried about being seen with me?" Ghosts ask as the two of you round a side street - shadows long and thick across the road.
"Who is there to see us? It's long past midnight. Everyone is asleep but us."
The sound of your feet on the hard ground reverbs off of the houses, the swish of your skirt, and the sound of his boots filling the air. The air is blistering, the moisture from the storm steaming in the night air.
"Do you intend to walk the streets every night?" Ghosts ask, voice deadpanned.
"Well, considering no one in my house is speaking to me and my mother is going to make me go to the seamstress for a wedding dress this week, I think the nighttime is the best time for me to be out."
"Seems like a waste of money since every dress you seem to own ends up covered in seawater and sand." You can't tell if he's teasing or not, but you cut your eyes at him anyway. You give a sarcastic laugh, clasping your hands behind your back in a pantomime of his posture.
"My mother is probably going to tie me up on the wedding day so that I can't leave the house. So you will just have to do without seeing me strip that dress off."
Ghost lets out an annoyed 'humph' that you can't help but smile at. Your feet carry you onto the main street - the execution platform ahead of you two. Your feet falter, Ghost pausing alongside you. Even in the dark of the night, the execution platform has a dark hue around it.
Ghost starts ahead of you, erasing any questions you have from the air. His spine is rigid, and you can sense his discomfort rolling in waves off of him. Neither of you speaks until the platform is behind the two of you.
"Do you ever sleep?" You finally ask as the two of you walk down the market street.
"Why does it matter?"
"Well, most people sleep at night?" You say as if you're explaining something to a small child.
"You're here with me."
"I sleep once I get home. But do you sleep?"
"Occasionally."
The conversation drops until your house looms in the distance. You stop at the front, Ghost pausing with her.
"This is where I stop for the night. I do need sleep after all."
Ghost doesn't speak, just stares down at you with blank eyes.
"I may see you tomorrow night. Goodnight."
You don't wait for him to say goodnight, but as the door shuts behind you, you swear you hear him whisper it.
tag list: @silverianni, @milfs4lifee, @koi-feish, @shirabeastly, @pookie90, @ghostlythots, @hearts4sky, @devcica, @crystalizedtime, @the-worlds-tempest, @myconglomerateromance, @elena-ph, @chaoticgoblindev, @pipocfamily, @canadianmilkbag, @caspertheassholeghost, @2512121morningstar, @glitterypirateduck, @elli0th3r, @clairdelunelove, @captainprice4life, @generaldestinychild
#my fics#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#ghost cod x reader#cod fanfic#ghost cod#cod#cod x reader#cod mw2#cod modern warfare#cod mwii#call of duty#mw2#modern warfare 2#call of duty modern warfare 2#call of duty modern warfare#modern warefare 2
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Earth42!Miles Morales x F!reader
Warnings: discussion, blood, anxiety, stress
Fluff, a bit of angst but fluff
Spoilers ahead (spider man across the spider verse)!!
You’re the spider woman of the reality E42, but your boyfriend is your worst enemy, The Prowler
Miles/Prowler POV!
My day started so perfect but now here I am, on the floor, my nose is bleeding, I can feel bruises around my chest, looking straight to her “eyes”, that spider women, I hate her, people call her spider cherry because of her smell and her dark red clothes…. She’s hypnotizing, the way she moves, I can badly defend myself.
- You will never win this fight! I’m the hero and you’re the villain, can’t you understand? Why do you keep trying so hard??!
Her voice, so familiar, my heart jumped a beat, I looked scared, behind that mask I hold my tears… my enemy… no… It can’t be.
I decide to run away, go back home fast as possible, I wore a coat to hide my Prowler suit, and the rest like the claws and the boots I hide it under the bed, and called her… Y/N… I need to talk to her
Y/N POV
After that strange battle against the prowler I felt weird, like something wasn’t right, when I arrived my bedroom my phone started to ring, the name on the screen *Papi 💍❤️*, but it’s 3am, why he’s awake?
I answer the call -Hii Babe what’s wrong?
- nothing serious mami I just… wanted to talk to you, can you come over?
- Sure, I’ll get there in 20 minutes, let me just pack a couple of clothes
- Ok Honey… see ya
- Byee babe
After packing a couple of comfortable clothes I run to Miles apartment, was dark, i knocked at his bedroom door, *get in*, I entered, his room was clean and very organized, probably Rio cleaned his room today, I can clearly smell his perfume, he was sitting on his window, looking dead in my eyes, even looking like he wanted to read my soul.
- So… are you going to tell me the truth?
- the truth? What are you talking about?
- you’re the spider women, aren’t you ?
I looked a him in disbelief, how? Since when?... years of hiding from your parents, your grandparents, your friends but now, he knows.
- Go on and explain to me when you had this stupid idea? Just because I spend a lot of time out?
- Take of your sweater, show me your arms, now!
If I show him my arms he’ll see the bruises from the last fight, I can’t handle that, the pressure filled my eyes with tears, I started to shake… Why is he doing this to me?
- Miles, please, understand, give time to explain…
- GO ON Y/N EXPLAIN THEN!! I’ve been giving you a lot of time… I gave you so much time that I don't even recognize you anymore
His voice, is shaking, he’s almost crying, all I can do is holding him in my arms very tightly, but I’m the one who’s crying now, that guilty is making my heart get even more heavy, that’s all my fault.
- Miles, don’t cry honey, please
- Y/N… please, don’t hide it from me, I want to take care of you, after my father’s death I have the duty to protect them, and you my dear, I can’t live without you…
I look up and I see him, his face, so beautiful but now he’s trying too hard to don’t cry, even his mouth is shaking holding the sobs, he hold my face with both of his hands, drying my tears with the thumbs.
- Bae… look in my eyes, I love you and that’s why I want you safe, promise to me that you’ll be careful, Please!
- I will, I promise
He leave the hug and close the window, the curtains too, the room gets darker, just a fine line of light coming from the door, suddenly, his clothes started to glow, that purple light….
- No… It can’t be…. You’re…
- Im the Prowler… I’m sorry but I can’t hide it anymore… I was planning to tell you, but I needed to know about you first
He takes off his jacket, that suit in black with metal pieces reflecting the purple neon, he looked down feeling shame, he kneeled on the floor, and then he hold your hand, very tightly
- Now… I know you’re confused and very mad at me, but understand, I had to do it, I need to protect you from this city, I wasn’t there to protect my father, but I am here and I can protect you my love.
I kneel to slowly pull his head up so he can look into my eyes, my eyes are soft and transmitting a comfortable look, I chuckle and place a kiss on his forehead.
- Babe, we can do this together, protecting each other and the others, and please forgive me for kicking your belly, I’m so sorry honey… And also, don’t cut my suit with that claws again, please
He smirk and place a cute kiss on my cheek, he hold me in his arms again placing his head on my shoulder smelling my floral perfume.
- let’s just hug and watch a movie, that’s the only thing I need by now, you, a blanket, a lot o pillows and cuddles. Please.
- Whatever you want honey, let’s take off these suits, by the way let me borrow your shirt again, I love your perfume, and they are comfy
He just open his wardrobe taking a huge shirt with a prowler graffiti drawn on it, but there was a bow on the shirt, like a gift
- I was planning to give you this, when I finally got brave enough to tell you all of this, so… did you liked it?
Your eyes just glowed, that neon painting looks amazing and smell like him, it’s a cotton shirt with a cute pink bow
- I loved it!!! That’s so amazing Miles!
- I am glad you liked it… ugh…
- What happened??
Miles fall on the floor holding his heart, her face shows a pain semblance, and you look scared to him.
- I am dying…. From cuteness, hahahahah
He start to laugh and your scared face turns into a grumpy stare, you felt worried but now all you want to do is slap him.
- Next time I’ll let you agonizing on the floor
He quickly get up and grab you, holding your body in the bride style.
{TIME SKIP}
Now it’s 05:30
Im lying on the couch with Miles on me holding my body while he sleeps, he feel asleep hours ago hearing my heartbeat, he’s snoring a bit, his mouth a bit opened, looks like a child sleeping, I start to skretch his hair trying to don’t undo his braids, I braided his hair almost 5 days ago and it looks untouched, he’s being very careful with my hard work.
Everything would be so more simple if we weren’t who we are, him being the Prowler and my boyfriend, me being the spider woman dating one of the most dangerous villains in New York, I wish we could spend all day like this, just sharing love… I love this boy… I can’t let anyone hurt him anymore, that’s a promise.
I receive a message from Ganke Lee, he’s my right hand, he send me a message about the prowler, I just ignored, I’ll keep the city a bit more safer keeping the “prowler” in my arms, I answered the message
Y/N
Don’t worry Ganke, I have everything under control 😉👌
I told the truth in the message he just don’t know how I’m handling it.
And I just went back to sleep with my lovely boy who has all my heart and devotion❤️
#miles morales#haunted fox hut#spoiler#smatsv#spider man across the spider verse#spider man across the spider verse one shot#miles morales x reader#cute#one shot#miles morales x female reader#spider man#x reader#miles morales earth 42#e42 miles#miles morales prowler#ganke lee#miles prower#prowler miles#miles morales my love#angst with a happy ending
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Serendipity
◦ First time really posting a NSFW. 2.1k words.
◦ Baizhu, m!reader, amab reader, naga Baizhu, bottom reader, top baizhu, dub-con, aphrodisiac, oviposition, monster fucking, double penetration
✕ Women / fem aligned / Minors DNI. You will be blocked.
A soft sigh escaped the man's lips at the feeling of cool water against his bare feet. His boots lay a few feet from the shore line, pants rolled up to his knees as he allowed himself to cool off a bit.
It felt nice, ignoring the stress that comes with the village and just.. Getting out once in a while. A breath of fresh air, the canopy of trees providing him a fair amount of shade even as the air around him still puts pressure on his lungs with the sheer thickness of it. Crouching for a short moment, he'd gather some water in his hands to splash over his face, shoulders slumping as he stood back up to his full height and made his way back over to where his boots lay in the grass.
Perhaps he should have done this sooner- escaped away from his family and the drama within his circle of friends. Just exploring the wilderness for a time and avoiding everyone in the process. It wasn't as though he planned on going too far after all, and he'd packed plenty of rations.. There shouldn't be any issues from what he can see.
Tugging his boots on, he'd continue on his trek, hoping to find something worth bringing back. Some months ago a trader had stopped by the small village he called home, speaking about large flowers that were useful for medical purposes, mainly numbing pain. Perhaps he could dry a few and bring them back as the medics are often without such things- only having general medicines traders bring into the town.
It could be of some use- surely. And with that in might he continued on, tightening his grip on the bag he had slung over his shoulder.
-
With the canopy above, it became more difficult to distinguish what time it was exactly- and lead to things appearing dark much quicker than they should be.
Blinking, the man grumbled as he stopped by one of the massive trees in the area. "This will have to do.."
His bag dropped to the ground as he got to work clearing out a space to set up his tent and sleeping bag, using the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow.
There was a presence.. He could feel it. It was as though it were boring into his very soul, making his skin crawl and having him glance over his shoulder only to find nothing was there.
It was a strange, unsettling feeling. He didn't like it in the slightest- especially when he planned to sleep. The idea of something stalking about, watching as he slept and potentially attacking put him on high alert. Perhaps.. Perhaps he should try to move on anyway, quietly pick his way along and get some rest in the morning so whatever was watching him might move along by then.
Or maybe.. Laying in wait was a better option, allow himself some rest. Even if it was lurking about, he'd just have to make sure he didn't fall asleep..
Or was he just paranoid? It was certainly a possibility. With all the stress that had been building up lately it certainly wasn't out of the question. Perhaps.. Yes, that had to be it. It was all just the stress he had been dealing with.. And now it was haunting him in the moment of peace he had found. He could sleep.. He'd be fine.
Golden orbs stared down at the man who shuffled about, preparing some sort of shelter to hide away in.. It would do good for the weather.. sure, but it wouldn't stop the prying eyes of the naga. After all, it just meant having his prey unable to run away too far.
This prey however.. It didn't enter the tent after setting it up, it simply sat near it, gazing about. Ahh.. Of course- it wasn't oblivious was it? It knew he was here.. Watching, waiting for the opportunity to leap.
-
As morning came, the traveler found himself much more drowsy than he had planned- and with a pair of eyes still glued to his form. It might not have been the best idea to stay up as long as he did, gazing at the patches of sunlight that managed to touch the earth despite the trees that tried to block it all out.
After managing to stuff everything back into his bag, he trudged on. Perhaps he should have tried to sleep, at least a little. It may not have been the best idea though, perhaps whatever was stalking him awaited for him to fall unconscious to strike- and it very may well be the only reason he was able to press on.
Not too long as he started walking again, he found himself frozen in his tracks. Around a tree wrapped thick vines, large flowers with a sunset-esqe gradient spread open- as through proud to be viewed and seeking attention. It was far from the most colorful thing the man had seen.. But it certainly matched the description the trader had spoken of all those months ago.
A tentative hand reached out, brushing against the petals. They seemed to recoil in response to his touch however, a plume of what appeared to be pollen being spat out at him in retaliation.
Coughing, the man staggered back, eyes closed and waving his hand in front of his face in an effort to not breathe in too much of it.
A sharp gaze took notice of this however, grinning with fangs that poked at his bottom lip when he did so. Was the human stupid? Perhaps- it was always a possibility.. Or maybe.. The pathetic creature knew.. And was actively giving itself over to him.
White scales covered the appendage that was wrapped around the thick branches from above, moving silently through the trees as he grew nearer and nearer to the human who's breath began to grow heavy in response to the aphrodisiac he'd inhaled, whining.. All nice and pretty sounds for the naga.
"Ah ah ah.. Don't breathe in too much.. No no.. That won't be any good now will it? You'll get too overwhelmed if you do that~" Looking to the side, the human found a man- well.. Half of one. The lower body was that of a snake, pristine white scales reflecting any light that touched them, amber orbs staring into his own and long green hair held back loosely behind him.
Y/n's eyes widened at the sight- this had to be what's been following him- staring into his soul and keeping him from sleeping. The naga drew closer to him, grinning as soon the man found the thick appendage that was the creature's tail wrapping around him- trapping him in place.
"You won't need your supplies.. I'll keep you warm.. As warm as I can.." With that, the human felt teeth digging into the junction between his shoulder and his neck. A sharp inhale came from the human, clenching his jaw as he felt his pants grow tighter. It hadn't been an issue this whole time- the plant.. The pollen- It was the only explanation he had- And now this.. thing clearly wanted a piece of him.. Or several for all he knew.
"I'm- I'm not.." Y/n struggled to get any words out, staring up at the canopy that shielded him from the sun- yet trapped him with this strange creature. He'd heard rumors from travelers before- but never did he expect he himself, would find such a creature.
"Shh.. Don't concern yourself with anything.. You'll be just fine.. Holding my eggs to keep them nice and warm for me~ I've a population to rebuild afterall.. And you'd be such a perfect mate now wouldn't you?"
Panic. Fear. It all bubbled up at once, though it was being drowned out just as quickly as it arose. Struggling to find some form of friction for his growing problem- be that against the scales of the one who had him trapped in such a situation- or with his own legs- it didn't matter. He was beginning to grow desperate now as a low whine escaped his lips.
This only seemed to egg on the naga, taking Y/n away from where he had been camping. It didn't take too long- though it felt like ages for the pair with the human wriggling around in search of any form of relief while being drug away into a cave. He didn't have any appreciation for the sparse decoration- the medical herbs and the furs on the ground.. That or the human didn't care enough to notice- rutting his hips against the snow-white scales to the best of his ability while being restrained. "I can't-.. Too much.. Hurts..!"
He found himself being lowered onto a bundle of furs as the words escaped him- the moment the scaly appendage released him his hand moved down between his thighs- face flushed as he searched for something to quell his desires.
"It'll be alright darling~ I'll fill you up so nicely, you'll never have to feel empty again~" The words of the naga didn't seem to ease Y/n's struggle however, only leaving him to whine out that much more. With a chuckle, a pair of hands found themselves tearing at the human's clothing- tossing the unnecessary material off to the side as he stared down at the sight before him.
"Something-.. Do something.." Y/n's voice rang out, squirming before a pair of hands gripped his hips to keep him in place.
"I will.. Oh trust me I will.. Remember something for me.. Baizhu.. I want to hear you scream my name." Two fingers dipped down, breaching the human's entrance without hesitation. It was a strange sensation- the sudden- and unexpected stretch leaving the man to squirm about, mouth hanging open as he stared up at the cave ceiling. The heat of the area was suffocating as he felt the long, thin fingers wriggle inside of him, opening him up in preparation for what was to come. "You'll be good for me.. Right? A good mate for me.. Holding my eggs and keeping them nice and warm.."
The remaining hand on Y/n's hip moved to press against his stomach where Baizhu looked upon fondly. "S-stop.. Teasing me.. Please..?" It was almost pathetic- And Baizhu would voice the thought as he pulled his fingers away, moving his hands to hold the backs of Y/n's thighs- pressing his knees to his chest as he shifted closer.
"Alright.. But just remember you wanted this~ And you're taking them both~" He didn't waste any more time, shoving both cocks inside the human with one thrust. It was a tight fit, leaving him groaning as the human jerked about, overwhelmed by the feeling of so much inside him. "Breathe now.. Can't have you getting too into things.." Baizhu attempted to soothe, keeping still inside Y/n as he let the man adjust. It took a few moments- but the moment the human started squirming again in hopes to feel something Baizhu set a pushing pace- balls slapping against Y/n's ass as the man started letting out whimpers.
It was too much- it was all too much. A coil tightened in the human's stomach- if he wasn't in pain earlier from how turned on he was- he definitely was now. He was experiencing too much, and he knew it. The coil snapped- much sooner than it would have in a normal situation- and with Baizhu continuing to plow into him it left the man crying out.
"Bai-? Baizhuu--! Hah- Too much! Please! Too much!" Tears started to stream down his face when he felt a hand release one of his thighs and move down to his cock, jerking it off in time with his thrusts as cum still spurted out of the tip.
"No! No no-.. Please no-! Ah- hah!" Y/n found himself thrashing about with the overwhelming sensations of it all- his dick refusing to soften on him with the constant stimulation.
"You.. Hnn.. Asked for this~" Came the reply from Baizhu, who seemed far too eager to torment the human below him with pleasure. It didn't take long to coax yet another orgasm out of the man, the tightness around Baizhu leaving him to struggle in fending off his own impending orgasm.
The fight itself didn't last long, groaning as he released inside of the man who squirmed at the feeling of hot fluid filling his insides.
That wasn't it though- as he felt something.. Much more solid making its home inside of him. Whining, Y/n's squirming only worsened, leaving Baizhu to pin his hips to the furs below him.
"Ah ah ah.. I told you.. You'll be keeping my eggs warm darling.. And I've got all season to breed you until your as full as can be~"
#genshin#genshin impact#male reader#x male reader#genshin x male reader#baizhu#baizhu genshin#baizhu genshin impact#baizhu x male reader#m reader#x m reader
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Any headcanons for Wolfwren?
this turned into a whole thing but such is my right <3
///
Shin lets Sabine paint her meditation room on the ship, says “whatever” when Sabine asks for a color scheme but sits there pretending to meditate as the painting happens.
Hair turning shades of other colors, breath rasping through a protective mask as she pretends to ignore Sabine's work.
Canisters of paint lined up for her to trip over at the door.
Shin keeps her eyes closed - she meditates - touching the odd, oily, burning surface of her indistinct region of the Force. A landscape of light and dark behind her eyes.
Anger and peace balanced against the sound of a name in her mouth, against Baylan’s death and the girl who picked her up after it, who told her to run when they both had nothing to run toward.
“Not green”
Shin listens to the squeak of Sabine’s boots on the wet floor as she about-faces to find Shin with her head tipped back, eyes still closed, the ghost of a sneer on her mouth. Sabine calls it her default expression, but Shin doesn’t think she’s bothered by it.
She kisses her often enough, despite. despite.
Shin can sense her, of course. picked out clean by the Force. Wearing her armor even though they’re out in the middle of nowhere, drifting in space.
When it’s quiet (and Sabine rarely allows it to be quiet) Shin can hear the dings of tiny rocks against the hull, so small that they don’t register with the shields that protect against space debris.
Odd, how a small thing can slip into your life. Strange how it can become so large when cupped in your palm.
“Why no green?”
Shin dips her head, rolls her shoulders. Pretends that the movement is just meditation and not hiding.
“Elsbeth,” she says. Always a thing - woman, Sith - of few words.
How to say that green makes her want to lay down next to his body again? That she can still feel the putter of his life slipping out through the wounds in his body?
She can still feel the hands that lifted her up for no good reason and carried her to safety.
“Okay.” Sabine nods, her face fixed with that stubborn look she gets around jars neither of them can open. The sound of painting replaces the sound of Shin loving her just a little more than she did before.
///
Shin likes brighter shades of red; arterial, like a splash of blood on white. Or the orange hue that hid inside her saber.
She likes purples, browns, pinks; not for herself but on Sabine, on the ship, their ship. The wings, for example, are outlined in pink.
A color that means “we’re home” and “i’m sorry I did all that. things I can't even speak aloud.”
The purple-red of Seatos; a wound with bruised edges and that bitter blue-gray ocean. The stones slicked with salt.
When Sabine asked to paint for her, she’d thought it would be the usual thing. Just a color on the walls. But then she saw the practice sketches spread over the table, Sabine gathering them up hastily when Shin walked inside.
She's never sure what to expect from Sabine. Taken off guard by that first kiss, the hands so gentle-sore on the neck of her shirt dragging her down, down.
Baylan used to test her reflexes by dropping things behind a cloak. A black expanse of fabric that he strung up in the hallway on the old battered ship they spun through the space together.
He'd drop things behind the cloak to see if she could sense them and catch them before they fell.
Usually just metal spheres, but sometimes he’d drop candies and her hand would arrive back to her with a sugar-stickiness in it. Baylan rarely gave praise, but they were both silent creatures about care anyway and it was okay and it was fine and it was sometimes sweet.
Shin making him a cup of caf in the early morning because she never slept, could never hold onto sleep. Torn up by nightmares or worse, memories. The caf machine made a sound that felt like home, and Baylan would nod when she passed him a cup.
The family of him was quiet, vanishing. Just a wayward pat on her helmeted head when she came back from a trip through an asteroid belt in her fighter.
When she grew up, he gave her the cloak. It was too big for her, but warm.
There were days when he got sad and did nothing but stare out the viewport into space. Shin hated those days, jogging by herself on the lower deck. Practicing her lightsaber forms alone.
It helped sometimes to prod him back to life with a question, but not always.
Don’t describe it as empty, he’d snapped one day when she stole up beside him to ask why he was staring out at nothing.
Shin with a scowl. I said ‘nothing’; not empty
And there’s a difference?
She shrugged her scrawny shoulders in the sweater she had that was more darned than not, by then. They so rarely stopped in port and when they did shin wanted books, not clothes.
She knew that there was a difference between nothingness and emptiness.
She was nothing, for example, but full of blood and dreams and facts from old books.
Shin only shook her head, padawan braid short and knocking at her neck.
No, master.
When Sabine asked, Shin told her color didn’t matter to her. It was just another thing.
Another distraction, she’d explained, gnawing on a piece of bread while Sabine cooked some sort of protein scramble made with algae. It came out blue and rubbery and delicious.
“What about your fighter? The one you flew over Seatos.”
“From that time I tried to kill you?”
Sabine’s shoulders shook with laughter. Her armor was very beautiful.
She half-turned to show the profile of her face and Shin almost choked on a mouthful of bread.
“Yes, Shin. I almost blew all of you guys to pieces.” She frowned, “If Ahsoka hadn’t deleted my presets.”
“I borrowed that ship.”
“Really?” Sabine turned, skillet in hand, already spilling blue algae onto the floor.
Shin flexed her fingers and the handle floated free of Sabine’s grip. “Let me do that.”
And Sabine let her.
“So, you didn’t borrow that particular ship for any reason? It was just… random chance?”
Shin sighed, stabbed at her food. “I-I liked the yellow parts. At the front.”
That drew a triumphant smile from Sabine, undermined by the scab on her lower lip where Shin bit it open last night.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
She does. No greens once Shin mentions it. Instead, Sabine paints the red trees from Seatos. The suggestion of the pale grasslands on Lothal with a cat crouched inside, the tips of its ears visible.
There is no point in mentioning, Shin thinks as she watches the scene unfold, that she loves those cats. Tried to pet the wild ones on Lothal and came away with bleeding fingers, grinning under the cowl of her hood.
Sabine paints little fighters against a black sky, picked out in yellow and blue and red and orange. Stars among them.
The pretense at meditation gives up on her halfway through and Shin just watches through a paper-thin shield of Force as Sabine works.
The colors from her spray canisters fetch up against the shield like waves dancing over the surface.
When they’re done, Sabine is wet with paint and wild with glee as she drags Shin out into the hall. Smears Shin’s cheek with paint as she pulls her mask away from her mouth.
“There, now you can brood in style.”
“It’s not-” she starts, but Sabine stops her with a kiss.
Sabine has always been able to stop her, hands leaving lines and smudges and fingerprints of color on Shin's face, her neck, her hips.
“I love you,” Sabine says when she pulls away. She's very good at saying that now, though it took her a while.
Shin tries to duck her head, but finds Sabine's hand stopping her. Her breath falls out of her, ghosting over that palm.
Love, like trying to catch what you can’t see; what is too close and too bright to anticipate.
Shin’s voice is faint, but it’s not empty and it’s not nothing as she says, “Okay then. I love you too.”
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see me bare my teeth for you
i know i'm not the only one who thought it was incredibly stupid to let the amoral vampire twink stick his teeth in your neck, so i thought i'd do a rewrite of the bite scene with a Tav who doesn't have the self-preservation instincts of a ham sandwich~
The tiefling’s eyes burn like embers in the dark, and set deeply in the ashen-grey of his skin painted blue-black by the night’s shadows, he looks very much like a vengeful spirit risen from his grave to smite those who wronged him in his life.
But Astarion is hungry.
And now his face hurts, to boot. He didn’t expect the big devil-spawn to be able to move so damned quickly.
But, well, sore jaw or no, the cat’s out of the bag, so he has no choice but to resort to his usual means of survival, however much it rankles–he grovels. He simpers and plays up the pitiful creature, weak from hunger, with all the best puppy eyes he can muster, pouty and sweet.
The tiefling–Pyre–he’s a veteran soldier, with the discipline and strategic mind to match. Astarion watches those glowing ember eyes as they take him in, flickering over him top to bottom, as if ascertaining what sort of threat he is, and how quickly he could eliminate that threat. He hasn’t even bothered to stand up, still sitting on his bedroll, not quite relaxed but as close as he ever seems to be. He doesn’t seem to be so paranoid as to sleep in his armor, but his massive broadsword is lying conspicuously close to his hand. Astarion curses that he didn’t have the foresight to kick it away before he tried to snack on the big bastard.
He wants to snarl, but he hides his fangs the best he can, however much his stomach protests, however much he wants to sink them into the brute’s stony flesh and feed.
“You tried to bite me,” Pyre rumbles, and finally something in his expression shifts with the slight quirk of one scarred brow. Astarion follows the line of the scar down over his cheekbone, narrowly missing his eye. It is one of many. The man’s face and–as one can only assume–his body are mapped with scars, wicked blade slashes and puckered burns and jagged claw gouges. A lifetime of battles fought carved into his skin like a mountain battered by storms. Still standing, against it all. “How can I trust you?”
“Because we don’t have a choice!” the vampire retorts, with perhaps more desperation than he’d ever care to admit. “Not if we’re going to save ourselves from these worms…” He flails his hand a bit, looking at the ground between the tiefling’s splayed legs and staunchly not at his damnably expressionless face, his burning ochre eyes. From what little he knows of Pyre, he is a man of action. Of practicality. Of making necessary decisions with what little they have. Astarion is an asset to the tiefling, same as the tiefling is to him. “I need you alive. You need me strong.”
He meets Pyre’s eyes again, and he almost regrets it. The heat of them settles deep in his belly, making him feel unsettlingly warm and… seen. “Please,” he ekes out, refusing to be consumed. He does the consuming, thank you very much. “Only a taste, I swear. I’ll be well, you’ll be fine, and everything can go back to normal.” It’s all he’s got. He’s already weak. For all his bravado, if Pyre decided to attack him now, he’s not entirely sure of what sort of fight he’d be able to put up.
Pyre is implacable, his expression as blank and unmoving as a grey cliff face from which he seems to have been hewn. He looks to be completely immune to Astarion’s game.
The vampire tenses, preparing for a fight.
There’s a long moment of silence, and in it Astarion swears can hear every pulse of the stolen blood he does have coursing sluggishly through his corpse-cold body.
The mountain of a tiefling shifts. His gaze does not falter. But he nods, once. “Fine,” he rasps, and Astarion will never quite be over how strangely soft his voice is. “But not a drop more than you need.”
“Really?” He reels back, surprised, almost sure the man would either send him on his merry way to fumble through the underbrush until he stumbled across a sickly deer, or put him out of his misery then and there. “I-” He’s certainly not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, however. He smooths his expression, reigns in his untoward eagerness.“Of course. Not one drop more.”
And then they stare at each other, for a beat, then two. Astarion standing, Pyre sitting up, watching him, eyebrows slightly raised and the dim firelight flickering across the contours of his damnably blank face.
“I… Wouldn’t be easier if you…” Astarion purses his lips, eyes flicking up briefly and then back down again. He gestures awkwardly to the rumpled bedroll. “Had a bit of a lie-down?”
“You’re not touching my neck,” Pyre says simply. His gambeson’s high collar is very firmly buttoned. To be quite honest, Astarion’s not sure how he thought to get past it without either waking the tiefling trying to get it out of the way, or gnawing through a mouthful of wool. Before Astarion can ask what he’s meant to do, then, Pyre extends a hand. Without his gauntlets, it is as callused and scarred as one would imagine of a veteran swordsman. His nails are thick and black and look as if they have been filed down to utilitarian dullness from naturally sharp points. He turns his hand palm-up, unbuttoning the cuff of his sleeve and pushing it over the swell of his muscular forearm. There, a prominent vein snakes through the tough grey flesh, pulsing temptingly at the thin, vulnerable skin of his wrist. There are scars there, too, but older. Faded to a dull white. Neat lines in a row almost up to the elbow.
Astarion drops to his knees with a pout. “Alright, alright. Ruining my fun…”
“The blood is all the same,” Pyre says flatly, “Don’t complain about where it comes from.”
“Fine,” the vampire huffs, taking the proffered arm gently. As he draws the wrist in, saliva pooling in his mouth the closer that tantalizing vein comes to his teeth, he feels Pyre’s other hand at his shoulder. He freezes when it shifts, and strong, scarred fingers curl firmly around his throat.
His eyes flicker up to meet Pyre’s, staring at him with a coolness that belies their fiery hue. The fingers flex, but don’t squeeze.
“An assurance for me,” the tiefling rumbles, the grim line of his lips firm and implacable, jaw squared. “And a reminder for you.”
He’s not sure what he expected of his first time feeding from a thinking creature, but the reality is… more than he could have imagined.
It’s nothing short of rapturous.
There’s a squirmy weight of anticipation in his belly that sinks deep, and before he can make even more of a fool of himself, Astarion sinks his teeth into the tender skin, and a gush of dazzling heat floods his mouth. He almost moans at the taste. Almost. It feels almost too hot, like it’s going to leave his mouth feeling numb and tender, the skin peeling. And so rich. He drinks, and drinks, and drinks, wanting to lose himself in the taste, the heat of it, and never stop drinking until there’s nothing left, but he can feel the weight of Pyre’s hand around his throat every time he swallows, his thumb against his pulse, can feel yet more heat radiating from the man’s stout body, not touching his beyond the necessary points of contact, but still so close.
He takes another long, languorous pull, eyes rolling back, and when he swallows the hand on his throat squeezes hard, and he jerks away, blood rolling down his chin.
For a moment, he sits there gasping and dazed, staring wide-eyed up at Pyre, who has him by the neck. His own hand rises almost of its own accord, trembling, to his lips, fingers hungrily pushing the stray droplets of blood into his mouth, eyelids fluttering with bliss. He does moan then, and Pyre jerks his hand away, as if he’s the one who’s been burned. As if he’s the one with a burgeoning, blistering heat working its way from his belly to his extremities until his fingertips are tingling with it.
Astarion licks his fingers shamelessly, and the scalding weight of those eyes doesn’t feel quite so stifling now that he’s full of warmth. “Apologies,” he pants around the finger in his mouth, “I was just… swept up in the moment. He stumbles to his feet, head light and floaty and bright with the fresh blood slowly working its way through his body, waking it up. “But it worked!. I feel good. Strong. Happy!” He offers a mocking little bow.
Once again, Pyre looks at him as if nothing untoward has occurred between them, even as he pulls a ragged scrap of fabric that might have once been a piece of an old shirt from his pocket and wads it up to press over the wound in his wrist. He doesn’t offer any response.
“I didn’t kill you, did I? That’s what matters.” Astarion happily chatters in his stead, rushing with newfound energy, feeling as if he could take on the world. A part of him (perhaps several parts of him) are struck by the urge that he could pounce on the tiefling now, and have a fairly good shot of taking him down. Astarion would be out a powerful ally, but oh, what a meal he’d be…
He shakes himself and beams, hands on his hips. “And look what you’ve gained! Together, we can take on the world!”
Finally, finally, Pyre cracks something that could almost be called a smile. Just a slight twist of the mouth, a touch wry, and he lowers his heavy lids a bit more. “I hope so,” he almost chuckles. “I look forward to seeing you fight.”
“Shouldn’t take long,” Astarion chirps, delighted. “So many people need killing.” He offers another stilted little half-bow. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more… filling.”
And he turns on heel and struts out of the circle of the fire, off towards the woods. There’s a swagger in his step. He feels ready for anything. But he stops, and turns back slightly, the weight of those eyes fair burning a hole through his doublet. “This is a gift, you know,” he offers. “I won’t forget it.” And then off he goes, disappearing into the trees, and only when he is certain Pyre can no longer see him does he lean heavily against the trunk of a nearby tree until he can convince his damned knees to stop trembling. He raises a hand slowly, and brushes his fingers against his own throat, eyes closing and exhaling a shaky sigh.
#baldur's gate#baldur's gate 3#bg3#astarion#bg3 astarion#pidge writes#oc: pyre#pyre is a 'tiefling' on paper but in reality! he's a cambion <3#i love him dearly#also yeah i have not played the game and i will not be able to for a while#but that's never stopped me lmao#uuuh ask to tag ig?#special skill: giving vampires a crisis#i think you're a bit touch-starved mate#unprompted#been sitting on this since early access and finally decided to throw it out there yeehaw
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Legolas x reader
Word count: 1900
Request (that i took way to long to start) for @jaimelamour
- archery practice with Legolas!! cute light-hearted drabble idea:)) reader/legolas getting flustered at the close proximity, fumbling hands, the Pining!!,,,,this idea is so cliche but sooo cute
(Also, I again borrowed a charactor from @sotwk go check out Naneth' s stuff, its truly amazing)
This was not a good idea. This was an awful idea. This was absurd. Who even thought of this?
Ah, yes. Of course.
Honestly sometimes you wish you could pull a Merriadoc and get kidnapped by a tree, just so you could stop making such rediculouse decisions.
A voice calling your name pulls you from your thoughts, leaving a smile to settle at the sight of Sam infront of you. He holds a plate of creamy looking... Something. "Hello Sam, what is it that smells so delightful?"
"Why it's scalloped potatoes Mx. Y/n." He blushes a bit at the compliment, an endearing sight, and one which fills you with a strange feeling of mixed mourning and hope. "I was going to see if you would like some?"
Grining you give him your permission to load up your plate, realizing to late that he is still more accustomed to feeding those with Hobbiton appetite, and you've now got more of the spuds than you could ever manage eat. Still, nothing Samwise has ever cooked could be turned down, and you dig in.
The hardonic taste of garlic, onion, and somthing else that you can't place, bloom on your tounge, sharply reminding you of the lack of prior meal. "Mister Gamgee, you have my heart, soul, sword, and boots. Stake my life on it, this is the most superb meal I've ever had the pleasure to taste!"
Sam shuffles his feet, embarrassed by the kind words. "You can keep your boots please -nasty foot prisons really- tis hardly a meal. I only made enough for appetizers." He nods politly to someone behind you before scurrying off.
You scoop up another fork full the the food, letting out a small moan of appreciation. "Whomever is behind me can take a seat, I dont bite."
A strangely pink faced Legolas sits oposit you, a small smirk as he speaks, "I know for a fact that your words are false, I need not elven eyes to have noticed the sizable chunk you tore from one orc."
"That doesn't count." At his humorously disbelieving facial expression you shrug. "Fine then, I promise I don't usually bite pretty princesses. Better?"
His only response is a small laugh. "May I purloin some of your potatoes?" You nod, and after a short search you find an extra fork, though not another plate.
His eyes light up in delight when he takes a bite and you smile, staring a bit to long for it to be considered entierly friendly, though thankfully he seems not to notice.
"So... Did you come only to steal my food, or did you have an alternate motive?" Legolas blinks, looking at thr plate with a guilty expression that you wave away.
Shaking his head he answers. "I was intending to ask if you wished to start your lesson, but did not wish to interupt your mealtime."
The mental This Is Still A Bad Idea reminder goes off, but the Prince's hopeful expression is more than enough to hit snooze.
"You're not interrupting, truthfully I was jot even planning on eating before Sam brought these to me. He is truly to sweet for his own good." Your eyes are on the plate before you, so you do not see the crease that apears between Legolas' eyes.
"If you are willing, I have found a suitable range at which to practice, as well as a bow that I believe with suit your draw strength."
"What I can't use your's?" You tease, looking up in time to see a strange flicker in your friend's -for this is what he is, no more- eyes. It is gone almost as quickly as it came, and you do not dwell on it.
"I- I would allow you, of course, but the bows of Lothlórien are meamt for a more expirianced-"
You raise and eyebrow, mouth firmly set into a line so as not to laugh. "Are you saying I am week my prince? If that is the case, I beg you simply get to the point." His eyes are (beautiful, how are eyes allowed to be so-) immediately blown wide, as he turns an interesting shade of sunkissed rose gold.
The blush extends all the way to the tips of his ears, and you have the strangest urge to trace the path of pink with your fingertips. Instead you interupt his sooft panicking, "I was joking, Legolas, I understand that you know much more about your weapon than I can ever hope to, and I trust you completely."
Legolas nods and a small smile appears. "I hold your trust as my most valued prize from this terrible war, I know it is hard won."
His gaze holds yours steadily, so you shoce a bite of potato in your mouth before you do something stupid, like kissing the Prince of Greenwood.
Not long after, you stand at the entrance to a long rectangular courtyard. This is going to be fun, you tell yourself. You're going to learn things, and shoot a bow, amd stop waching Legolas so closely.
Knowing full well that at least half of your thoughts were empty of any hope, you step in to meet the resident blond elf. And for the love of the green lady, does he have to be so perfect? The light of the afternoon sun glints off of his hair, making it look as if it glows, while accepting his figure at the same time. He holds a bow that is smaller than his usual choice, runing his hand along the wood, appraising.
He gestures for you to come closer, which you do of course. You would go spelunking in the ruin of Isengaurd is he asked you to.
"That's where we'll start, if that is okay?"
For a terrifying second, you fear that you've spoken alloud, and this only slightly fades whem you realize that he's been speaking for a time already.
Mentaly shaking yourself, you nod, pleading with your inner monolouge to be quiet and let you focouse. Shockingly, it does not comply.
Legolas shows you the beginner stance, which feels slightly odd after your sword training, but you catch on pretty quickly. The proximity of Legolas to yourself is nonexistent, and there are more than one instances which almost convince you that he is deliberately trying to fluster you.
When he shows you the apropriate hold on the bow, his hands ghost over your own, positioning them to perfection, and nearly causing you to drop the weapon. He steps back after telling you to draw the bow, but cautioning against sharply relising the string, as there is no arrow and it would split the wood.
Legolas nods, satisfied when you slowly relieve pressure from the string. He pauses a moment, seeming unsure, so you tilt you head in silent question. Eyes trailing over your arms, which are bared against the day's bright heat.
"You do not have you vambraces?" The question is more of an acknowledgment, but you incline your head in response regardless. In a second I unties the leather string holding his own in place, loosening then just enough to slide from his forearms.
Avert you eyes spawn of chicken, your brain reminds you.
After pulling both of the simple deep brown articles off he looks at you, raised eyebrow, and gestures for your arm. You hold the bow in one hand, and with nowhere to put it, you extend the other for Legolas.
The leather is warm still from his skin as it slides against your skin, and to prevent a shudder, you say; "You dont have to give me these you know, I'd be fine."
Legolas smiles, softly as always. "Fine perhaps, but few deserve pain, least of all perfection, and if I am in a position to keep you from it I will." The ernesty in his voice suprised you, and you feel a red cross your face, not caused by the heat.
"What do these markings mean?" Legolas' hands still for a breath, freezing from the tightening of laces. Quickly you stumble back from your words. "I do not wish to pry, please forgive-"
"No!" He shakes his head, and the tears in his eyes send a flash of guilt through you. "Please do not apologize. Some of them are mearly ornamentalb but this one," he is tracing an indent. "Is the mark of my... Teacher." Drawing a breath he whispers a name. "Gelir"
You let the silence stretch out, before; "I'm sorry for your loss, was he your..."
Legolas looks up with alarm, and surprisingly, a laugh. "No, Gelir was my brother, and the finest hand with a bow or beast to ever walk the natural earth."
On impulse, you reach out, placing a hand on his cheek. "I feel quite treble now, and not a little embarrassed. Is there anything I can do?"
His smile has returned, and you are glad for it. "I will tell you if I think of anything."
Pulling the second knot tight, Legolas releases your arm, something you are both relived for, and dissapointed. "Now I get to shoot right?" When he nods you take up your position.
Arrow fitted to the string you exhale as you release, frowning when it misses the target entirely. Suddenly there is a presance at your back, shifting your feet slightly, and repositioning your arms.
Legolas remains against you, hands on yours as you draw back again, this time hitting near center.
You turn excitedly to him, foot twisting in the process on an unforseen length of rope that lies half buried in the ground. Legolas catches you before you can fall, and for a brief moment you think he is about to kiss you. But he helps you back to your feet, smirking all the while.
"Of course I fall. This must be a murder attempt." You grump, pleased when he laughs quietly.
"What's this?" You glance to the ground noticing a glint of dark green. You bend down to retrieve it, only to feel you head make contact with another.
Legolas let's out a hissing noise, and the stone is gone from your thoughts. "Legolas?"
"I am fine, though it seems you have caught me."
And you have, as his hair is tangled around the pin on your shoulder. You look to his face, "Only after I fell for you."
His eyes widen, though he makes no sighn of discomfort. "Here is your stone"
You shake your head quickly. "I should like you to keep it, if you will."
Legolas tilts his head to the side. "My best friend married a dwarf, I know what this is."
You tilt your chin defiantly. "Good."
His face is still blank as you reath sharply. "I think I know what you can do for me."
Meet inches away from him you ask, "And what would that be my prince?"
Without a word he closes the gap, kissing you with far more zeel than you could have expected. The hand you'd earlier placed on his cheek now finds it's way to his neck, holding him close when you lips disconnect.
Forhead rested against his, you close his still open hand around the leaf shaped emerald. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me now."
"Well yes," he agrees. "My hair is still caught on your broach."
#legolas#legolas x reader#my fic#mentions of#tauriel x kili#lotr#lord of the rings#writing#post war of the ring
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Context: So ages ago I ran a game in one of my custom worlds. It was a False Hydra game. Kept the players in the dark about it. Along the way I had kept some light notes pointing out bits here and there I felt were important. These eventually made it to the scene I am going to describe below.
As you walk along the town, the ropes tied around your waist. However everyone alive hear and feel the rope snap and sounds of heavy slapping. Along with the distinct chink of something small bouncing on the cobblestones.
Party starts to immediately asking who died, who they don't remember anymore. I calmly tell them that they are fine. Except the druid. I hear an exasperated groan from the player thinking he died since he was at the end of the rope. I tell him no, his character is still alive and as he looks back. He see's another length of rope behind him that wasn't there before. Leading to a mess of half-eaten green skin, bright armor and a book covered in blood on the ground.
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Upon looking at the journal. They found this in the book. It's a bit lengthy.
1994 DR, 14th of Midwinter’s Torment
The adventurer’s guild has tasked us again. We are holding out a campaign against some rogue goblin elements outside of town. I have my doubts about the job. Acanthes is a chill human at least. He still smells like the swamp though. Somehow got saddled with a warrior from Chaton. Chaton! How the feth did he make it over the many fathoms?
Must have paid an orc ship all his coin to be taking work with the adventurers’ guild.
1994, 16th of Midwinter’s Torment
We made camp at the edge of the their base. It took a two days and a night to get here. By Moradin, The rogue we brought along has cheese. I suspect she is part of the “cheese makers” in more ways than one. She can be useful. Kai is a decent sort. Got too sharp of a tongue. Sharp dagger as well thankfully. In hindsight it was funny how well she threw a dagger into that goblin scouts skull. The tabaxi is being quiet.
1994DR, 17th of Midwinter’s Torment
We managed to break into the first barricades. The guards have been taken down. The patrols are aware of us now unfortunately. I have only a few vestiges of my power left. By Moradin I wish I was stronger to channel his divine will. Time. Time is all we need. They are banging on the doors.
1995DR, 4th of Summer Song
We have gone on for so long. We only had a few days rest from taking down the halfling raids to the north along the steppes. Those plains scare me. We passed by a few ghost towns. Ravaged by the halfling mongrels, taken down by Gnoll war bands. Or worse. Being consumed by the false hydras.
Since we have earned bronze rank over the last several months. We were warned that our jobs are now going to be “real” jobs. True monsters and terrors can now be assigned to us. It can’t be all bad right? I heard in the officer lounge while being debriefed that a blue dragon is potentially going to recruit some of us to acquire a rare gem for a courtship ritual. Apparently we would be guests of honor at the wedding if it goes well. I like weddings. Though I don’t think anyone knows how dwarves wed themselves. Buying themselves from their significant other’s parents, crushing gems under their iron boots. Growing up as a half-orc in the tunnels was interesting. Strangely did get a few interested lookers.
1995 DR, 11th of Summer’s rest
I am fuming now. I had slight hope we would get the deadly mission to help out the blue dragon, I could have worn a pretty formal chain-mail shirt or maybe plate armor. I had even looked into our major library to learn how blue dragons interacted and proper protocol.
All for nothing. Ackerson had come down pale and shaking after the letter flew in and he handed me the pack. I noticed it was much thicker than usual. Usually a manifest was just, “Supplies, guild resources rented, gold reward, gold reward deductions, and a small line for our major injury expenses to be compensated.” All on a single sheet of paper, then the outline written by a desk jockey with no legs. This was a full blown book in size. When I asked what it was about Ackerson just leaned up and whispered into my ear the one thing I didn’t want to hear ever in my existence.
“There is a report of a false hydra by guild watchdogs up in Ohmsford. Your team is the only one capable at the moment to handle it. We have taken measures and given you major bonuses to increase your chances of success. We need you to do this, and…I’m sorry. In case any of you fail, the stone of false hydra adventurers has already been carved upon so we will at least know you all in name and what your designations were in the grand library.”
I’m scared, no I’m terrified. Reading this book made by two wizards accounts is the most terrifying thing ever. These monsters are born from lies in folklore but we have no idea how they spring up? The drawings and the life-cycles of these things are downright horrific.
This is the most I’ve written in this thing in a long while but I can help but think; that I am sending us to the worst kind of death imaginable.
I took precautions just in case. I sent my adoptive father a memory stone explaining everything. Remarking that if he forgets his emerald treasure that its because she died fighting one of the most horrifying monsters of this world for their safety.
I’m going to tell the rest of the party later. Right now they are just going to be aware that its being caused by some cultists at the moment.
1995 DR 12th of Summer’s rest
We are having a last blow out party in the town. Drank myself silly. Kai brought in some amazing cheese. Had a fondue fountain and everything. We were only a little miffed when we found Acanthus floating a maple leaf boat through it. Claimed it would help give it more depth of flavor.
I think he’s just being dumb. It does taste mapely though. Lucky bastard that I like maple syrup.
1995 DR, `13th of Summers Rest
Fucking potatoes, cabbage, farm lands and wheat for miles. I don’t want to eat ever again for as long as I live. Well except for pork. Never can give that up. Met some weird farmer named Perry. Claimed he had a scarecrow problem. Exorised it easily enough though Weevil got a small cut. After that a Slaad had erupted from the ground. How the hell this farmer survived with a Slaad on his land I will file into “most definitely an agent of chaos” column. Dispatched it well enough. Had to cast a spell of some power to cure Kai though. She got hit with the chaos disease. Was not interested in having to mercy kill my own party member at the start of the adventure.
We decided to make our way as fast as we could through the evening to the mountains. I knew a place that would give us a good deal on room.
Turns out I was right. The dwarf still remembers me from the good old days down in the caves. Got my friends set up in their own suite while I spent extra for my own private one.
I’ve never enjoyed a bath like this in so long. I’ll have to ask Harriet for a crystal. She finally perfected in making light crystals for the caves and it looks beautiful. I’m sure dad would like one. Who knows, if I managed to send it in time it’ll be a good marker for my memorial on the memory stone.
1995 Dr, 14th Summers rest
Bloody chilly, hellish sky whale. And those two idiots nearly drowned themselves trying to get light crystals when I told them that they were buyable. Claimed it was for the adventure of it and effort. I think they were just being stubborn.
Going into town, everything seemed off. We parked our mule and cart in the stables next to an inn. Ordered drinks as our Tabaxi went upstairs to do his ritual armor cleaning. The rogue managed to convince our druid to steal from an old man who looked like a banker. Greedy morons. Didn’t they see all the guards on high alert everywhere? They were caught by of all things another thief. Chatting with the bartender illuminated a lot. Whatever this is, it started in the northern-western area of town. I asked what the local authority here is. He could only shrug and tell me that it was the Captain of the Guard, Wilma; who runs things as usual. In a weird way it made sense. But it doesn’t make sense. I know there is a big mayoral estate here for a local authority.
1995 DR, 15th of Summers Rest
Dealt with a tailor who had been attacked. The halfling that sits in front of her shop is a creepy old hag of a woman. While here the tabaxi had claw daggers from the slaad start being made. On top of that I managed to convince them to make a nice maul in the old style but big enough for me. The dwarf was amenable when I spoke to him in the tongue of our fathers.
We talked with Leah for a bit. Our rogue tried to do some weird mind trickery that seemed to do something. It appears that not all memories can be completely erased I guess even by magic. The mind is a funny thing. While searching around, I found the picture of her husband and two children. It was hidden in the nightstand drawer. I think she didn’t know what to make of it and it disturbed her.
We met the local cheesemaker by accident. He had been ransacking the town since perfectly fine magic shops and alchemists were just there. Seeing as how the people who run them probably don’t exist anymore to the world. I am letting it slide. Moradin forgive me. Habbakuk and Zeboim as well to appease my sea orc ancestors.
We fought a troll. I burned so many spells and kept a wall between the troll and the everyone else. I got banged up pretty hard. Still that troll got a few lucky swipes on the druid and samurai. They’ve never seen a troll before and I hope they get to remember what happens. Felt prudent to spend most of my spells on healing. There is still a Troll colony here and they are completely feral apparently. I asked about trolls to the Town Captain who apparently has “always ran this town.”
She claims that Trolls are a very rare minor problem that only happened recently. This resort town can kiss my green ass.
Was told to investigate the retirement village for adventurers on the other side of this box canyon. I acquiesced to this request since we being paid. Paid to go and ask questions in that will help our initial investiagion no less. I love when the stars align to throw us a bone.
Met Gloria. She seemed nice. She had a love of ale that rivals some of the heavy drinkers back in the caves.
Acanthes got knocked out something fierce from a quarter shot. He came too and told me he had a weird dream. I suggested he follow his heart which he determined to mean go and meditate to the green father. What he told me afterwards is a puzzle of itself.
A shimmering pillar above the city? The singing I belive is from the false hydra. But this shimmering pillar? What does it mean?
We dealt with an Alemental. Talked to the Destroyers. A nice couple. Maybe I can find a strong man someday. Heh, will it be a man of the earth or a man of the sea like my ancestry wants?
The witch has a crazy love obsession with purple. Quisayle is a strange one to be honest. She seemed more fascinated than concerned about the false hydra.
Mentioned that there is an old tower to the northwest ohmsford that probably held a wizard of some report. She only mentions it because she has no memory of anyone living yet it’s a very nice tower. She is scary good at putting two and two together apparently.
1995 DR.
Had a nightmare. I was back at the inn room with some lady. A giant pale white face came in through the open window and gorged itself on her. As I tried to help another face and long neck came through and tried to eat me. I’m too strong and punched it back.
Woke up in a cold sweat over it. I’m writing this in the morning due to the oddness of this dream.
I clutch my holy symbol of Moradin. The warm glow of his forge comforts me through it. I run my finger over the engraving. If I am going to disappear this will be the one thing I will make sure to survive. It holds the needed identifier for the memory stone and for the guilds false hydra stone. Actually, I should keep this journal out and keep writing in it!
As long as I can see the thing in the moment, I can write about it! By the hammer fall! I can trust myself to keep a good record. I should share this with the group. I also devised that we can use a length of rope to keep us together slightly. This way we know if we have been attacked at least.
Itsafterusanditstryingtoeatmeohmoradinthisis bad. Its tailing us. Dropping its song to attack us!
Oh this is bad. I don’t know what do. If I had a decent mace on me I could beat the hell out of this thing. SHIT TH~
This journal is covered in blood. Inside is a portrait of a Large Half-Orc proudly displaying a Silver rank medal towering over the rest of you looking happy showing off your bronze medals.
A caption below it reads, “ The Squad”
So throughout the campaign they had encountered random weird oddities. Helpful people offering healing, random potions just...inside wolves. All explained away as just some weird quirk of a world they hadn't seen yet. When actually it was their Half-Orc Cleric they never knew they had. I had shamelessly stolen the idea from a D&D community when they were brainstorming about how to bring out a false hydra to be fair. But I think the execution was alright.
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Look, Grian knows what the other hermits are saying, and he’s here to set the record straight: this is not his fault. Sure, the Rift was under his base, and it was his ominous robot son from another dimension that sent them all through it, but Grian can hardly be blamed for the actions of things that are not him. And Grian didn’t do this! He didn’t personally drag them all across the multiverse and to some strange world none of them have heard of before.
…At least, that was very firmly the line he’d stuck to, until he’d encountered Tim.
Not that Grian is disappointed to have encountered Tim. In fact, he’s pretty ecstatic, all things considered, because messing with Jimmy is always a great time. But it does make him reconsider that this has nothing to do with him, because, well.
What are the odds that when stepping through the portal they would just so happen to end up in the world where the guy who Grian’s been haunting for multiple lifetimes—his entire existence, really—lives?
The chaos of the first day comes to a close, and Grian still has no idea where most of the hermits are, and it’s just him and Impulse on the top of the hill they’ve claimed as their own. Impulse is snoring softly, having fallen asleep the moment he’d gotten into his newly-crafted bed, but Grian isn’t too surprised, because he’s fairly certain Impulse has been high all afternoon. Not that he knows how or why Impulse had gotten high shortly after arriving in a new and unfamiliar world, but hey. Each to their own. Grian’s certainly coped with stupider things in worse ways.
He’s about to kick off his boots and lie down in his own bed—because even though he hasn’t been high all afternoon, it’d been 8PM when they left Hermitcraft and about 10AM when they’d arrived on Empires and he’s approaching the edge of exhausted—when his communicator vibrates. He sighs, pulling it out, and sure enough, the message is from exactly who he’d expected it to be from.
Solidarity whispered to you: we need to talk. NOW.
You whispered to Solidarity: I was actually just about to sleep so I’ll see you soon ;)
Solidarity whispered to you: IN PERSON.
Grian sighs again and considers arguing the semantics of it, but changes his mind. The sooner he gets this over with, the sooner he can actually sleep.
You whispered to Solidarity: omw
They don’t have a Nether portal atop their hill yet, so Grian grabs a couple rockets and flies over to Tumble Town. The landscape below falls away, hidden by shadow, and soon Grian spots the glow of lights in the mesa, a wooden township amongst the terracotta and sand. He circles in for a landing, and sure enough, Jimmy is there waiting, sitting on the steps of his house.
“Hello, Tim,” he greets brightly.
“Grian.” Jimmy sounds exhausted, deep shadows beneath his eyes. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“You know what.” Jimmy looks at him, one eyebrow raised.
Grian groans. “Fine, fine.” He flops down on the steps beside Jimmy. “So? What’s up?”
“Why are you here.” It’s a question, arguably, but Jimmy’s voice is flat. An order, then.
“We walked through the Rift and it closed behind us and now we’re stuck here,” he explains. “You know this, Tim.”
“Sure, that’s why the others are here,” Jimmy says. “Why are you here?”
“I just told you!” Grian’s voice peaks in frustration, and he just barely avoids throwing his arms up in the air.
“But there’s got to be more to it,” Jimmy insists. “This is—you brought them here, didn’t you? This is just some—some nefarious plot to mess with me!”
“Tim. You know me. Do you really think I’m that good at planning?” Grian raises an eyebrow. “As much as I would love for this to be The World’s Best Prank, I’m just as confused by this as you are.”
Jimmy goes quiet for a moment, studying Grian’s face. “You’re telling the truth.”
“Yup. I’m an open book, me. Never told a lie in my life.” Jimmy’s expression turns sour. Grian snorts. “I am telling the truth, though.”
“So you… have a life,” Jimmy says, contemplative. “You live on… Hermitcraft, is it called? And you have friends.”
“Wow, no need to sound so shocked.” Grian crosses his arms with a huff. “What, did you think I just existed to torment you?”
“...I mean, yeah?” Jimmy says. “I mean—not to be—you’re kind of—”
“Don’t hurt yourself.” Grian rolls his eyes. “I mean—yeah, I did, at one point. A guy got cursed, and the universe needed a demon to torment him, so—poof!—I pop into existence. But, Tim—Tim. It’s been several thousand years. I can’t just spend all my time tormenting you, I’d get bored.”
“Oh.” Jimmy thinks on that for a moment. “Is it weird that that feels worse?”
Grian bursts out laughing.
“No, no—stop laughing!—it’s just, the guy who was literally made to torment me has more of a social life than I do! How’s that fair?”
Grian’s laughter fades into snickers. “Have you tried removing the stick from your ass? I heard it works wonders.”
“I don’t want to hear that from you.” Jimmy kicks at him and misses. Grian kicks back, half-heartedly, and hits. Jimmy grimaces. Grian doesn’t bother to apologise. Jimmy looks up to the stars above and sighs. “This sucks. Can you all go home already?”
“Trust me, as soon as I no longer have to exist in the same world as you, I’m gone.”
They’re quiet for another long moment. The conversation has probably good and ended at this point; Grian could get up and leave and go back to his hilltop bed and sleep. He doesn’t, though, just sits next to Jimmy and joins him in looking up at the sky.
It’s weird being in proximity like this: normally Grian just sees him in that strange dream-space, and dreams can never quite capture the real thing. This Jimmy is—well, he’s similar enough to all the other Jimmys. Most reincarnations share similarities with who they were before, even if they’re not quite the same. So Jimmy still has his blonde hair, his brown eyes, the face that is so familiar Grian thinks he could paint it with his eyes closed, but he’s still different in so many ways. He’s made of cloth, for one, felt and stuffing and string and wool, a toy sewn from bullying and belief. Jimmy doesn’t seem to notice, even as he tucks the stuffing back into a hole in his wrist. He believes he isn’t a toy, at least, so maybe for him he isn’t. Grian, despite a previous Jimmy’s paranoid insistence, doesn’t live in the man’s head, so he has no way to know.
There had been a time, once, when Jimmy was first cursed, and Grian first came into existence, where Grian had been genuinely cruel, had preyed upon his fears and weaknesses, made him face the worst parts of himself—but over the years, the joy of that had faded, and Grian had fallen into just being a bit of a menace. Not cruel, but mocking. A nuisance. What Jimmy remembers of his past lives is always variable, but this one seems exhausted by Grian, but not genuinely afraid of him.
If it weren’t Tim, Grian would say they were even kind of friends this time around. He’d even maybe say it was nice. If it weren’t Tim, of course.
“Hey,” Jimmy says, breaking the silence. “Since you’re, you know, here, and you have access to me literally all the time, do you think you could stay out of my dreams tonight?”
“You know I don’t have control over that,” Grian points out.
Jimmy blinks. “You don’t?”
“As much fun as we have, believe it or not, I often have better things to do than torment you. Like actually sleep for once in my life.”
“Oh. Still, though. Can you try? I just… I could really do with a good night’s sleep.”
He does look tired. About as tired as Grian feels, actually, heaviness weighing down his bones. “Fine,” he sighs. “I’ll try.”
“Great.” Jimmy pushes himself to his feet. “Well, I’m going to bed. Do you—I mean—do you want to stay the night?”
Grian considers it—he really isn’t in the mood to fly all the way back to spawn tonight. He almost says yes, only to remember that Impulse is expecting him to be there when he wakes up in the morning, and Impulse is also probably high and may not even remember what happened today, and Grian doesn’t want to leave his friend confused and alone in a strange place.
“No, I’ll head back,” he says, fighting back a yawn as he grabs his rockets. “Thanks for the offer, though.”
Jimmy nods. “Use the nether portal,” he advises. “You’re up near spawn, right? Exit through Pix’s, it’s nearby.”
Grian nods. “Thanks. Goodnight, Tim.”
“Goodnight, Grian. I really hope I don’t see you later.”
“You and me both, Tim, you and me both.”
#magpie feather quill#hermitcraft#empires 2#fanfiction#this one ended up way longer than intended#i'm eventually planning a much longer crossover fic and this is not part of that fic per se#(neither jimmy nor grian will be main characters)#but it is canon to that fic and definitely something that's happening in the background#anyway. they're friends <3
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incendiary | 4 | bakugou x reader
pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader
length: 4.5k of ~23k / 4th of 8 chapters
summary: When you accidentally go viral in defense of quirkless people, an extremist group puts a target on your back. Pro hero Dynamight is the last person you want watching it.
tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, light hurt/comfort
warnings: themes of discrimination (please see note in fic masterpost), canon typical violence, eventual smut, aged up characters
notes: Please see my notes in the fic masterpost.
The next thing you registered was a strange warmth on the side of your face, the rasp of someone’s breath across your cheekbone.
“Oi—brat, you’re fine, just breathe.” A rough voice filtered into your consciousness.
Your eyes fluttered open, only to be encountered with a handsome face far too close to yours. Bakugou was crouched over you, and you’d somehow been shifted more fully over one of his arms, balanced against a thigh, so that one of his hands could cup your face.
Behind him, the yellow light of the hallway limned the spikes of his hair in a rusty gold, casting his face in shadow. Your legs were crumpled uselessly between his body and the floor, numb.
“What—?” You demanded blearily.
“Look at me, princess,” Bakugou said, gently turning your face more fully towards his. His mouth had thinned to a grim line.
“Now take a deep breath,” he ordered. He breathed in deeply as if in demonstration.
It took you a couple seconds to process what he was saying, and then a few more to follow orders, almost as if you’d forgotten how to operate your own lungs. Air punched into your chest like a blow to the sternum. Bakugou took another breath, ordering you to do the same.
It took a couple seconds more, but eventually you took another one, and then another and another. The two of you sat like that for a few long minutes, Bakguou scrutinizing your every breath closely, eyes flicking between your face and your chest as you heaved air in. Once he was satisfied that you’d fallen into the familiar rhythm of breathing again, he shifted you back into his arms.
“Gonna get you back inside, princess. You need to lay down.” His voice was gruff but he didn’t sound as angry as he usually did. His imperious, assertive tone didn’t even annoy you—you had the wild thought that you were grateful for once, that he might know what he was doing.
The realization that you’d lost a minute or two disturbed you more than you’d ever understood it would, watching movies where somebody passed out, reading stories where maidens swooned in the company of handsome gentlemen. You didn’t know why more people didn’t talk about how unnerving the experience was.
Despite yourself, you huddled a little bit closer to Bakugou, relieved you were in the company of a pro hero. You didn’t want to think about what might have happened if you’d needed to stumble back to the safehouse on your own.
Your gut shifted as Bakugou picked you up again, and you had trouble focusing on the doors as you passed them, the hall a strange kind of yellowed blur. But soon enough Bakugou was kicking in a door, crossing a kitchen, and laying you out on a familiar couch.
He pulled up a blanket over you, and it occurred to you once the warmth settled over you that you had been cold—and that you were giving tiny, almost imperceptible little shivers. You had the vague impression that this annoyed you.
“Breathe, idiot,” Bakugou said again, and you startled, not realizing he’d rounded behind the couch. You heard his boots stomp into the kitchen, the clatter of cabinets and clank of some kitchenware.
You did as he said, heaving in another breath, and then another. You focused on the feeling, the even flow of air in and out, fresh and clear in your lungs. You must have zoned out, because the next thing you knew, Bakugou’s face was filling up your entire vision. His eyebrows were knit, mouth tight, and eyes burning into yours—but he didn’t look angry, exactly. He got a hand under your below, helping you sit up.
Then something warm was being shoved against your hand, a leafy, almost floral scent meeting your nose, and you looked down to see a mug of tea being pressed into your palm.
“Drink it, brat, you’re still shivering,” Bakugou commanded.
You couldn’t dredge up the will to argue, too wrung out, and you took an obedient sip. A shiver went down your spine as the heat flooded onto your tongue. It was so strangely warm, in a way that you had never appreciated before, like every single one of your nerve endings were instantly concentrated in your mouth.
Then the strange feeling shifted, and all of a sudden, some strange, nameless emotion welled up in your chest. Tears pricked the corner of your vision.
You blinked rapidly, horrified you were about to start crying in front of Bakugou. You struggled to free your other hand from your blanket, but he caught it before you could raise it to wipe your face.
Your eyes darted to his, startled.
Bakugou’s brows drew together. “It’s….you’re fine, princess. ‘S normal.”
You stared at him in disbelief. “W–what?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“Fucking everyone is a crybaby with shit like this. You’re not special. It’s fine,” he said again, gruffly. You watched the minute shift of his expression, the downward pull at the corner of his mouth. You’d have said he looked almost concerned, if you didn’t know better.
You shifted in embarrassment, not fully understanding why this was such a big deal for you. You’d handled assholes like this before—though no one had outright attacked you since you were kids, taking out their parents’ prejudices on you in the sandbox, before any of you really understood what you were struggling in the dirt for. Maybe that was it.
Outside the window, you could hear the shift of wind in the scraggly trees, the loud chatter of a group passing by. Tears kept pooling in your vision, turning the room into a blur. You took a few deliberate, calming breaths.
“Those guys,” you finally managed. “I don’t know why I’m so…It’s not the first time something like that has happened, but….I don’t know why I’m being so dramatic.”
Bakugou scoffed, startlingly loud in the quiet of the safehouse. “Whatever. Those guys are fucking assholes.”
The baldness of his observation startled a bitter laugh out of you.
You’d assumed he was the same, before he’d come for you.
You hadn’t had a second to really think it through yet, but now that you did—Bakugou had interfered at the convenience store. You’d assumed he had it out for you, but he’d come charging in, figurative guns blazing, and gotten those two douchebags up against the shelving in five seconds flat.
He saved your life as far as you could tell.
But…that didn’t explain why he had been such an asshole to you this whole time, too. He might have saved your life but there was something significant underlying all those weeks of judgment, those sulky silences.
“You’d probably know,” you muttered uncharitably, unable to keep the exasperation out of your tone. The way he’d spoken to you earlier still smarted, and you could still feel a little of your previous anger hot in your veins.
“Oi—” Bakugou said. He leaned down to try to catch your eye again but you jerked your face away quickly.
The couch dipped down next to you, and then Bakugou was kneeling in front of you, shoving his face right into yours again. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, brat?” He demanded.
Your heart rate kicked up with his proximity, blood bubbling into a simmer. He was wearing that pissy little expression again, and your jaw suddenly ached with the familiar need to bite him.
“You know exactly what it means, Bakugou,” you said tightly.
Bakugou made a noise of disbelief. “I just saved your ass, you shitty fucking brat, what the hell is wrong with you!” His expression twisted again into something ugly and angry.
“You want to know what it means?” You demanded. “It means you’ve been an asshole the entire time we’ve been here, Bakugou! You might have saved me but I am abundantly clear that you hate me too. That's all I'm saying.”
Bakugou’s expression clouded over. “I don’t hate you, you overdramatic little shit. You’ve been up my ass about that since we got here and you still don’t fucking know anything.”
You threw your hands up, sloshing your tea around violently as you did. Some spilled down your hand and over your wrist, scorching hot, and you bit down a swear.
“So you keep telling me,” you said. “I don’t know what I’m talking about, I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know anything! If that’s so true then why don’t you explain it to me, huh? You’ve hated me since the second you laid eyes on me, you refused to take on this assignment to protect me, you’ve been giving me nothing but attitude since we got here, and you even blamed me for what happened in the first place!”
Your mind was jerked back to those sandboxes, sidewalks, rough hands and scraped knees. A calm, almost callously amused teacher, echoing, “I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, sweetheart.” Another, asking, “Well, did you provoke him?”
Bakugou’s eyes burned blood red in the center of your vision, and you realized your voice had risen to a screech. “You don’t even know me, and as far as I can tell, this has everything to do with my quirklessness. Doesn’t it? Go ahead, tell me I’m wrong!”
Bakugou’s face went almost mottled purple, and there were several moments where it looked like the pin had been yanked from the grenade of his temper—like he was seconds from exploding in your face. His hands clenched and unclenched in the corner of your vision, opening and closing like he was thinking of using his quirk.
Finally, he managed to grit out, “It’s not a problem with your quirklessness, asshole.”
You stared at him, uncomprehending.
It was so obviously a problem with your quirklessness, so what the hell did he mean?
Bakugou’s gaze was so heated it felt like fire on your face. “It’s not a problem with your stupid fucking quirklessness. It’s not a problem with you either, you goddamn brat. It’s a problem—” He seemed to struggle with the words for a moment, his throat working. You watched him, unnerved.
“It’s a problem—it’s a problem,” he finally managed. “It’s a problem with me, okay?” He spat the words out in some disgust, like they were a bug he’d accidentally ingested.
It took a second for the words to actually register with you. When they did, you couldn’t do anything but gawk at him.
A problem with him? What the hell did that mean, a problem with him? He obviously had plenty of problems, but you couldn’t begin to imagine what he was talking about, if it didn’t have anything to do with your quirklessness.
Bakugou’s hands clenched and unclenched in the fabric of his pants, and he looked like he was milliseconds away from leaping up and kicking the coffee table across the room. It took several long minutes of this for him to work himself back into a state where he might say anything.
Finally, he pronounced tightly, “My problem with you isn’t that you don’t have a quirk. It’s that you remind me of some little fucking asshole I used to pick on in school.”
The swarm of swirling thoughts slammed to a sudden halt in your brain.
This—the past was not quite where you had expected this conversation to go. You watched him as he heaved out a gusty sigh, strong shoulders rising and falling.
“Some little shit-faced nerd, who wanted to be a hero even though he didn’t have a quirk,” Bakugou’s voice was like gravel, rough and rasping. “He wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it, no matter how many times I kicked his ass.”
He swallowed, and then swallowed again, like he was having trouble getting his throat to work right. “No matter how many times people gave him shit for it. He’d always get back up and keep fucking yapping, couldn’t shut his mouth like he knew what was good for him. And I kept fucking coming after him for it—I beat the snot out of him, told him some really fucked up stuff. Told him he should give up and wish for a quirk in his next life.”
The words sounded like a gunshot in the air, and your mouth fell open in shock.
“But just like you, he couldn’t mind his own fucking business, and he kept chasing after whatever he damn well pleased. And you know fucking what?” Bakugou demanded. “He was right. That absolute fucking shitstick was right, and I was wrong about it, just like all of these fucking douchebags giving you shit about your own quirklessness. And while I’ve done some apologizing, and he’s forgiven me, I don’t see how I should be the one trusted with shit like this again.”
Bakugou took a heavy breath through his nose. “So my problem with you, is that you’re exactly the fucking same. No,” he quickly corrected himself. “You’re even worse, so fucking mouthy and demanding and up in everyone’s fucking business like the you’re the goddamn princess of quirklessness—They should have trusted anyone else with you instead of me.”
The room descended into a ringing silence.
You sat there, stunned.
You couldn’t have found the words to say, even if you could have dredged up the brainpower to say anything at all. You just watched Bakugou’s fingers twisting in the fabric of his pants. His knuckles were white against the tan of his skin, and scars crisscrossed the skin, a long one leading up the side of his wrist, disappearing behind his elbow.
This was not what you had expected from him at all. Nothing even close to what you had been imagining had been going on in his brain this entire time. Nothing could have prepared you for the turn this argument had suddenly taken.
“What do you mean,” you finally asked, “that they should have trusted anyone else with me instead of you?”
Bakugou’s face stilled into an impassive mask. It seemed to take him a few moments to find the words. “Jeanist knows, the fucking asshole. Knows what I did, and he gave you to me on purpose. Called the police right the fuck up when he heard and asked to get me involved. When I should be the last person babysitting your mouthy little ass.”
His scarlet eyes flicked over your face. You watched him back, thoughts churning.
So, Bakugou had been some kind of quirkist, that was frankly no surprise. Obviously you had assumed as much, with the way he’d been avoiding you, and shitting all over you when he couldn’t do that. But to hear it was rooted in something more complex than that—not because he still thought he was a quirkist, but because you dredged up the memory of what he had been—
—It was…unexpected.
“I was wrong about it, just like all of these fucking douchebags giving you shit about your own quirklessness,” he’d just said. Wrong about your quirklessness making you somehow inferior, wrong about intimidating you into silence, wrong about everything that had put you in this situation in the first place.
You ran through every interaction with Bakugou, reframing it all under this new lens. All that barely-contained frustration, the clipped words, the “you don’t know anythings” suddenly made so much more sense.
“And that means you can’t be trusted?” You asked suddenly.
Bakugou’s eyes narrowed. “Did you not hear what I just fucking said?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Do you still have a problem with quirkless people?” You asked.
Bakugou scoffed. “Fucking—no. Just you and your goddamn attitude.”
This startled a laugh out of you. It was a wretched, hiccuping little thing, but it was still a laugh, the smallest, strangest little moment of relief. Exhaustion chased after it instantly, like it had just been waiting for the smallest sign of weakness to sweep back in. You leaned against the back of the couch for support.
Bakugou pressed forward, looking concerned. “Oi—you’re not gonna faint like a fucking princess again, are you?” He demanded.
You huffed another tiny laugh. “No. I’m just…..taking it all in.”
It really was a lot to process.
He said he shouldn’t have been trusted with you. Except that he had saved you just now, hadn’t he? He had come barrelling into the convenience store after you—even though you’d just been fighting with him, had accused him of being a quirkist asshole—and he had still come running in. And then he had carried you all the way back here, let you pass out on him mid-transit, covered you in a blanket, and made you tea.
If what he was saying was true, that he’d moved past that line of thinking and didn’t begrudge you your quirklessness, and he had proved in the moment of your need, much as you hated to admit it, that he would save you…then, well why wasn’t he to be trusted?
If he’d changed, in the way that he was hinting he had, then why wasn’t he to be trusted?
Your mind was too muddled with everything to settle on any solid feeling, and you would have to think things over when you hadn’t been about to get basically force-choked by some rando in a 7-Eleven. But there was some shift of feeling. Some small sliver of conviction, that Bakugou was maybe not a quirk supremacist.
Maybe.
He was still a tool, way too salty and loud-mouthed and rude as hell.
But maybe, at least, not a quirk supremacist tool.
“And,” Bakugou said loudly, so loudly that you jumped, spilling half your tea all over your blankets. Your head whipped up again and you watched him warily as he shifted, even more visibly uncomfortable now.
He seemed to struggle with the words. He kept opening and closing his mouth, looking angrier the more he did so. Finally he managed to choke out, “I’m fucking—sorry. Or whatever.”
This floored you even more than his admission about his school years. You watched him in shock, unable to even begin to formulate the question you wanted to ask.
The tips of Bakugou’s ears were rapidly going red, and his look almost dared you to say something, but he continued. “I shouldn't be taking it out on you,” he said. “The stupid thing with Jeanist. He’s a fucking meddler and it’s not—it’s not your fault. You didn’t ask for this shit.”
You thought this over, for a long time until the room was almost dark with the onset of evening. Street lights flickered on, one by one, illuminating the plant by the window in an orange glow.
“Thank you,” you said into the silence of the room. It surprised even you that you’d spoken, and that this was the set of words you’d chosen. But now that they were out there, they felt fairly right.
Bakugou’s eyes flicked up to yours.
“I don’t—I’m not sure how I—I mean, that’s a lot to think about right now,” you said. “But thank you for saving me back there. And thank you for the—um, for carrying me back, and the tea.”
Bakugou’s face twisted like he wanted to deny it.
“I’m too tired to settle on how to feel,” you said, lingering thoughtfully on the words for a minute. “I think you can be trusted. Just, based on what happened there. I’m not sure about all the rest yet, but…I’ll think about it.”
Bakugou nodded slowly. His quiet was almost disturbing in its unusualness, and his focus was laserlike, nerve-wracking in its intensity.
He was quiet long enough that you fully gave up on supporting yourself and leaned all the way back against the couch, just watching him think. Eventually his expression evened out, and he heaved himself off the couch, getting to his feet. “Drink the rest of your tea, brat.”
You were too tired to argue. You obediently raised the mug to your mouth, taking a warm sip. Bakugou looked on approvingly, red eyes picking over you closely. You finished the rest of the tea under his watch, the two of you sitting in a strange, contemplative silence.
As you were finishing up, his phone rang. He shoved a hand in his pocket, face twisting as he read the contact name.
“Dynamight,” he answered briskly.
On the other end of the line, you heard the familiar tones of Best Jeanist—clear, crisp, and disappointed. “What happened?”
Bakugou’s mouth flattened. “She ran out,” he said, his voice gravelly but even. “I started shit with her.”
His honesty surprised you, the complete lack of excuses on his part.
Best Jeanist heaved an audible sigh. “I really believed you could handle this, Katsuki.”
Bakugou’s face twisted, and your eyes dropped to the ground, wanting to give him the dignity of some small privacy in this moment.
“Yeah, I know you did,” he said.
Something about the flatness of his tone pulled at your heartstrings just a little. You fiddled with your tea mug nervously, frowning down into your lap.
Best Jeanist didn’t say much more on that, just left it at a long moment of silence before launching into a bunch of follow up questions. Bakugou walked him through the events from his perspective, tracking you to the convenience store, seeing two men corner you and the cashier cower behind you, watching you panic as you realized you couldn’t draw in any breath.
The description he provided of the two men surprised you in its observancy—he noted many different characteristics and mannerisms you hadn’t picked up on your own, and though everything was almost a blur in your own memory, he recounted everyone’s movements down to the most minute detail like it was a set of choreography he’d spent weeks memorizing.
He detailed your reaction, your shock and momentary loss of consciousness, and the observation he was currently following up with. And then he circled back to the fight that had caused it all. “We….talked or whatever. It won’t happen again,” Bakugou said finally.
Best Jeanist paused, then said something quietly enough that you couldn’t hear.
Bakugou scoffed. “I fucking said it, didn’t I?”
You couldn’t tell whether Best Jeanist’s silence was thoughtful or judgmental. Eventually he answered, just as quietly as the previous comment. Bakugou grunted, and then hung up.
When he turned to you, he eyed you thoughtfully. “You still hungry, brat?”
You startled at being addressed again so suddenly. “I—uh…”
Bakugou didn’t wait for your answer, padding back over to the kitchen. You heard the clank of various kitchen equipment, the clatter of cupboard doors and the sticky sound of the fridge opening. You listened for a long time, to the thump of a knife on a cutting board, the hiss of butter in a pan.
You were almost asleep against the side of the couch by the time Bakugou came over, bearing two plates laden down with two small mountains of food.
He shoved one under your nose, and you stared down at it, eventually registering some kind of dressed chicken, a small pile of asparagus, and—you let out another shocked laugh—a baked potato, with a neat little pat of butter, and a distinct lack of the cheese you’d shaken over your own earlier.
“If you’re gonna eat that shit you need to balance it out with actual food,” Bakugou pronounced judgmentally, sinking onto the couch with his own plate. “Sick of you fucking scarfing down absolute garbage.”
You didn’t deign this with a response.
You accepted silverware from him, balancing your plate on your lap and carefully cutting into your food. It was disturbingly good, perfectly balanced, everything cooked and seasoned to high perfection. It irritated you, vaguely, that Bakugou was so good at cooking, which you had long suspected but had never had the opportunity to confirm. It meant he’d been eating like this the entire time you’d been subsisting on old granola bars.
The two of you ate in companionable silence, the kind that you hadn’t had since you’d been yanked unceremoniously from your dorm. Bakugou was surprisingly good company, when he wasn’t screaming or scoffing or staring you down judgmentally.
The food satiated a hunger you hadn’t realized was eating away at you underneath everything else. Filled with food and hot tea, and safely ensconced in your covers on the couch, your exhaustion fully caught up with you. You managed to get your plate onto the coffee table before slumping down between the back of the couch and an arm.
“Oi—you still think I’m your maid service?” Bakugou demanded, but he didn’t sound as mad as usual. You just watched him from beneath your blanket until he eventually sighed, collecting your plate on top of his.
“Just, get some rest, brat,” he said. “You’ll feel better after you sleep.”
You nodded, only half-registering his words.
You heard the clink of your two plates together, the metallic slide of silverware across them as Bakugou rose to his feet.
Dimly, you noted the sound of the sink running in the kitchen, the clatter of plates in the basin. Exhaustion pulled on your eyelids and a strange feeling of safety wrapped around you like a thick blanket.
And then, for the second time in as many hours—you slipped into sleep.
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Secret Santa
“Here,” Jeff put down a $20 bill. He’d been waiting in line long enough to buy the last of his Christmas presents and was willing to lose twenty bucks to make it go a bit faster. “Just take it.”
The big burly man turned around. “Are you sure? I know I have some money in here somewhere…” He continued struggling as he was looking through the massive coat covering his body. With how big and old of a guy he was it was clearly very hard for him to do so.
“Yes. Really. I’m fine,” Jeff replied.
“Wow! To think the Christmas cheer is still going around,” the man’s eyes grew big. “How could I ever repay you?”
“Think you could get me laid?” Jeff snarked.
“Is that what you want?”
Jeff felt himself choke at the suggestion. “God. No. Sorry. It was just a joke. I didn’t mean to say it out loud,” he somewhat apologized.
The man gave a strange laugh. “Of course.” He turned back to the cashier and paid the last of his bill, making sure to give the change to Jeff.
Jeff stuck it in his pockets as he walked away. “That was strange right?” he asked the cashier while she was bagging up his items.
“You’re the one who asked him to have sex with you…” there was a faint smile coming out of the corners of her lips as she said it.
Jeff felt a smile come out of him as well as he realized just how loud he must have said it. “Right…” he blushed a bit as he paid for his items.
Still, Jeff couldn’t help but feel a little weird as he drove home. Something about the guy seemed almost staged or like he was genuinely thinking about giving him his ‘wish.’ Twenty dollars was twenty dollars after all. But Jeff had only meant it as a joke. A bit of frustration he’d had since he’d not really had a date in the last couple of years and was really starting to feel out of it.
Eventually he got to his apartment. His roommate was on the couch playing video games in his Santa suit. He’d taken up one of those bell ringing jobs to make a little bit of extra money and with his extra weight, all he needed to do was put on the suit and he looked like a younger version of the myth. However, what he didn’t expect was the strong smell of freshly baked cookies. It filled the entire apartment and was all he could smell as he entered.
“You bake something?” Jeff asked.
“Nah,” Matt said, not looking away from his game. “A package came and that’s what was in it. There’s a note.”
Jeff went over to the box to see it was already opened with a few of the cookies missing. He found a note as he opened it. ‘Since I wasn’t you’re type, I figured I could get you something a bit better. Ho Ho Ho.’
“Huh?” Jeff flipped the card over a few more times to see if anything else was written on it. He quickly turned to Matt. “And you didn’t see who sent this?”
“It was on the mat when I got home,” Matt said. He paused the game and got up. “Really good fucking cookies. Like God damn,” he grabbed another and shoved it in his mouth. However, as he looked at Jeff, his eyes lingered. It was far longer than they ever had before.
“Wh-what?”
“Noth-ing,” Matt choked on the word. It sure as hell didn’t feel like nothing. “You know what these need? Some milk.” He walked to the kitchen and his large black boots clopped onto the wooden floor with each step.
Jeff chased after him. “Are you avoiding me?” He quickly asked, cornering the other man in the kitchen. Something was happening. Jeff could feel it. He just didn’t know what it was. The way that Matt had looked at him, something was definitely up.
“What? No…” Matt smiled. His cheeks turned a bit red, but stayed that way. He ran a hand through his hair. As he did so, the brown color stripped out of it, causing it to turn completely white. A strong hint of maturity quickly followed as the weight on his face disappeared and instead gave his rounded face a much sharper quality. The wild beard he’d been growing through October and November trimmed itself closer to his face only drawing the strong angles out of his chin even more. “Why would you say that?”
Jeff felt a tingle rung through him at the warm welcoming sound of Matt’s voice. There was a jolly feeling running through the words. “I don’t know…” Jeff could still feel it. Even though he didn’t consciously see Matt’s extra weight starting to pull tightly against his muscles. Or how those same muscles were growing far stronger.
He could just sense something was happening as he watched the white shirt his friend was wearing start to pull tighter to Matt’s chest. Thick biceps and well defined triceps were clung tightly against the sleeves while Matt’s wide shoulders that were shaped more like cannon balls filled them completely. His big belly was pulling in on itself making that the only part of his clothing remain loose. The suspenders were good enough to hold the oversized pants up.
“I just thought you might have one more package to deliver…” Jeff ran his finger down Matt’s firm chest, over his abs and grabbed at the other man’s cock.
“Ho. Ho. Ho!” Matt laughed as he’d been called out. The fear on his face had been replaced with grand holiday cheer as he grabbed Jeff by the waist. His large hands easily lifted the other man up and over his shoulder as though he were nothing more than a small sack of gifts. “Is someone trying to get on the naughty list?” Matt continued to tease as he walked to the bedroom. Then tossed him onto the bed.
“Maybe…” Jeff was able to sneak out. But Matt was quickly on top of him. His massively strong body easily pinned Jeff down to the bed as he kissed the smaller man. His beard gently scratched against Jeff’s smooth face as their mouths interlocked. The two’s tongues wrestled with each other but Jeff the sweet taste of peppermint and chocolate filled his mouth. His fingers intertwined with the large calloused hands of the other man. He squeezed with all his might as his cock throbbed in delight over the natural strength of the other man.
Even if Matt wasn’t exerting any power, Jeff could feel no matter how hard he squeezed it was nothing compared to the person on top of him. His back arched and he pulled out of the kiss and Jeff gasped for air.
“Oh, ho ho!” Matt teased. One of his fingers gently ran down the side of Jeff’s face. “I hope my present isn’t too much for you…”
Jeff shook his head, ‘no’, but his sex addled brain was making it hard to think about anything other than the jolly man on top of him. At some point his free hand had made its way underneath Matt’s shirt and was gingerly running his fingers through the forest of white hair underneath. He parsed through the hair feeling the strong abs and thick meaty pecs, gently squeezing the powerful muscles still hidden underneath the white shirt.
“That’s good to hear…” Matt slowly pulled away from Jeff’s grasp. He slid his hands down the small man’s body and undid the button on his pants. Jeff’s hard cock pointed to the ceiling and swung around. Before Jeff could react, he felt Matt’s lips spread over the tip and his mouth fully engulf his rod.
“HOLY--!” Jeff felt himself gasp as his hands gripped onto whatever they could get ahold of. Feeling the other man’s lips glide against his cock while his tongue wrapped around his rod was far better than he could have imagined. He fought off the wriggling and writhing as the joyous feeling ran through his entire body. He couldn’t help it as sheer bliss ran through him.
Even as one of Matt’s fingers slipped inside his asshole, it only turned him on more. The tickling of his prostate and insides was too much for him. He let out a gasp. Then another buck of his hips. And felt his balls release.
“Oh God!” Jeff cried out as he finished in Matt’s mouth. It took him a few seconds before he’d realized what had just happened and he looked down at Matt. “Sorry… Should have given you a bit more of a warning…”
Matt only smiled as he pulled out the softening cock from his mouth. “I told you I needed some milk.” He stood up and then undid the suspenders over his shoulders and let his pants fall to the ground. Jeff let out a gasp seeing the well defined legs but also the red and green stripped jock strap that was more stuffed than a stocking. “Besides. It’s my turn to deliver that package…”
He undid the jock and his cock sprang to life. At least 10 inches long and thick as a bundle of candy canes, it pointed directly at Jeff. Jeff felt his cock harden again, but the size was far larger than anything he’d ever taken before. His eyes went wide. But he felt one of Jeff’s hands grab him and easily flip him over. He pressed the tip against Jeff’s anus, letting some pre drip down into it.
“It’s okay…” Matt whispered as he nuzzled against the nape of Jeff’s neck. “I’m good at fitting into small spaces… It’s holiday magic.” He pressed the tip in. Jeff let out another gasp as his cock hardened all over again. It slapped against his stomach as more of Matt’s cock pushed inside.
“F-uck…” Jeff moaned as his motor functions gave way. He couldn’t think anymore as the warm hug from behind only made his mind go crazy. And feeling Matt gently nuzzle the soft nape of his neck with his white bristly beard was more comforting than he could have ever imagined. Even as the smell of sweat and sex filled the room, all Jeff could think about was that warm embrace and the powerful arms wrapped tightly around him.
He barely even noticed as Matt finished inside him or that he’d finished again, coating his bedsheets. But a powerful urge to sleep over swept the two men as Jeff finished. Out of the man came, “Merry Christmas…” and a sparkly blue magic emerged from his mouth. The two slept soundly as Matt gently cradled Jeff in his strong arms.
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hey, how about a newly mated Rowan?
Nice and spicy like the others! Hope you enjoy! 😘
Footsteps echo through the halls drawing closer and closer. Rowan recognises them well. He’d be able to find them among the hundreds, identify the exact pace and fall of each step and know exactly who they belong to. It’s been a strange change to have the sound of those footsteps make him feel lighter, like he is floating upon a breeze, yet so grounding all the same. He feels like air returns to his lungs, like he hasn’t been able to truly breathe until those footfalls draw closer and closer. It feels like they take the air with them whenever they leave. Perhaps the thought of this might once have been frightening to him, but when he was faced with these feelings he was surprised to find them near second nature. They took some getting used to and he is still finding his way, same as you are navigating this new development in your relationship all the same.
The soft creak of the door, the turning of the handle, and the closing of it with a light click, are music to his ears. The footsteps draw nearer, until they change, from the echoing clacks of shoes, they turn soft and muffled. He hears the humming of a melody, the movement of fabric, jewellery hitting the vanity; to be put in the designated boxes or drawers, cared for immaculately. You commented once; gems and precious metal are as much your armour as steel and leather are, your words as much a weapon as sword or arrow. It’s a thing he’s admired about you. You walk that fine line between diplomat and warrior. You may have times where you relish in the bloodshed of war, but equally you know there’s a time and place. It’s your patience that stands out. Your mind is your finest asset or so you claim and Rowan is inclined to agree, though he may have commented you have plenty of other good assets too. He smiles at the memory when you encouraged him to prove it.
Humming to yourself you move about the room relieving yourself to the tedious reminders of the day you’ve had. Court is not as eloquent nor clean spirited as some make it out to be. It’s exhausting and boring and you’re stuck with the people you learn to despise for hours on end. You’re just glad that Maeve got sick of the endless bickering too and dismissed everyone before she’d decide to skin someone alive. While you worked, talked and fought verbal battles left and right, your mind would always drift to your beloved. He’d be home soon, another task of the queen coming to an end and finally he’d return to your embrace. You gathered she set it up as a test to set the bounds and show exactly that she is still in control, and that some mating bond does not change anything in your responsibilities, as well as to assure you know your loyalties belong to the queen first and foremost, no matter what some primal instincts might argue.
Returned to your living quarters, you take off your shoes first, then discard any of the fancy vestiges of your station, and whatever gifts you might have worn to please and coerce others to your side, and lastly get rid of the heavier layers of clothing leaving you feeling like a burden has been lifted from your shoulders. You notice then, the doors to your balcony are open, the gossamer curtains blowing in the light breeze, you take in a breath and sense a familiar presence that makes your heart leap. You see the bloodied footsteps, the discarded dirty boots, weapons, belts and holsters and clothes. Shaking your head in amusement you begin to pick up the discarded items, and collect them on the side table where they would do no harm or leave any staining on your precious floors.
All settled you move to the bathing room, the door slightly ajar and peak in to see the object of your affections seated in the tub of steaming water, back turned to you, hair stained with red, exposed skin no better, the reminders of minor injuries still present. You notice pointed ears perk at the presence of another; the habit of a warrior but he doesn’t turn, not when you draw nearer, not when you lower behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzle your head against his affectionately, leaving a kiss to his temple. His hands previously resting on the edge of the tub come to find yours and hold on lightly as he sighs, leaning back into your embrace.
Rowan chuckles lightly, as you attempt to take care to avoid getting any of the grime on your person but fail miserably. Your cheek is stained with red when he turns his head to face you and capture your lips with his. The kiss is not entirely heated but instead filled with the warmth of joyful content. No words are spoken but Rowan knows this speaks ‘welcome back’. He allows his fingers to dip into the water, and rise them to your stained cheek to wipe away the partially dried blood.
“Not to say I haven’t missed you, but next time please don’t leave weapons scattered across the floor of our living space. It’s quite the safety hazard.” You joke leaning into his touch. The simplicity of your response spreads a wave of satisfaction through him. In a way Rowan considers it a frightening thing, that one being could be so attached to another without constraint, what scares him most is he knows he should fight these instincts, these feelings but he simply refuses. As a warrior he was trained to eliminate his weaknesses, and you certainly would fall into the category because he knows he’ll go to any lengths to keep you satisfied. At your command he’d unleash a storm to tear down your enemies, same as he would use the rains to feed the earth. His loyalty to you is unwavering. But he too knows that that loyalty can only be challenged by one thing and those are the risks he fears, simply because of their unpredictability. Still he would not change a single thing. He has you in his life. That is more than enough.
“I was going to clean up before you returned.” Rowan counters and laced with amusement. You press your lips to his palm before it falls back to hold onto your wrists lovingly, like you are an anchor to this world. A sense of pride rises and you’re unsure if it is your own or Rowan’s, though you care little. You do feel some satisfaction at your presence, right here, right now and so you decide to act on it, take a leap and gently let your lips trail along the back of his shoulder until you go to rise.
“And you are doing a marvellous job at that.” A pull on your arms douse your sleeves into the water. You yelp as you are pulled closer against his back, your chin resting on the warrior’s shoulder. Were you not surprised at the action, you might have berated him for getting your precious silk wet but what follows next leaves you to care little. The vibrations of his voice, warms your entire being.
“I was doing just fine until I got distracted.” Rowan whispers into your ear as he brushes his lips against the shell. The small intimate gesture sends shivers down your spine and urges you to lean in further, though, your now soaked sleeves are more uncomfortable than his advances are welcoming and so you pull back, step to the side of the tub and face him proper, while swatting your arm, letting the excess drops from the fabric hit his face as your squeeze the rest out of the fabric best you can. The air grows cooler, dancing around you, and sends goosebumps up your arms, the warm water turning freezing in a matter of seconds. You give Rowan a disapproving look.
“Yes. Your tendency to get distracted certainly is worrisome.” You deadpan with a light shiver clutching your fingers together to preserve some warmth. You debate your next course of action. You have plenty of ideas but you long for payback for his stunt first, and then a little teasing never hurt anyone. Just how far should you take it. Meeting your mate’s eyes and see exactly that glint of anticipation, one that dares you to choose your next moves carefully, push you over the edge to take it up to eleven. No need for escalated teasing. You’ll be torturous.
He can’t take his eyes off you. Not when you move to unbutton the cuffs at your wrists, not when you undo the laces of your garments and let them fall to the floor so tediously slow without a single word. You make a show of bending down to collect the fabric, sway your hips when you put it in the laundry basket. No mercy is offered when you run your hands through your hair, not when you grab the delicate pins you usually resort to to keep dry what strands you might not want to get soaked, looking in the mirror when you stretch your neck, to get the right angle, offering a nice view of all the dips and curves of your body. Your slightly parted lips, the focus in your eyes, the don’t help either. But finally, finally you offer mercy right when he is about to come fetch you himself and you strut over to the tub, holding out your hand, he offers his and you grasp on for unnecessary support, stepping into the bath and allowing yourself to sink in slowly.
You moan when you’ve made yourself comfortable, opposite of Rowan. Dancing your fingers through the water you cup them together to pour some over your shoulders, and neck. Each and every move you make, have made since you began this, he has watched you like a hawk, you see that spark in his eyes, the way his knuckles have gone pale with how he tightly holds onto the edges of the bathtub, and how he barely takes a breath. His response to you, sends a fire through your veins, you’ll be all the more happy to indulge and give into but not yet, you argue with yourself, not yet. Let’s see who gives in first. Sinking back further into the warm water until your shoulders are barely breaking the surface, your legs bend at the knee and end up brushing against the insides of Rowan’s. A low growl of discontent emits from his chest. You laugh.
Wrong move. Rowan’s features grow neutral, like a warrior’s calm. His fingers slide along the edge of the tub until they find your knee. They trail up and down your calf feather light, barely touching at all. They rise to your knee once more, other hand repeating. You know better to think this innocent affections, and you would be proven right because next thing his hands wrap around the under side of your legs and pull you close to him. You catch yourself on the edge of the tub as the water sloshes. Your moment of shock is quickly covered up by that very same warrior’s calm.
“You have my undivided attention.” His eyes never leave yours as you readjust, the moment causing friction exactly where you both feel the desperate ache. Not yet.
“Well, I am known to reward good behaviour.” That earns you a chuckle, quickly stifled and turned to a pleasant moan when you change your position to straddling his lap. You look all too innocent and as a reply to your action, Rowan’s hands trail down your spine and over the curve of your hips, around your behind, and back up again, repeating the gentle teasing touches he knows set you off. He can tell you bite your tongue given the tension of your jaw. Were the circumstances different he might have captured your lips with his but not now, not yet. He supposes he can be stubborn and he’d very much like to see which one of you will give in first. He��d be a fool to ignore his waning restraint but you seem to be very much in the same state. It’s simply a matter of outlasting. A warrior’s discipline is good for more than just battle and training.
Your hands stroke up his chest, over his shoulders, neck and into the silvery strands, slowly brushing through from ends up, little by little, taking out any tangles, any grime left and rinsing out the traces of battle until you reach the roots, section by section, methodically. Once done, you don’t stop brushing your fingers through, instead your skilled fingers massage his scalp and neck earning one satisfied moan and groan after the other. The caressing of your skin grows more bold, dipping lower, closer to the apex of your thighs, and higher, curving around to your front, barely brushing over your sensitive chest. You fight the responses of your body, but can’t every time and so you find your back arching, leaning in closer to the attention. A particularly bold pinch extracts a moan from you. It’s game on now.
“Are you going to be a good mate to me and finish what you started or should I quit l while I’m ahead?” Your lips dip down towards Rowan’s neck, your pull on his hair lightly guiding his head to the side to give you better access as you kiss and lick and suck your way along the exposed skin. You feel the vibrations of every sound you get him to make through your lips and again that fire burns up and burns brighter. Your resolve is dwindling but you’re not going to let Rowan know that. You were not schooled in the many masks of silver-tongued for nothing.
“Do you want me to be a good mate?” Rowan’s voice is uneven when you bite down into the bend of his neck and shoulder only to smooth it over with your tongue. You pull back entirely, put your weight back further and letting your hands trail along the defined muscle of his chest, ever so lightly making your way lower with each rise and fall, so terribly slow. You don’t respond immediately, features turning thoughtful as if you’re considering. He tries to cover up his own response to your thoughts, and tries to stop his mind from imagining exactly what he could do to please you in both situations. He fails miserably in quelling those thoughts.
“Let’s see where the day takes us.” And so that torturous touch of yours finally reaches exactly where he’s been longing. Whatever comment he might have had falls silent on his tongue, so instead he leans in to press his lips agains yours, feverishly so. It’s unclear who won this game of self-restraint but Rowan has lost all will to care and by the sound, look and feel of it; so have you. You’ve got other things on your minds now. Starting with the sating of this built up desire.
#throne of glass x reader#throne of glass imagines#throne of glass imagine#rowan whitethorn x reader#rowan x reader#rowan whitethorn#throne of glass fic#throne of glass fanfiction#tog x reader#tog smut#sjm fic#sarah j maas
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A/N I'm treating you guys since I've been going for two weeks, another thranduil x reader, jealousy, and feeling unrequited love. Gender or skin color is not mentioned The reader is depicted as a human but has elven descent.
Orange Tulips
Thranduil had always been someone you loved even through his grumpy attitude or short temper you had always forgiven him and stayed close, but things had taken a deep plunge when he met Calathiel, she was drop dead gorgeous but you felt like your friend was being torn from your life so abruptly you didn't have time to say goodbye.
After the news of Thranduil's wedding spread. You had left for a new start, you had left Mirkwood.
Your adventure was long but enjoyable, you walked far from your old home, on your journey you met Gandalf, you sat and told him your tale and solemn feelings you'd felt back in Mirkwood, you felt at peace talking with him he had spoken of a land twenty miles west from where you were traveling, he told you that it would be a fine place for a home. You nodded deciding you would head west at dawn.
As for Thranduil, when he met his wife he was at peace but sometimes he thought about you and how you felt about this, you had disappeared when he met her. And when he had heard the word you had left Mirkwood, he felt a small piece of him break. You were his closest friend and you were gone just like the snap of his fingers, he had heard from Gandalf that you were completely fine and had settled on a peaceful prairie out in the middle of nowhere.
Years went by and you thrived, a small village had grown around your house with people from everywhere coming to live in the peaceful prairie. You had made a life long friend with a half elven man named Kharis Miafir, he was charming and kind to everyone.
After years of his wife's death, Thranduil searched for his old friend. Eventually he had found out about the small village of E'fa Anore, and he shed tears of joy when he found your location. He sent a letter to you, pleading for you to visit him, you wrote back to explain that you were in no condition of travel due to a friend's wedding but saying he was invited to come visit. So that's what he did, he and a few guards traveled to the village of E'fa. White and blue decorations had been put up for the wedding, he looked around, the houses were large and the whole village gave him a warm feeling in his chest. When he arrived at your house, flowers of all colors adorned your house. He hesitated before your door, thoughts raced through his mind, would you want to see him after years of no contact?, Would you look the same?, Were you married?, Did you have kids?. He took a deep breath and knocked on your door. A few seconds later the door opened, and he looked down to see a small child, his eyes widening. "Markle Who's at the door!?" Your voice shouted, the child stepped back yelling a description of the strange elf outside your door. You came to the door, golden rimmed glasses sat on your nose. A white blouse and leather corset hugging your torso, black leather leggings making your legs look more defined, black boots, with a pair of blue earrings, and a red necklace. "Sorry that's my god child Markle" you spoke before opening the door for the king "please come in, and please close your mouth before you catch a fly" you tease him, he didn't realize his mouth was agape until you mentioned it. He snapped his mouth shut.
Your hair was in a new style and eyes were bright your clothes had changed too. You looked drop dead gorgeous in his eyes. He looked around, a large map placed on the wall, a nice kitchen with lots of plants, and a few book cases lined the left wall. A large table and chairs sat next to the drawing room, the dining room and living room combined nicely. A few closed doors he assumed were bedrooms. He returned his attention to you again, you were making tea. "now where was I? Oh why yes!" You said "how is Mirkwood?" You asked. He stared at your back and you looked over your shoulder expecting an answer, clearing your throat as Markle got out the biscuits. Thranduil wakes up at your voice "oh Mirkwood is doing well" he replied you nod "how is Calathiel?" You ask. He freezes, you hadn't heard. "She... She died a few years back" he spoke solemnly. You gasp turning around "I'm so sorry" you say, he looked up "I wish I could have been there for you" you spoke in an understanding tone. His heart squeezed although he loved his wife you had always made his heart twist and squeeze when you spoke or did anything he found admirable.
When the kettle screamed. You turn and begin pouring the tea into your china set, Markle helped set the table before sitting in his chair swinging his legs. Thranduil pulled your chair out for you. "So are you married?" He asks with bated breath. You shake your head "oh no, I haven't met anyone who has caught my eye yet." He nods "I heard you have a son" you speak. "Yes I hope Legolas will be a fine ruler one day" he says sipping from his cup. He had been feeling nervous about the visit, but it was turning out great so far.
He was staying in your extra bedroom for the two weeks he was visiting. Today was day three when the sun had just risen, he could hear you moving around in the kitchen starting your morning tea, you seemed so much happier than you did back in Mirkwood. You had taken up the hobby of art, and the extra bedroom had a few of your pieces hung up. A picture of one of the giant eagles, his favorite was a picture of an orange tulip.
He got up, walked to the dresser, and grabbed a white blouse with golden trim, and brown leggings. He then walked out to the kitchen and sat in one of the dining chairs, you looked at him "Morning sleeping beauty" you teased. He smiles and shakes his head, looking at you, your hair is ornately styled, with a green tunic and brown trousers. Golden jewelry adorned your neck and ears, you were always a beautiful sight but now you shined like the sun. He couldn't help but feel adoration for you. He had always taken you for granted but when you left he couldn't help but go crazy without you around, he regretted chasing you off, and he was blinded by what he thought was love. He loved his wife but now that he thought about it you were always the one who caught his attention when you were around. You tapped his shoulder, "You alright Mellon nín?" You spoke as you placed a scone in front of him. He nodded grabbing his pastry and biting into it. "Why did you leave Mirkwood?" He asked. You sighed "I left because I felt you push me away, I didn't want to get in the way of you and Calathiel's relationship," you said a solemn look painting your face. He nodded before grabbing your hand and placing it over his heart. "Pushing you away was my biggest regret" he spoke, you gasped when he pulled you closer. Pulling you in to kiss you, "I regret leaving you in the dust. You were always important to me," he said to you, you blushed before wrapping your arms around his neck "I missed you too." You sigh Before kissing him again.
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Steve Harrington Is a Good Babysitter
This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)
Blood will follow blood by Rocketbride - Rated T
Steve smiled. “Here’s the bad news: you’re gonna need stitches, Mayfield. A bandage isn’t going to keep enough blood inside of you. And you might get an infection if you leave it gaping open like that.”
“No. No!” Max thrashed and El hugged her.
“What’s the problem, Mad Max?” Eddie said from behind Lucas. “Hate the hospital? It ain’t so bad. I had some delicious jello when I was recovering from the bat attack.” He sauntered into her line of sight and flapped his arms dramatically.
“No, it’s…we can’t afford it, alright?” Max tried to sit up and El scooched in to support her. “I had to get stitches two months ago and they cost $200. My mom didn’t eat lunch for a week after that.” Her eyes rolled up at Steve. “Please, Steve, can’t you just, like, tape it up? I can go easy on it. Lucas can help me get around.” Everyone looked at Lucas, who nodded nervously.
“Steve, just put some more gauze on it, I’ll be fine,” Max gritted out as she tried to get to her feet.
“Woah, woah, stay down,” Steve held his arms to block her. He chewed his lips harder. “I guess I could. Yeah. It could work.”
The dangers of babysitting by Siegrrun - Rated T
The wound in his side screamed against the too deep breath and it took everything he had in him not to make a sound. There was no need to alarm the kids.
Or
Steve hides his injury from the kids. It goes about as well as you'd think
i wave goodbye to the end of beginning (goodbye) by steveharringtoned - Not Rated
Eddie Munson has been going steady with Steve Harrington for a little while now. He’s learned to expect the occasional disturbance.
In which he observes:
5 times Steve helps the kids, +1 time they help him.
you're beautiful (every little piece, love) by strawberryspence - Rated T
Steve Harrington would do anything for the kids. Anything.
Apparently that includes shaving his hair.
The Curse of Hawkins Becomes Known by AshWinterGray - Rated T
Lucas won the game, Steve pulls off a miracle, the guys are sorry, and... Chrissy Cunningham is apparently possessed. This is not how anyone thought the night would go. Least of all the government.
You can put it all on me, you can laugh and you can bleed by steveharringtoned - Rated G
Phil Callahan has made a large variety of strange arrests in his time working as a cop for Hawkins, Indiana. Daylight skinny-dippers; a small group of old ladies who’d attempted to rob the corner shop with their umbrellas, a guy who’d stolen a total of eighteen gnomes from his suburban neighborhood.
But pulling over Max Mayfield driving her brother’s Camaro at the ripe age of thirteen was pretty insane. Sure, kids will be kids and kids will be crazy. Until Steve Harrington crawled out of the backseat, clutched his knees and horror-movie hurled blood all over his boots and shit got crazier.
That took it from a minor concern to oh, fuck. Callahan has to take this kid to a hospital.
Kiss, Marry, Kill by QueermoDelToro - Rated G
The kids play Kiss, Marry, Kill. Dustin instigates. Mike overreacts. Hilarity ensues.
Pride of the Party by scifigeek14 - Rated T
The party owes Steve a lot, and he owes them just as much.
A five plus one fic - about friendship, growing up, and gratitude.
it feels so scary, getting old by generic_cruiser - Rated T
Five times Robin sees Steve being a mom to the party, and one time she fills in for him
five times steve hated being the babysitter and the one time he was grateful by simplyylupin - Rated T
Selfishly, a part of him wished he’d ignored Dustin earlier that day and just gone home, oblivious to the situation around him. Alas, he was there, and there was no way in hell he was letting these prepubescent dipshits blindly follow a bunch of flesh eating monsters.
or
Five times Steve Harrington (thought he) hated being the babysitter and the one time he was grateful.
Sleep tight, don't let the Demodogs bite by PursueCrazyLife - Rated G
After the tunnels a fairly stressed-out and concussed Steve has to ensure the safety of the kids.
And there is still the matter of the demodog in the fridge.
(aka. the obligatory season 2 aftermath fanfic. After experiencing season 2 nostalgia I couldn't help myself adding yet another one to the pile)
The Favor by AshWinterGray - Rated T
Hopper showing up at his door is alarming for several reasons. For most, it would be because he was the Chief of Police. But for Steve, it meant there was a potential threat. And now was not the time for him to be cooking dinner.
Common Cents by Ghoststar - Rated T
Making a will at eighteen seems incredibly morbid. The lawyer stares at him long and hard the entire time. She acts like he's contagious, like she might catch her death from him or maybe he'll ruin her rug by dropping dead in her office. Steve figures she has nothing to worry about. If anything's going to kill him, it's probably going to be a monster from the Upside Down.
-
In which Steve hunts monsters, becomes a deputy, makes a will, and finds a family. Among other things.
designated driver by genesisofrhythm - Rated T
Steve screamed as Robin slammed on the brakes.
“That is not how you stop!” he said, as his whole body jerked forward. His head would’ve hit the dashboard if he wasn’t holding the handle at the top of the car with a death grip.
Robin turned to look at him. She had the audacity to be offended. “There was a stop sign.”
“Eyes on the road,” Steve snapped.
Or: 5 times Steve taught someone how to drive + 1 time he was in the driver’s seat.
Outside Looking In (Request) by miss_little_kitten - Rated G
Eddie seeing the kids and Robin interacting with Steve, including a day he's waiting for their arrival and they never came.
Steve and Robin would 100% look everywhere for those kids if they couldn't find them.
The Times Steve Didn't Know How To Say I Love You and the Time He Did by miss_little_kitten - Rated G
Times Steve didn't know to say I love you too back to the kids, either in their own love language or the words in general and then the time he said he loved them to Hell and back, which was obvious.
#steve harrington and robin buckley#fanfic recs#steve harrington#stranger things#robin buckley#steve harrington and the party#the party stranger things#dustin henderson#max mayfield#will byers#lucas sinclair#mike wheeler#veryace recs#good babysitter steve#babysitter steve harrington#steve harrington fic recs#eddie munson#steve harrington & el hopper#el hopper
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Complicated freak [E. M]
Eddie Munson x fem!reader
Word count: 4.7k
Warnings: a bit of angst, fights, exes to lovers, but with happy ending (I think?)
A/N: This song is a song that never came out by another artist, but I feel like it goes SO well with Eddie, so I used it. I hope you like it!
You heaved a sigh, still not quite convinced that you entered the bar you were in, as you made your way through the screaming, dancing, and drinking crowd. A few months had passed since the last time you had been there, but almost nothing had changed; it still smelled of weed and in the background the music of Corroded Coffin could still be heard.
Two years had already passed since the boys in the band had gone out to find their dream and you blindly followed them. The reason was very simple: you were madly in love with Eddie Munson. So you lived for two years traveling almost all over the state, sleeping where you could, and eating anything, until they ended up finding a stable job in Indianapolis. But time had complicated things and all the boyhood fantasies had been shattered, at least the ones about you and Eddie.
After all they say that nothing lasts forever, right?
You didn't plan on staying long, so you just snuck up to the front, near the stage, so you could get backstage. Although you heard the complaints of many girls, you decided to ignore them, with too many problems in your head to still argue with some groupies. Because indeed, the band was becoming famous in that sense. From your place you were still far enough away to be able to see the four boys well and a little nostalgia invaded you when you remembered when you saw them rehearse in that garage in Hawkins. That time when the only thing that mattered was playing D&D and drinking until you vomit; a happier time.
The band finished performing the Black Sabbath cover and the crowd clapped euphorically. You had never thought about how much people liked to hear the band play, maybe because for you they would never stop being your friends playing at being rock stars.
That was the last song they played at all of their gigs, so you mentally prepared yourself to walk up to Gareth and ask him for the favor you came for until you saw Eddie come out the back to get in front of the microphone and you heard all the girls go crazy.
He had on those ripped jeans you knew all too well, his big heavy black boots, a T-shirt with the name of the band whose sleeves he had messyly cut off, a black choker around his neck, and around his brown eyes there was eyeliner that had already begun to smudge from sweat. In another time you probably would have pulled him off the stage to rip his clothes off without a second thought.
"How are you today, beautiful people?" he asked in a hoarse, agitated voice. He looked so radiant and a part of you felt extremely upset. It was obvious that he was going to be fine, you didn't know why you expected to find him broken or something "We want to thank you for being such a great audience, we really love you" he exclaimed and the crowd cheered "We have one song left for you guys! This is Complicated freak!”
Eddie started playing a couple of notes on the guitar and you frowned, quite confused. The audience was very enthusiastic when it started, so you assumed it was some trending song, but suddenly you froze in place upon hearing the first line. And it wasn't the lyrics that shocked you, it was the fact that Eddie was the one singing it.
She got wrapped up in somebody else
I'm wrapped up stuck in love with myself
I never saw this coming around
But I miss her skin on me now
The beat didn't sound like anything you knew, and was even a bit strange for the kind of songs the band used to play. It was too soft, almost like it was pop.
Tip of my tongue she's pulling my hair
I do what she wants anywhere
Back seat of the car and up in the air
But I miss how she kissed everywhere
Eddie continued and you heard the screams of the women next to you, entranced by the sight of your ex-boyfriend skillfully playing the guitar and singing at the same time. He had never mentioned anything to you about knowing how to sing, but now that he was doing it you could tell that he was really good.
Everything was happening too fast, but you had paid enough attention to realize that he was talking about a girl. In the past.
I can't get you off my mind
I can't get you off my mind
I still crave it, you complicated freak
I still crave it, you complicated freak
I still crave it, complicated
Freak
The guy was practically moaning into the microphone and you were quiet, still deciding if running away was the best idea. You remembered what he called you before, the way the two of you had decided to turn that cruel term into a couple's pet name: my little freak.
That wasn't a cover, it was a song written by the band.
Turned up too late one too many times
Bad choice of words in my alibi
I guess I love crazy, out of your mind
You lost your head, so I'll give you mine
It was then that his gaze dropped to the front row audience and the first thing he noticed wasn’t the excited young women reaching out, but a figure standing still and staring at him with a frightened expression: you.
To be honest this caught him off guard, you could tell in the way his smug expression dropped a bit, but he still didn't miss the lyrics of the song. And now it was worse because he started singing with his eyes on you.
I can't get you off my mind
I can't get you off my mind
I still crave it, you complicated freak
I still crave it, you complicated freak
I still crave it, complicated
Freak
The way he was looking at you made you nervous. He watched you from above, singing words that you were almost sure had been written with you in mind. Now everything fitted together, you had never heard that song because he had written it after you had broken up.
There was a guitar solo and he saw his fingers move deftly up the neck of the guitar. You knew what those fingers were capable of, besides playing.
She got wrapped up in somebody else
He sang, a little louder, anger seeping into his voice. You felt your cheeks heat up too, but not from a blush but from anger at what he had just said and the way he had looked at you, as if it was some kind of accusation.
I'm wrapped up stuck in love with myself
He spoke and almost instantly let out a dry laugh that could be heard through the microphone. You remembered telling him that the last time you saw him. You no longer had a doubt, that fucking song was about you and only for you.
I can't get you off my mind
I can't get you off my mind
I still crave it, you complicated freak
I still crave it, you complicated freak
I still crave it, complicated
Freak
He sang the chorus again and when the music died down his gaze was still on you. He seemed as if he was hypnotized.
When he seemed to come out of his trance he smiled at the audience and blew a couple of kisses with his hands, making mock bows and walking offstage with a rather brisk step. You managed, somehow, to get past the people to get into the room they used as a dressing room, praying with all your might to God to meet some other member so you could talk. But almost as divine punishment, you collided with a person and when you looked up to apologize you noticed who it was.
"What do we have here?" he asked, his voice mocking. You knew how immature he could be when he wanted to and you feared this was one of those "Enjoying the concert?"
"Can I talk to someone in the band?" you said bluntly. Sometimes being around a lot of people made you irritable and right now you just wanted to be in that dirty motel room.
"You are doing it"
"A serious person," you corrected, under your breath. You didn't expect the meeting with Eddie to be so tense and although you knew perfectly well that it could happen, you didn't feel prepared. But the boy didn't answer anything, keeping his hands crossed on his chest and watching you with a neutral expression. Fuck, you didn't even care about his stubbornness anymore, you just wanted to finish "I need money"
"Huh, we've got a lot lying around,” he said sarcastically “How much does the lady need?"
"I need 50" you exclaimed, seeing the man open his mouth in an exaggerated way.
“How much drug do you intend to buy with that money?” he scoffed.
"I'm going back to Hawkins, Edward," you spoke, irritated enough. Apparently he didn't expect that, because the confident and mocking expression had vanished at your statement.
"What are you saying?"
“I want that money for a bus ticket. I'm going back to Hawkins,” you explained as if that wasn't clear enough. And in his expression, you could see what he would never say in words: vulnerability.
"Why?"
"If my parents have stopped hating me, I can probably live with them again and get a job in a store, or whatever," you said with a shrug. You knew you didn't owe him an explanation, but a part of you made you do it just to see the way he reacted "After all, I have nothing else to do here"
You saw how his face turned with a bit of violence to look at you properly and for the first time in the night, you saw that facade that he had built crumble. He looked hurt, but you needed to convince yourself to ignore him or you'd end up doing something stupid.
“Y/N!” said a voice from behind Eddie. It was Gareth, followed by the other two members of the group.
“Hey guys,” you replied, a little more polite than how you had greeted Eddie, as you took a couple of steps to give each of them a hug “I just came by to say goodbye.”
“To say goodbye? Where are you going?" Jeff asked, frowning and with a sad expression.
"Back home," you murmured, with a small smile.
"Hawkins?" they insisted, while you nodded "And for how long?" they sounded a little scared to ask that question, but you giggled.
"A very, very good time" you explained and none of the three said anything. They didn't know the details of what happened between you and Eddie, but they did know that you didn't end up on good terms. That's why when they heard this, they looked at their friend, as if they wanted to check that he had heard it too “And I hate to ask you, but could you lend me some money? I just need to pay for transportation, I promise I'll send you an envelope with bills when I start work”
"Sure, we can lend you whatever you need" murmured one of them, with a friendly smile. It made you sad to leave them because apart from being members of the band they were also your friends.
“You played great, by the way. I haven't come to listen to you in a long time” you flattered them. Although you couldn't see it, Eddie was red with jealousy behind you. When he saw you in the crowd a part of him wished you were there because you missed him. Could he even want that after what he had done to you? He didn't know, but not admitting that he was wrong was more a matter of pride than being right "I liked the last song"
“I wrote it myself,” Eddie interjected, stepping forward so you could see him.
"Adventures with groupies bring good inspiration, huh?" you laughed, knowing you'd hit a nerve. You wanted him to admit that it was for you, just for the sheer satisfaction of winning. But he, just as stubborn as you, only laughed bitterly.
Jeff wanted to fix the situation a bit by asking you to accompany him so he could give you the money and once you had it, you went back out so you could say goodbye to the boys.
And of course, Eddie was gone.
"What are you doing?" Eddie asked, incredulously. You'd had another fight, maybe the third in the week, and decided enough was enough. For that reason, you were putting your things in the old suitcase which you had carried during those years.
“Didn't you hear me or are you just stupid? I'm out of here” you answered, without looking at him. Eddie reached out to grip your wrist tightly, the rings on his fingers feeling cold against your skin.
“Are you really going to take your tantrum that far?”
"Tantrum?!" you asked, jerking out of his grasp and looking into his eyes, “So this is my fault? Am I a tantrum girl?
“Well, it seems so! I don't even understand why we're fighting” he said, raising both hands as if he really didn't understand what was happening. You dropped the clothes you had on the floor in frustration.
"You do not get it? It is clear that this is no longer working, we are no longer working!” you sobbed. At that point it was useless to contain the crying that was already imminent from the beginning “When was the last time we really spent time together? Not with the band or with your fans or drinking in the bars. Time for us” you exclaimed, looking at him through tears “You don't even look at me, you don't even care how I feel. The other day I was crying in the bathroom and you didn't even notice. Every day I ask myself what am I doing wrong to not even hear you say you love me. You don't even answer me out of commitment when I tell you to," you murmured, tears cutting through your voice from time to time. "We have sex and then you start smoking a cigarette as if I didn't exist and then you go to sleep. You used to be so different, Eddie. When we were in Hawkins all that mattered was us and now it seems that on a scale of importance this relationship is left until the end. You're just in love with yourself.” You were silent for a second, just to give him a chance to say something. But he was quiet too “And I'm not going to put up with this anymore. I cannot”
You continued to put your clothes in the suitcase and while you were doing it you expected anything from him. For him to stop you, for him to yell at you, maybe even apologize for how he made you feel. But he didn't do anything, he just stood in front of you while he watched you pack. When you finished you looked at it; he was expressionless
“Take money from the can if you need it”
"You're a bastard, Edward Munson," you sobbed, opening your shared room and slamming the door out of there.
A knock resounding on the door woke you up from your nightmare. It was perhaps the fifth time that you had relived the memory, between dreams, and it was just as hurtful as the first time.
It had been three days since you had seen Corroded Coffin and you still hadn't finished packing your belongings. Perhaps it was a lack of time, energy, or simply the courage to do it. You heard the knock on the door again and frowned as you sat on your bed. It wasn't the right time to receive visitors and you just hoped that a lunatic hadn't sneaked into that seedy place you inhabited.
“Y/N?” they called from outside. Although the voice sounded hoarser, you were able to perfectly identify who it belonged to. You didn't know what Eddie Munson could do in the wee hours, knocking on your door, but you had no plans to find out either. He was probably just drunk and wanted to upset you, but you weren't going to let him give you another headache. You lay back down on your bed, thankful that all the lights were off and he couldn't see you through the curtains, until you heard something that caught your attention; crying “You're stupid, Eddie. So, so, so stupid,” he sobbed, behind your door, as you heard his head hit the wood with a thud. You hesitated for a while, because you didn't want to let him manipulate you, but you weren't so inhuman as to listen to him cry and not go out to check that he was okay.
"Eddie?" you asked, opening the door and seeing his body fall slightly inside. He looked up at you from below and his face lit up.
“Y/N…” he mumbled, his voice meek, as he quickly got to his feet. He smelled of alcohol and his eyes looked swollen, but what caught your attention the most was the trickle of blood that was dripping from his hand.
"Eddie, for God's sake, what happened to you?" you murmured worriedly, turning on the light and noticing that it was a considerable cut.
"You haven't left yet," he said as if he was the only thing that mattered to him. You took him by the hand that wasn't injured to get him into the room and then you ran in search of the poor first aid kit that was under the sink. It was just hydrogen peroxide, adhesive band-aids, and a couple of bandages.
"Give me your hand," you demanded, sitting down next to him on the bed. The boy had smeared the floor with drops of blood, but you weren't too interested, you were more concerned with giving the wound some attention. He had probably cut himself on a piece of glass or something, since it wasn't that deep a cut, just very scandalous.
"Forgive me," he murmured suddenly. You tensed in place and your hand trembled a little just as you finished wrapping the bandage.
"Okay, I don't think it's the first weird stain on the floor."
"I'm not talking about the floor, I'm talking about us" he insisted, as if he was angry because you wanted to avoid the subject "Forgive me for what I did, it's just that..." his words were interrupted by a sob that he couldn't control “Y/N I've been so miserable these past few months. Every day I think about how much I miss you and I… shit, even now I'm sounding so selfish” he whispered. You knew Eddie like the back of your hand and you knew he was struggling to find what to say “You were right about me, about how I neglected you. About what an idiot I was about our relationship. I was so consumed by the idea of fame, by drugs, by alcohol that I just forgot about you. And I'm sorry from the bottom of my heart because you don't deserve to be with someone who treats you that way. You have always supported us, you have loved me without condition and I have been a bad boyfriend. And I miss you so much and I miss everything that I sang that I missed about you. Because that song is for you, Y/N. Because I can't get you out of my mind, because I keep longing to have a love that I managed to lose and that I don't know if I can get back. I was so angry for some reason that I thought it best to let you go. I thought you'd come back after a few days and we could work things out, but you didn't. And the other day when I saw you there, in the audience, I realized that you are the only person I love. But then you said you were leaving and I felt so hurt to think that you don't even care about me anymore. Then I understood how I made you feel and that plunged me into a pit of misery. I hurt you, my love. And I feel so bad about it and I don't know how I can fix it. So I did the only thing I know how to deal with my problems and I drank and drank until I thought of looking for you. But I was afraid that you were already gone and I… Y/N I don't want to lose you, even though I know I deserve it. I'm not in a position to ask you, but I just want you to forgive me. You are my reason for existing and I don't know how I could have been such an idiot to forget it” he said and then burst into tears.
He was very drunk, but you knew he wasn't lying. And yes, you knew he screwed up, you knew he should have offered you that apology long ago, and you also knew he shouldn't have treated you like that when you asked for bus money. But you weren't going to spend your whole life hating him. Not when he had walked to your bedroom door to tell you everything he had just said.
"Eddie," you whispered, reaching out your hands in his direction as his crying intensified. He got the message and he didn't hesitate a second before he fell against you, burying his face in your neck and staining your shoulder with tears.
“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…” he insisted. You didn't know as you got a little closer and started stroking his back.
You had never been a person who believed in second chances. For you, once someone showed what he was capable of, there was no turning back. But you found that just like with everything else, things were different when it came to Eddie.
You didn't have the heart or the willpower to tell him you wouldn't forgive him. Besides, you had been dating for years and he had never behaved that way. He was always considerate and loving, even in the months before your problems with him started. Maybe it was just one of those potholes couples go through; a bit of rain after a streak of sunny days.
But knowing that wasn't going to stop you from telling him how he had made you feel.
"You left me completely aside" you exclaimed, close to his ear, without it being heard as a claim.
"I know," he replied, his voice muffled by the fabric of your shirt.
“That broke my heart, did you know that?” you whispered and Eddie nodded, still refusing to let go of your chest.
“And I want to fix it. Let me fix it, I know if I work hard I can do it” you heard him sob, feeling his hands wrap around you as if you were his only connection to the real world.
His pleading tone was tearing at your chest and suddenly you started crying too. The truth was, you never imagined a future without him, even after the way he had hurt you. That's probably why you hadn't even left Hawkins, because deep down you wanted Eddie to come looking for you just like he had done.
You didn't say anything else, you just let him cry over you and you cried with him too. You felt as if crying could somehow wash away the resentments and pain that had existed in you.
"What happened to your hand?" you asked after a while, while holding him gently, but Eddie didn't move away from you even a bit when answering.
“I probably cut myself on a glass or a bottle. I don't remember,” he said, still sounding sad. You kept your hand under his and continued to hold him in silence, feeling his hair brush against your nose. He smelled like your shampoo, one that you had probably left behind by accident.
"I'm tired" you exclaimed with fear of breaking the peace of the moment "I think I need to sleep" you added. Eddie finally pulled away and looked you in the eye.
"It's okay. I’ll go"
"I didn't say you to leave," you murmured, keeping a neutral expression. "I just said I want to sleep”
Eddie seemed to get the idea when you tossed a pillow across the bed and lay back, so he kicked off his shoes and looked at you as he'd started to undo his belt.
"Can I…?" he asked fearfully. You had seen him naked hundreds of times and whenever you slept together, he slept in his underwear, but now he didn't want to bother you. You nodded silently and he took off his pants, but he kept his shirt on, while he hurriedly threw himself on the bed with you. There was barely room for both of them and you felt Eddie's body tense from the closeness as if he was afraid that moving would make you uncomfortable or upset.
“Tomorrow we will talk about this. When you're soberer and I'm more awake, okay?" you whispered in the dark.
"Yes," he replied, just as short as you. Both of you were looking at the ceiling, to avoid looking at each other, like so many nights you had. You knew that this would be a turning point in your relationship and you were willing to forgive the boy as long as he showed you that he was really going to change his attitude about you.
For a second you felt like you were back in Eddie's trailer; a couple of awkward and fearful teenagers sharing a bed for the first time.
“My luggage is already packed” you broke the silence. His chest ached a little to think that despite everything you would still leave. Perhaps, as he himself had said, he deserved it. "But I'd rather stay here a little longer before I go back to you and the band," you continued and he exhaled with relief as he realized your plans were different.
“Okay, take all the time you need,” he murmured, turning in a weak moment so he could look at you. The only thing he needed was to be certain that he still had a chance to make amends and above all to know that you would not walk out of his life just like that. Although in the hypothetical case that you had gone to Hawkins, he would have been able to leave the band and come looking for you “I love you. And again I'm sorry I led you into thinking it wasn't so,” he said, his voice soft. He didn't expect much and he knew that you had the right to ignore him if you wanted to, but he needed to work hard to be good for you. That included telling you how he felt.
To Eddie's surprise, you got up from where you were and leaned towards him to place a kiss on his lips that completely melted him. He hadn't kissed you in months and even that light caress managed to make him let out a shaky breath. The contact didn't last long, just long enough for him to know that you still loved him too.
"Rest, Ed" you exclaimed and his chest swelled with joy to see that you called him affectionately again and not by his full name. Almost immediately you fell asleep, while the boy joined you minutes later.
When you woke up you were still in the same position, but with the difference that there was a hand holding yours with care and love.
And that's how you planned for you to get ahead: together, hand in hand, as you always had.
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