#i'm done tagging | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zombiekillerbiceps · 1 year

Text

Because I Love You

Note: No one asked for this but here it is anyways, please read the content list as this one! Be safe, I have other fics if this one isn’t for you.

Content: 3.8k words, 18+, NSFW, Leon x Reader, CNC with enthusiastic consent, knife play, boot kink, glove kink, pain play, primal play, edge play/ breath play, home invasion roleplay, degradation, humiliation, manipulation kink, oral (m receiving), they/them reader, ooc Leon (I think, even how I normally characterize him, but oooooh I just want him to hurt me)

Leon gets home from a difficult mission and gives in to reader’s request to use them for stress relief... but maybe they underestimated how much stress he was carrying.

It was pretty late at night. You were lounging on the couch in a pair of Leon’s boxers, a bottle of lazily sipped wine on the floor beside you, flicking through the channels. Leon was on one of those long work trips he couldn’t call you for. Anxiety knotted into a pit in your stomach. You worried about him. You didn’t know what he did for work, but you knew it was dangerous. You saw the dark, weary look in his eyes and the scars that danced across his body. He always came home so... tense. Like he was filled with a frustration he couldn’t release, an abundance of adrenaline with no way to burn it. The last time he came home like that, you practically begged him to use you as release. He refused. He didn’t want to “hurt” you.

You thought about that answer while you sipped the wine again. It helped to ease that anxious knot in your stomach. You drank more when he was away. You had trouble sleeping otherwise.

He definitely could hurt you, you thought. God, he was strong enough. He knew enough about the human body to know exactly how. He was pretty adept with that knife of his too. He worked it into your nights together on occasion since the last time got such... rewarding results from you. You closed your eyes as you remembered it... the glint of silver steel, the sharp pain of it tracing a thin line into your shouder, the threat of it against your throat...

You reached your hand down to your heat when your phone rang out. You picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Is that offer still on the table?” Leon’s voice emanated over the speaker. It sounded... tired, yes, but there was something else under it. A danger that dripped from his words like black honey.

“Uh, depends which one?” You sat up, bringing the bottle to your lips for another sip.

“The one where I use you.”

A thrill ran straight to your core. You tried to cover up your loss of words with a drink of wine, leaving him on the cusp of tension. One more sip, for bravery, and then you gave an affirmative.

“What kind of wine are you drinking?”

“What?” You looked around the dark living room, your eyes still not adjusted from staring at the TV. “How did you know...?”

A chill took you then as a sharp, cold wind whipped through the house. Your eyes drifted over to the front door. It sat open.

How did you not hear him unlock the door?

You stared at it frozen in place. The door seemed to swing shut on it’s own. He wanted you to know he’d gotten in unnoticed. How long had he been watching you?

You were dimly aware of the line going dead. The high pitched whine barely heard over the sound of your own heartbeat hammering in your chest.

Your instincts brought you back into sharp focus at the sound of combat boots on hardwood floors. He was approaching you fast. Then he materialized, long strides making quick work of the living room. The flickering of the light revealed little more than what was bare skin. His arms, his face - harshly shadowed by the raw TV light.

Then the TV went black, and the room plunged into empty darkness. The sound of his boots were silenced.

You held your breath.

A sharp noise from the movie. The room lights up. Leon is just a few feet away, moving as silently as a ghost. His intense expression is made sinister by the harsh light his sharp features.

Your brain screamed danger as fight or flight kicked in. Self preservation is making decisions for you and your hand tightens around the wine bottle. It’s lofted above your head and then released, sailing right towards him.

The motherfucker catches it. Mid-air. He never breaks his stride, his eyes never leave yours; the best defense option you had barely even an inconvenience that takes him no effort to deflect. He leaves it on a side table as he advances towards you.

Fear flows through you like an animal caught in a trap. The heat between your legs quickly follows.

The TV goes black. The room goes dark.

You turn to run but you barely make it a few steps. You don't even hear him coming. I mean, he's wearing big ass combat boots, why can't you hear him behind you?! His hand grabs your elbow and you let out a surprised shriek, cut short when your momentum is redirected into the wall. Your back hits it hard enough to make you whimper.

"Shit," Leon hisses. "Are you-"

"It was hot," you tell him quickly, shutting him up.

Then he's on you again, kissing your neck. One hand holds your jaw in a rough grip and you recognize the feeling of his leather gloves. You try to turn your head but he holds you fast. Demanding. His mouth descends on your pulse, then the thin skin of your throat, then the soft curve beneath your ear. You whimper. Your hips rock towards him already needy for him. He licks down your neck leaving a warm trail that quickly goes cold in the night air. Then he's biting the muscle above your collar bone, hard enough to make you wince. Your hand comes up to his head and you try to push him off.

He doesn't even budge. Your other hand comes up to the broad of his chest and you try to use the wall as leverage. You might as well be doing nothing at all.

"Leon," you whimper. He releases his teeth from your neck with a chuckle that curls fear inside you. He likes seeing you helpless.

His hands take your wrists, leading them above your head. You try to squirm out of his grasp. Partly because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of pinning you. Partly out of the fear of what he could do if you can’t push him away, his entire aura shifted to something more angry and dangerous than usual.

"Don't pretend like you don't like it," he says into the angle of your jaw. He leaves soft kisses there while he effortlessly pins your arms above your head. He holds them there with one hand.

The other gropes and squeezes it’s way down your body. Your chest, your side, your waist. He grabs a hold of your hips, thumb perfectly lining up with the dune of your hipbone. He pulls your hips towards him harshly enough to draw a noise from your lips. He works his knee between your thighs, then pushes them open. You swallows any protests with a kiss. His knee presses against your sensitive cunt and you whimper against his lips in response.

“Ohh, what happened to all the struggling?” Leon mocks you, punctuating his words by squeezing your wrists hard enough to bruise. His hand comes up under your t-shirt and you shiver against the sensation of his gloves on your bare skin. You melt. Fucking putty in his hands.

You open your mouth to speak, but he grinds his knee into you, and the only sound you can make is a desperate whine. He makes a satisfied hum, doing it again, obviously reveling in the power he has over you.

You try to meet his gaze. You want to say something smart or mean, but the look in his eyes levels you. Already obscured by darkness, something else hides in his expression. A genuine anger in his eyes that made you nervous.

Warmth burns in you as you realize you might be playing with real fire. You take in the sight of him. Broad chest in tactical gear- the knife holster a hopeful promise of things to come- his knee pressed against you still. His strong arms cornering this little section of the world off to just the two of you. Your eyes travel back to his and you can’t help but smile mischievously. Then you turn your head and bite into his arm, grinding your hips down against him at the same time.

You expect him to hiss an insult. To degrade you. To threaten to punish you for being such a difficult little slut, always pushing the limits. He just goes still. His muscles flex as if he’s containing something. Silent.

Methodically, his hands moved down your limbs to your head with surgical precision. The nervousness builds in you. His fingers practically envelop your skull. With one harsh movement, he’s pushed you down onto your knees. He undoes his belt and pulls himself free, his beautiful cock glistening with pre-cum. One gloved hand presses hard into your jaw. Harder. His thumb pressing against the muscles there until you open your mouth for him. The head of his cock comes to rest against your lips.

The taste of salt and Leon’s soap is too tempting to resist. He was usually such a giver, and when you went down on him, he always liked it slow. You lick up the length of his cock and he shivers in response. He drops his hands to your shoulders and you watch his forearms flex in pleasure. Your tongue swirls around his soft tip, and then you take him into your mouth soft and sweet.

Except... this time he doesn’t respond with shaking breaths and high pitched whimpers. Not even an utterance of your name. Insecurity flashes through you - you were sure this is how he usually liked it. Were you not doing well enough for him? You cast your eyes upwards for guidance, barely able to see him in the dark.

“You really think that’s going to cut it?” His voice is cold and hard. Then his hands are on the back of your head, pushing you down onto his cock so fast and deep you almost gag. You pull away to drag a sharp breath into your lungs, abdomen muscles flexing.

“You want to be fucked like a slut, you’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls you back down onto him.

Suppressing the urge to gag brings tears to your eyes, and it isn’t long until they’re falling down your cheek, mingling with the saliva making a mess of your mouth and chin. Wet, choking noises echo into the empty hall. When you start to slow, whimpering from the effort, he’s quick to pick up the slack. He thrusts his hips forward, pinning your head between him and the wall. You choke and gag around him, struggling to adjust around the brutal pace he sets, fucking your throat like you're nothing to him but a toy. Your hands come up to his hips, but he wrenches them away with a furious grunt.

He pulls out suddenly, thick strands of saliva dripping off his cock. His breathing is hard and sweat rolls down the lines of his ab muscles. Your shoulders slump and you try to catch your breath. You’re absolutely spent. How humiliating that he didn’t even have to touch you to keep you wet for him, a vague sense of disgust emanating through your core.

“Was that good enough?” you weakly ask, but you might as well be begging him to fuck you for the look in your eyes. You don’t even bother to wipe the spit from your chin or the tears from your cheeks. You hope the sight gets under his skin so he can fuck you just as rough as he did your throat.

“I don’t buy it,” he says. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and frustration.

“What?”

“I just don’t buy that you want me to fuck you.”

You’re about to ask what you can possibly do more to prove it when something hard presses against your warmth, pushing your soaked boxers against you. You look down do see Leon presenting his boot. Steel toed and tightly tied, the mere sight of them would be enough to get you to blush. But this?

You look up at him, but all he does is look back at you, expectantly. Your can feel the heat creeping up your neck as you adjust to straddle his boot. You keep hoping he’ll just end your suffering by mocking you for even considering it, but it never comes. The cold, hard leather against you sends a wave of electricity through your body. Your hips are moving on their own. Your body desperate for anything it can get, chasing it’s high no matter how humiliating. You turn your face away from him, unable to stand him looking at you like this. Grinding against his boot...

“There they are. My desperate little bitch,” his voice has the first touch of warmth it’s had all night. It’s enough to spurn you on, the heat coiling in your abdomen. You pick up the pace against your will, your body chasing ecstasy like an uncaged animal. And Leon just watches you, expression never changing, never reaching down to touch you. God, were you really going to cum on his boot while he looked at you like that?

He kneeled down to one knee, doing his best not to disturb your work. His strong hands take hold of your hips and push you harder against his boot, dragging your hips up and down. You moan, tears collecting in your eyes again. You can’t believe you’re enjoying this. Even - no, especially because it hurt. You were getting closer, your moans coming faster.

“Beg for it,” Leon orders.

“Please let me cum, Leon, please.”

“Tsk. Not that,” he pulls his boot away like he's disgusted and you whimper in protest. Then, as if you were light as a feather, he’s tossing you to the side. You catch yourself on your elbows and feel them scrape against the hardwood. Your hips grind against the air as they searched for any friction at all that would send you over the edge. They found nothing.

“You’re pathetic.” He sounds bored as he stands to his full height above you.

You watch a gloved hand pull the knife from it’s sheath at his chest. It captures his full attention, glinting in the light of the TV behind him. When he speaks, it's almost to the room.

“Isn’t this your favourite part? Where you try and fail to escape?”

You don’t move. He flips the knife in the air, catching it by the tip of the blade, and then again to catch it by the handle. He admires it as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Start crawling,” he suggests.

You push yourself onto tired, shaking limbs and try to get up. They give out on you. You pull yourself forward on your elbows instead. You hear the floorboard creek beneath his weight. The another. Then another. You feel small crawling beneath him, listening to the gentle whirl of the blade as he tosses it in the air. The floorboard creaked again, then again.

You turned to look at him. You were almost overwhelmed at how he towered above you. His broad shoulders blocking out the light in the hallway. One hand busy toying with the knife, the other pulling his pants further down his hips. He was clearly taking his time.

“You ever wonder why you like to fight so much?” You watch boot follow boot in lazy strides until they were at either side of your ribcage, standing above you.

“Should I let you get away again?” he asks, but then he’s dropping to his knees, pinning you beneath him. Fear takes hold of your vocal chords and you make a desperate noise, pushing at his legs. “Will you just give in already?”

He readjusts, turning your body to face him. Your heart is hammering in your chest. One gloved hand finds your neck, squeezing tightly, his palm pressing against your throat just hard enough to hurt. You feel lightheaded. Then weightless. Panic starts rising in you while it still has time to, Leon pushing you to your limits. Your vision starts to go dark around the edges. You bring a hand up, tapping his arm three times - your safe signal.

He releases and you gasp for air. He lets you catch your breath, and for a minute you’re almost angry. But the growing wet between your legs betrays you to yourself, forcing you to admit you liked being pushed to the edge. An exhilarated smile picks up the corners of your mouth and Leon, intently waiting for you to lead, just watches.

“More,” is all you need to say, and he’s on you again. Hand lighter on your throat, he brandishes the knife to catch your eye. It makes contact with your skin and you fight to control a shiver.

It curls around your shoulder, then down your collar bone. The curved point leaving a thin, red cut beneath the bone. You gasp, back arching into the sting. He withdraws.

“If you keep fucking squirming, I’m going to hurt you for real.” It’s as much a warning as it is a threat, and the dark rasp of his voice sends a chill down your spine.

When you go still again, he continues. The knife crosses your chest, taking it’s time tracing each and every one of your ribs. He draws a bead of blood there, before lifting the blade again. You moan, squeezing your thighs together to keep from moving your hips. The anticipation almost too much for you. But the movement catches his eye. He sheaths the knife, and then he’s prying your thighs apart so hard you feel the ache in your hips. You try to shimmy away, but his hands hold your thighs fast against him.

“Fucking, hold still,” he grunts, squeezing his hands around the squish of your thighs hard enough that you make a noise. "What part of stop squirming do you not get?"

Your hand comes up to his hips, trying to hold them at a distance, but it doesn’t help. He pulls you closer to him and you feel his cock hard and leaking over your boxers. Fuck, you almost come undone all over again. Feeling him pressed against you like this... his cock easily reaching your belly button, reminding you how deep inside you he could be.

“Leon, please,” you whimper.

“Please what?” He asks. You feel the cold blade against the tender, exposed part of your thigh.

“Please fuck me.”

He grunts, a noise that commits to nothing. He pulls the fabric of your boxers off your body and slips the knife beneath it. He cuts the thin fabric off of you in a show of strength and skill that intimidates you.

He leans over you slowly, his hips pressed flush against yours, his cock pressed against where you want it most. A gloved hand comes up to your face then, holding your jaw hard as he turns your face away from his. The knife's beautiful surface approaches your cheek. Your breath picks up, fear coursing through you. He says nothing, and it makes it all the more terrifying. Your instincts freeze every muscle in your body.

“You asked for this,” he reminds you, tracing the curve of your cheek. You bite your lip.

He sheaths the knife, and you realize then that he's still entirely dressed, his pants only pulled down enough to fuck you. He shifts his hips, lining up with your needy hole. You’re already moaning for him.

“Begging me to use you like this, begging me to hurt you like this.” He pushes into you, your cunt struggling to adjust to his size. He only makes it a couple inches. He pulls out of you, then thrusts again, moaning as he does. This time when he pushes into you, he completely fills you. You both release an almost victorious sigh.

“Always fucking struggling. Can never just make it easy,” he growls, that angry look in his eye. His jaw flexes. Your cunt tenses around him.

He thrusts into you again, and again, so hard it feels like he could fuck you in half. He dips his face into your neck, moaning.

"You want me to force you onto my cock." His voice tightened with effort, but never lost that black-honey edge. "Can't say no to you. Do this because I love you."

You reach up and cling to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric. His words shouldn't thrill you, but they did. Your eyes flutter closed. Your body shook beneath him.

“So fucked up,” Leon’s hips start to pick up their pace. You wrap your legs around him, encouraging him, pulling him deeper into you. You find yourself moaning his own words back at him; so fucked up, so fucked up.

Fuck, he felt so good. The two of you dissolved into senseless babbling, saying whatever it took to push each other closer to the edge. A meaningless cloud of fuck and just like that and you begged for this until neither of you could form words at all. Your pace became erratic, moaning into each other’s necks, limbs tightening around each other as you both approached your highs.

“Fuck, fuck, m’so-” you barely manage, panting and moaning through your words. Your thighs tighten around him and he groans in response.

And then you’re coming undone together. His hips driving his cock as deep as they can with the primal need to fuck his cum deeper inside you. You take it, greedily, breathlessly as your own climax rocks through your body like an earthquake.

He rests his forehead against your chest while he pulls out of you, then collapses onto the hardwood floor of the hallway beside you. He turns you onto your side and buries his head against your back, forearms tight against your chest while he hugs you close to him.

“I didn’t think,” you take a deep breath, trying not to pant through your sentence, “that when I asked you to use me after your work trips, that it’d be like that.”

“Bad?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically small.

“No, no,” you rush to recover the situation. You lace your fingers with his, “Of course not.”

He says nothing. You turn to look at him, and there’s that distant, angry look on his face.

“Are you okay...?”

“I wish I could tell you about it,” he says. You hum as acknowledgement, wishing you could say anything, but feeling like nothing was the right thing to say. Instead you just let him hold you for awhile.

“Time to shower?” you offer eventually.

You feel his muscles flex beneath you. Tension suddenly crackles in the air. His hand is on your hip. He uses his body weight to push you over, his full frame pinning you in place, still-hard cock slipping between your thighs.

“No. I’m not fucking done with you yet.”

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy cnc #Slasher!Leon #Resident Evil smut #resident evil fanfic #re4r Leon #knife kink #i'm done tagging #I don't know what else to say about this man I want Leon to hate fuck me idk #as always! comments and reblogs are welcome and encouraging!

476 notes · View notes

trensu · 9 months

Text

Steve had always wanted to be a skilled fighter. The schools that churned out the best fighters all happened to be schools for holy warriors. It was possible that Steve maybe sort of lied a little (with the help of his friends Robin and Dustin) to get into this school by claiming he was full to the brim of religious fervor but hadn’t decided who to pledge his sword to yet. It shouldn’t have worked, if he were honest with himself, but by some stroke of luck it did, and he finished his training as one of the top combatants.

The issue now was that he had to pick a god whose crest to carry. There were all sorts of gods. Gods of water, gods of air, gods of agriculture, war gods, cat gods, plant gods...the list was endless. And while Steve was one of the best fighters around, he was most definitely not one of the best researchers. Thankfully Dustin and Robin were very clever and knew where to find details about the many gods in existence.

“So what kind of god do you want to follow? Maybe we can start there,” Robin asked.

“Uh…a good one?”

“You’re no help at all, you know that?” Dustin grumbled.

They suggested a local god known as Carver who stood for righteousness, but Steve turned that down. It didn't feel like a good fit. They suggested a love god by the name of Chrissy, who valued love of all kinds, romantic, platonic, familial...Steve had been tempted, very tempted, because Steve had always carried an excess of love in his heart. Robin had vetoed that one stating that Steve was already too reckless with his love and she wouldn't stand by and watch him break his own heart over and over again.

Dustin suggested a god of knowledge, Clarke, who blessed and guided those with curiosity, imagination, and a knack for invention. Steve shot that one down immediately. He was never one to be overly imaginative or curious; he preferred to deal with concrete things. Out of their quickly dwindling list, Robin reluctantly suggested Hargrove, a war god favored by a nearby kingdom, but if Carver was ill-fitting, then Hargrove was outright repellent to Steve.

"C'mon, Steve, you gotta pick someone!" Dustin huffed in frustration.

Robin thunked her head against the table in the library where they were looking up deities. She was obviously at her wit's end too. Steve, however, just dug his heels in with a particularly stubborn scowl.

"I can't just pick anyone!" Steve said. "If I'm going to pledge my sword to someone, it has to be someone...someone good. Someone that, I don't know, someone I can believe in, even when--no especially when things go wrong. That’s the whole point!"

"Yeah, I get that," Robin sighed, a mix of fond and annoyed, "but this is the eighth book we've gone through and the only one left here is called the King of Darkness which is hardly going to--huh."

Robin paused mid-rant to look at the page more closely. Steve and Dustin both huddled around her to peek into the book as well. Dustin also made a sound of curiosity.

"That's weird," Dustin said.

"Right?" Robin asked enthusiastically.

"What? What's weird?" Steve didn't get what caught their attention.

"This god only has a couple of sentences," Dustin explained, "And they don't really make sense. Something about dark creatures and the undeserving? The grammar and structure is all weird though."

"It looks like a half-assed translation," Robin added with a nod. "We should find the original text."

"Yeah! And if we can make a better translation, we could get it added to the next edition and they'd have to put our names on the book," Dustin said excitedly. Robin's eyes lit up at the thought and they both rushed off to the stacks to track down any original sources.

"Guys! Guys, what about my..."

The librarian hushed Steve, irritated. Steve groaned in defeat.

"...godly choices. Yeah, fine," Steve slumped back on his seat. "I need to find non-nerd friends."

Two days later, Robin and Dustin finished translating a slim, dusty book. They were nearly vibrating in their seats as Steve reviewed their notes on what they found. Dustin gripped his arm and gave him a shake.

"So? What do you think?" he asked excitedly.

Robin slung her arm across Steve's shoulders. With more tenderness than Steve expected, she said, "I know it doesn't seem like it, he doesn't really fit with your whole style, but it could work."

"Yeah," Steve said with a hopeful smile. "Yeah, this feels right."

It took longer than Steve would've liked, but eventually he managed to track down a small, crumbling shrine. It was an alcove carved near the entrance--no more than a crack in the stone really--of a cave at the edge of a lush forest. He almost missed it, it was so drowned in overgrown crawling vines and weeds. It bore a modest statue, no bigger than Steve, standing atop an equally modest plinth. There was a spot that obviously held a plaque once, but it must’ve been dug out by thieves at some point.

The sight of it made something in Steve's chest twinge; a strange pang of melancholy at seeing a god so forgotten and abandoned. It surprised him as he had never been particularly religious, but there was just something about this one that drew him in.

It was the middle of the day, so Steve quickly made camp and took advantage of the light to begin clearing the shrine. He started where the plaque had been, scrubbing off the dirt and moss that had filled the indentation. He knew a good smith; he could commission a new plaque to be made. After that, he weeded the immediate area around the plinth where worshipers would typically lay their offerings and pray.

By the time he finished that, it was late afternoon and he decided that was good enough for today. He had to eat and get a few hours of sleep so he could be alert once night fell. When he curled up on his bedroll, he couldn't help the grin that spread on his face. He was going to offer himself to his god tonight, and with any luck, his god would accept him.

He woke to a multitude of high pitched squeaks and the sound of many, many flapping wings. The sun had just fully set, and the stars that could be seen through the canopy burned brightly. Steve took his time to fasten on his armor and scabbard properly, and fixed his hair so not a strand was out of place. He took a few deep breaths to calm an unexpected bout of nerves before going to the shrine and kneeling.

His god had no official prayers. Or rather, the prayers for his god were forgotten. Robin and Dustin did their best to find anything prayer-like but it had been in vain. They suspected that most of the god's holy items and lore were purposely lost. Lacking that, Steve decided it was best that he introduce himself.

"Um, hi," he started and immediately winced. "Sorry. I'm not used to...this. I couldn't find any of your…holy words? Prayers? The right ways to speak to you, I guess.

"I'm Steve. Steve Harrington. I'm a fighter. I finished my training a few weeks back. I was the top of my cohort when it came to combat. I'm good with my sword and I know how to take a hit. I can turn just about anything into a weapon if it's needed."

Here Steve paused for a moment, straining to hear but there was nothing other than the typical sounds of a night out in the woods. Steve took a breath and plowed forward.

"I want to be more than a fighter, though. I don't want to just wave a sword around for nothing. I want it to...to matter. So I spent a lot of time trying to decide who to wield my sword for. It took me a while, but I found you. I want to be your shield and sword, if you'll have me."

Steve stopped again to listen. Nothing. Robin warned him this might happen. Gods didn't always accept warriors who offered themselves to them, and forgotten gods weren't always reachable. It was fine, though; he’d try again tomorrow night. Steve turned in just before dawn, eager for night again.

Steve worked on clearing the vines tangled around the statue's legs and feet. He yanked out the thick, scraggly vines, and carefully picked apart the prickling thorny ones. There was a particular gnarl of vines that didn't seem like they had a stranglehold on his god's statue. They were healthy and strong, and the way they curled and grew looked more like a caress than an invasion. He decided to leave those on, though he gently rearranged them while removing the more invasive vines so they looked more decorative.

When night arrived with the sound of squeaks and wings, Steve went to kneel at the shrine. He introduced himself again, gave the same spiel as the night before. Still he heard nothing. He scratched the back of his neck in mild insecurity.

“I guess I should tell you I didn’t find you on my own. My friends Robin and Dustin helped me. They’re way smarter than me, you know? Total nerds. I can swing a sword like nothing, but books and research? Yeah, that never works out for me, so they helped me look up all sorts of gods.

“There’s a lot of them. Way more than I thought. Dustin and Robin both recommended me ones or vetoed others. They were getting frustrated with me because I kept rejecting the ones they gave me.

“Then Robin found you. Kind of by accident, to be honest. But she did her research thing and I knew that I wanted to carry your symbol. It took me forever to find this shrine. Robin said this was probably the only shrine you had left, so I had to find it.

“Dustin kept saying it was on the other side of the forest, but obviously he was wrong. Not that he’ll ever admit it, the little shit, but whatever. I’m sorry your shrine was abandoned like this, but I promise I’ll fix it up. I’m good with my hands, I can do it.”

There was no response to his admittedly disorganized ramble. It was fine, he told himself. He needed to be patient. He’d come back the next night.

–

Around the statue’s waist there was another tangled mess of vines, except these vines had died and rotted to dark sludge. There was fungus growing on it, and it reeked. It was gross. Steve scrubbed at it for hours because the rot had stained the stone. He was able to get rid of the rot and most of the stains before going to catch a few hours of sleep in the afternoon.

Night fell and Steve was kneeling for the third time. He repeated most of what he said the previous two nights. There was still no response. He thought maybe he was pushing too hard. He’d never been the super talkative type anyway. He could share the quiet night with his god, if that was what his god wanted.

A few hours passed when he was startled out of his near meditative state by the sound of snapping twigs. He leapt to his feet, hand on his scabbard. Someone–a man by the look of it–stumbled out of the woods. He was pale and dark haired, dressed in ragged clothes that were probably awful even when they were new. He looked like a vagabond.

Steve stepped in front of the shrine, protectively. The stranger grinned at him and Steve could already tell he was not going to enjoy the conversation that was about to happen.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Steve asked firmly, cutting the man off before he could speak. The smile only grew wider.

“I could ask you the same thing, sir,” the man said, adopting the annoyed huff of a wealthy lord. Steve scowled.

“I asked first.”

“I asked second!”

“You didn’t ask me anything,” Steve responded, somewhat smug. The man paused and then snorted a laugh.

“Yeah, okay.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “You got me.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“What are you doing here? Who are you?” Steve repeated shortly. The teasing grin was back, and Steve felt his scowl deepen.

“Nothing and no one, m’lord,” the man bows mockingly.

“I’m not a lord.”

“Huh. Could’ve fooled me. You’re certainly as demanding as any lord I’ve ever met.”

“Oh fuck you,” Steve snapped. “I’m a holy warrior.”

The man laughed at him outright.

“Well that doesn’t sound very holy warrior-ish. Are your type allowed to swear?”

Steve grinded his teeth and decided it was not worth it to continue this conversation for much longer.

“Look, if you’re here to steal, I’ve got nothing on me.”

“That’s exactly what someone with something to steal would say.”

“Well, I don’t! I’m on a pilgrimage and I don’t want to spill blood on holy ground. So.” Steve wrapped a hand around the hilt of his sword. “Leave. Please.”

“Holy ground? Here?” the man barks out a laugh. “Don’t you know what this place is?”

“Yes,” Steve says shortly, placing himself more firmly between the shrine and the man. “Please leave. There shouldn’t be violence done here.”

“Oh, it’s far too late for that. This place used to belong to the King of Darkness. It’s said he was so evil that nothing grew here until he was run out and defeated by the god of righteousness. You know the one. Really plays up the holier than thou thing by making his hair all gold and glowy? Gotta say, you could give him a run for his money though.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No really! Your hair is great. Way better than Carver, even with the glowy thing.”

“Not that!” Steve said in frustration. This guy really liked the sound of his own voice and Steve was starting to get a headache. It was near dawn and all he wanted was to spend the last hour or so in the quiet night with his god.

“So you agree your hair is better than a god’s?” The man tsks at him. “That’s pretty blasphemous. Are you sure you’re a holy warrior?”

“No! I mean, yes. Wait,” Steve growls at his own bumbling. “No, I’m not better than any god. But I am a holy warrior. Kind of.”

“Kind of.”

“Look, I’m working on it so I need you to leave. You’ve insulted him enough already.”

“Your god is the King of Dark–”

“Call him that again, and I will draw my sword,” Steve said, voice steely. “He’s the Lord of Night, and I won’t let you insult him at his own shrine.”

The man goes quiet for the first time since he showed up. He looked almost surprised, his mocking grin gone. His eyes flicked over to the dilapidated statue and then back at Steve.

“Lord of Night doesn’t sound much different than what I called him,” the man said lightly.

“Well, it is,” Steve told him. “Now, will you please leave?”

The man stared at him for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, alright.” And then he left as suddenly as he had arrived.

The tension that had built up in Steve’s shoulders drained away. He went back to kneel in front of the shrine again when he noticed the barest hint of sunrise on the horizon. He cursed under his breath then was hit with a wave of embarrassment at cursing in front of the shrine and the whole situation that had transpired.

“I’m sorry about that,” Steve said, abashed. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

–

It happened again.

now with an additional snippet here and here

ps: i do not do those reader tag list things. if you'd like to keep up with my stuff, follow my writing tag: trensu tells stories

#trensu tells stories #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #robin buckley #dustin henderson #eddie munson #i don't even know what to call this #it's an idea i'm playing with but i don't know how well it works #if you're curious about the setting so am i!#if you figure it out do me a favor and tell me what it is #i have more written but it's not done #i'm hoping to post it as a oneshot on ao3 when i finish it #IF i finish it #we'll see i guess #ETA #came up with a title/tag for this #stasis in darkness

2K notes · View notes