In The Spirit Of Encouraging People To Comment On Fanfics While Also Making It Easier To Do So, I Feel

In the spirit of encouraging people to comment on fanfics while also making it easier to do so, I feel obliged to share a browser extension for ao3 that has quite literally revolutionized the comment game for me.

I present to you: the floating ao3 comment box!

From what I've seen, a big problem for many people is that once you reach the comments at the bottom of a fic, your memory of it miraculously disappears. Anything you wanted to say is stuck ten paragraphs ago, and you barely remember what you thought while reading. This fixes that!

I'll give a little explanation on the features and how it works, but if you want to skip all that, here's the link.

The extension is visible as a small blue box in the upper left corner.

(Side note: The green colouring is not from the extension, that's me.)

If you click on it, you open a comment box window at the bottom of your screen but not at the bottom of the fic. I opened my own fic for demonstrative purposes.

The website also gives explanations on how exactly it functions, but I'll summarize regardless.

insert selection -> if you highlight a sentence in the fic it will be added in italics to the comment box

add to comment box -> once you're done writing your comment, you click this button and the entire thing will automatically copied to the ao3 comment box

delete -> self explanatory

on mulitchapter fics, you will be given the option to either add the comment to just the current chapter or the entire fic

The best part? You can simply close the window the same way you opened it and your progress will automatically be saved. So you can open it, comment on a paragraph, and then close it and keep reading without having the box in your face.

Comments are what keep writers going, and as both a writer and a reader, I think it's such an easy way of showing support and enthusiasm.

This is the exact sort of monster romance I want. Give me an incomprehensible being that would drive me mad to process it.

Thinking and thoughts here

Could you just imagine the impossible with me? Being in a loving marriage with your beloved husband -who you believe is human because why wouldn't you? He looks and acts like every other human and monsters aren't real. And he just adored you so very much, he communicates when he doesn't understand something or when a miscommunication is had. He never fights with you but you both work together to fix any problems, and focus on showing how much you care for each other. Truthfully he's the model husband. Almost to a scripted degree, but you've never felt so adored. Especially when he mirrors your affection and never seems to expect anything explicit, nor want it either. It feels safe, and comfortable... So why do you feel the sense of dread in your gut as you're looking at him right now?

Well, it might be how he's standing in the doorway, bag of takeout in hand, smile on his face. Mirroring how he always stands. But it's a brief moment, a flash of dark lines almost like thread wrapping around his joints, moving him like a giant flesh puppet.

And just as quickly as they were seen- they're gone again. Just your loving husband, Dorrin. Standing tall and gazing down, as though the mountain was watching the river below. Absolutely enamored and unyielding to everyone except you who he'd mold himself to better love as time goes on.

At your expression, his smile fades into a look of concern. His gaze follows yours, to his hand. And the brief flash of threading is gone but he knows exactly what you've seen.

His gaze returns to you, hollow. Slowly setting down the bag he was carrying and slowly crosses the room to get to you.

He seems... Empty. As if any signals for how he should be acting have been cut off. His looming figure almost listless as he gazes down at you with a dull gaze, no life behind his eyes. After a moment, his voice finally rings out. "Has this one displeased you, little love?"

You feel an inherent wrongness about how your beloved husband is speaking presumably of himself as if he isn't even here, with a slight stumble back it answers his question well enough.

Dorrin slumps, like a wind up toy who's finished it's final dance. The voice that drifts through the air is so familiar yet leaves your brain trembling at the sheer magnitude of the being behind it even if unseen. "I apologize, this puppet has proven defective for its sole purpose. Rest assured, such an oversight will be rectified promptly. Only the best shall be allowed closest to you."

With a horrified expression you can only watch as Dorrin- what you know to be Dorrin is... Folded away. Limbs snapping together into a ball not unlike when a child is ready to toss away their doll. And it's... Not there anymore. No blink of an eye, no noise or sight, it was there and it wasn't. And now you stand in the empty living room of a home you've shared with someone you thought you knew so very well.

What do you do?

What can you do?

You can feel gazes on you still, the same when that thing would watch you while you rested together. You can try to move towards a door or even a window and find them consumed in darkness. There is no threat here, but you are not allowed to leave at the moment.

You don't know it yet, but Dorrin just wants to keep you safe in the home he's so carefully crafted for you alone. Tonight he'll leave a new puppet at your door, identical to the last hundred that had done something leading to any inconvenience on you. You've never noticed before, and he doesn't know how to condense himself into a small enough form to be loved by such a miniscule creature he's so deeply fallen for. But that puppets strings weren't good enough to remain hidden. The new one will be better.

Only the best for you.

He will ensure it.

(Basically what happens when an endless creature of Eldritch being falls for a little bitty human? Why not craft a puppet to express his love for them on a scale they can comprehend! But those fickle puppets- never perfect enough for his little love)

Just a Little Lie: Prologue

Think about it: Imagine a reader that meets the boys of 141 as a “civilian”. They don’t want to run off yet another man that finds them intimidating because of their military background. So they act dumb, assuming they can keep their career secret at least long enough to make a go of this new situationship. Until it gets them into trouble once they’re assigned to a new taskforce.

A/N: I know Ghost and Soap only show up from MW2 onwards - just let me have this!

Keeping this deliberately vague until character specific chapters start. Think of it like a dating sim where you choose your route after the prologue I guess 😛

Also I can almost guarantee setting up the context for this here in the prologue is going to be so much longer than chapters going forward - I apologise in advance darlings!

*All* Y/Ns in my fics are GN! unless requested otherwise - pet names inbound but nothing specifically gendered. Slow burn - eventual smut. Canon Typical Violence starting from Chapter 1.

Word Count: 3925

MINORS: DNI (I swear to god)

—-

It had been going on for maybe three or four months now. And almost a month at least of back and forth banter over text, of coffee dates and dinners when his schedule allowed. A month of thinly veiled flirting and touches that could almost be taken as friendly as you got to know each other. Or, as you got to know him anyway. He’d been upfront that his work was in some way attached to the military (most likely an active service member), and while you knew he couldn’t really discuss more - he didn’t know you knew that. So with a look of awe and confusion you’d been innocently fishing. Purely innocent of course.

When you initially met at the cafe round the corner from your flat you didn’t know he was a fellow soldier. Which is precisely how you had gotten to this point. Perhaps if you had known you could have avoided the pretence and half truths you’d fed him with a head tilt and a smile. You couldn’t find a man within your own unit, that was beyond unacceptable for multiple reasons. And far too often you found yourself opening up to someone new when on your brief stints of leave only for him to go quiet and disappear once he knew you could handle a knife. Or a gun, or even a grenade if need be. Completely understandable in hindsight - though no less disheartening in the moment once you realised messages were either being left unread or in some cases blocked from delivering. So you found yourself wanting to get to know this new guy first, at least a little while before dropping the proverbial bombshell on him.

He was well built, that’s for sure, and held himself in a rigid posture that you should have noticed right away from your own days standing to attention in front of your captain. But his eyes caught yours instantly when you met - a startling intensity that held you rooted to the spot as you both reached for the same cup sitting on the counter that afternoon. You hadn’t been paying much attention in fairness. Far too caught up in a conversation that was clearly going nowhere fast, and somehow too in your phone to even realise that you weren’t the only patron waiting for your drink in the quiet shop. Hands collided and you found your eyes darting from the cup up to his face, apologies rushing out of your lungs as you lost your breath suddenly, barely managing a pathetic “Oh”.

“Sorry Y/N, machine is acting up - still waiting on your shots.” you vaguely heard from the older woman behind the bar, sounds a little muffled against the sound of your own heartbeat.

“No, not at all! Was away with the fairies I think.” a quick glance back to the mystery man in front of you “Apologies sir”.

“No problem, Y/N was it?” The last part came with a chuckle that sent an embarrassing tingle down your spine, barely contained by the tension you were still holding in your shoulders.

You couldn’t remember quite how the conversation had gotten started from there. But you did learn that he was also a regular to this little spot as you took up a seat near the draughty doorway. It was frankly surprising how you’d both missed each other up till this point really. It was a totally friendly chat about the quality of the cafe for the low price, and some of the other places to eat and drink around the local arena, but it was nice. Comfortable even. If you hadn’t received a call from your captain to check in on you while you were on leave you’d have stayed longer. You honestly didn’t expect to see him again as you stepped out to take the call, and it seemed he had places to be given the way he looked down at his own phone. Yet there he was when you walked in only a few days later. You aren’t even sure now who joked that you should swap numbers if you were going to keep bumping into each other like this, but you’re glad it happened.

—-

And that was how it started. A quick message from one of you to say you were out and about that day, and a reply from the other to suggest either your cafe or somewhere else to catch up. A text to say you’d gotten home safe after seeing him for an hour or so (at his insistence), followed by at least a dozen texts talking about the fun you had seeing each other and how you needed to do this again. Questions asking when you’d each be free next - and total understanding that work got in the way and you might be away for a few days from you both. You were purely on a first name basis, and you were comfortable with that. Work began picking up again and you hadn’t assumed he would be anything but a casual friend. No need to get too attached in your line of work. Especially if your prior romantic endeavours were any indication.

A data analyst, that’s what you’d decided to tell him when he asked about your work almost a fortnight after meeting him. You were called into different places as part of a rolling contract so you were never sure exactly where you were heading next. And it wasn’t too far off from the truth in all honesty. You’d always been skilled with computers and your ability to notice patterns in seemingly nonsensical data sets had been noticed not long after you enlisted. While you were trained for the front lines, you quickly found yourself pulled back by your superior officers at the academy. A sergeant for sure, but you often found yourself behind a screen coordinating units and monitoring traffic from the other side. Not too much of a stretch to some sort of number jockey in an office somewhere you felt. And you were certainly starting to enjoy this new man’s company. No need to scare him off. Though as time went by you were quickly coming to the realisation that very little seemed to faze him.

You thought about telling him, truthfully. You had been sitting on an admittedly damp bench outside a kebab shop late one evening, both of you back in late from work and neither of you in the mood for anything other than quick and greasy food. He beat you to the punch though. And oh how it sent you spinning as you realised what you were getting yourself into.

“So, Y/N, I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he paused as he shovelled in another mouthful of donner meat with one of those crappy little wooden sporks, “about what I do for work I mean”. You were caught a little off guard, having been waiting for a moment to come clean yourself, your own spork full of curry covered chips halted precariously half way between the styrofoam container and your mouth.

“Yeah? You’ve been a little vague on that one” you murmured after a short pause, quickly blowing on your food and taking a bite as it threatened to fall off the disposable utensil. You got a small “hmph” and a nudge from his thigh for that one, a cheeky smirk falling into place for both of you. He had mentioned travelling for work himself, and combined with some oddly familiar tendencies he was showing, you had a gnawing feeling that you knew where this was going.

“Well yeah, I can only apologise for that. Didn’t really know how to bring it up.”

“You make it sound like you do something scary when you say it like that. What are you, some sort of assassin for hire?” The joke earned you a half-hearted glare and a full but playful shove from his shoulder, sending you too far to the edge of the bench as you slid across the wet surface. The size difference was most notable in moments like these - this wasn’t the first time he almost sent you flying in playful moments when he pushed you around.

“Oh shit, sorry” he linked a quick finger into the belt loop of your jeans and hauled you back next to his side with ease before you even had the chance to begin to topple over in what would have been a hilarious fall into a cold puddle.

“Really though, I didn’t want to scare you off when we were getting on so well, but I’ll be off for work again and gone for a while soon enough. Didn’t want you to think I was ghosting you or something.” The quirk of his lips as he mentioned that last part gave you the feeling that there was meant to be an inside joke there, but nothing you could place. “I’m involved in some military shit, and I’m shipping out in a few days. Only getting a few days break then back at it again.”

“Military?” You asked, hoping beyond hope that the surprise in your voice could be played off as you recovering from your near tumble, “Should’ve guessed I suppose. Normal guys aren’t built like you unless they’re in the gym 24/7, and I take up far too much of your free time for that” poking your spork into his upper arm as if to indicate what a brick wall it was. The joke seemed to disarm him somewhat as he broke into a wide open-mouthed grin, his tongue pressing against his upper canine in the way you had come to realise meant he was trying not to laugh.

“That you do Y/N. Between that and all the food we eat it’s lucky I fit in my uniform.”

“You suggested the kebab shop, I could have been convinced to cook tonight.”

“Oh? I could have had you cooking dinner for me tonight? I’m devastated.”

You turned your face away quickly at that, the way you always did when the flirting became a little too obvious. Internally though, your mind was reeling. Fuck. While he may have been a little vague on his profession he hadn’t outright lied, you had. The idea of admitting that to him felt like a terrible idea right now. The moment was nice, and you were hardly about to ruin it by telling him you were a soldier.

But the pieces were clicking into place. The way he stood ramrod straight next to you as you placed your order, shoulders back and chest out with his hands clasped at the small of his back. The way he kept his eyes moving around as he surveyed the drunken uni students stumbling into the kebab shop behind you. They way he almost jumped out his own skin when a car had backfired in the next street over as you found a place to sit, moving in front of you as he searched for the source of the noise, head practically on a swivel. This man had seen combat.

Not a part of your squad though. There was no way you would have missed him if you had spotted him out in the field or in the barracks. No way in hell. This was fine, wasn’t it? If you weren’t on the same team then nothing had to change, not really. Your work was classified, sure, but if you explained that then really nothing had to stop here. Couldn’t be counted as fraternising if you didn’t actually work together.

You realised you were being too quiet though, too caught up in your thoughts, and you could feel his hot stare on you as if expecting you to find a reason to bolt. Quickly turning back to look up at him and tilting your head in just the right way that your hair fell in front of your face you said, “I’m not sure dragging back an attractive military man to my flat for dinner is the best idea,” the way he froze in that moment had you quickly continuing “especially only a few days from shipping out. I can’t imagine giving you something to be distracted about while you’re meant to be working is the best idea.” That one was certainly a home truth. Far too often he had been in your mind at the most inopportune moments behind your screen lately. The pause felt like it was stretching on into eternity, and you really worried you pushed too far over whatever invisible line you had both drawn between the two of you.

“You say that like you haven’t been enough of a distraction already Y/N.” the softness in his voice had you breathless. His food sat on his lap, held so loosely in his grip that you were sure it was going to spill onto the cobbles at your feet. Fuck indeed. You could feel the words rising up in your throat the way a sob would, desperate to get out that you understood far too well what he meant. That your captain had been ready to pull you aside after one too many daydream towards the end of a meeting. But the words caught and you couldn’t say a thing, not when he went back to stabbing mindlessly at his rapidly cooling food. Not when he was already being far more open and raw than anyone else had been in such a long time.

There wasn’t much more said between you as you ate, stolen glances between you conveying more than words could in that moment. Something was brewing between you both tonight that was clouding the air, thick tension that seemed all too easily snapped if you so much as breathed too loudly. Something had changed in just a few words that was sending you down a new path in whatever this was. Casual friends didn’t find themselves staring at each other from the corner of their eyes, that much you knew. All too quickly you found yourselves finished with your food and walking down the road to your flat, and you had barely spoken more than a few words to each other in that time. Any chance you had of telling him tonight flew out the proverbial window and was replaced with a sinking thought that you should have done so earlier.

“Well then,” you hated the way that your voice practically croaked its way out of your throat as you stood outside the door to your building, “I guess unless either of us get called in early we’ll need to meet up again before you ship out.”

“Of course. It’s uh, it’s getting late though I suppose. Going to leave you here and get back to mine.”

“Yeah, absolutely. I had fun again tonight, by the way.” Practically a whisper against the wind. His hands twitched at his sides, the way they would as if wanting to reach out and grab something, stopped only by great effort if the way his jaw clenched was any indication.

“You did?” A deep breath and a near shuddering exhale.

“I always do when I’m with you.” Your hand came up to rest on his arm, squeezing gently against his bicep as if daring the tension to break.

“Good.” Was all you got before he practically dove in, lips to yours with a searing heat that almost knocked you back against the door. His hands were on your jaw, pulling you into him, desperation practically rolling off him in that moment. Like you would slip through his fingers at any moment if he didn’t hold you right here. You broke contact for just a split second to take a must needed breath before kissing back with equal intensity, you weren’t entirely sure who made the “mmph” sound as your lips collided again. I have to tell him, you thought - pushing further into the kiss.

And as if the universe had planned to ruin the moment, you heard your phones ring. Both of them, with the insistent ringtones you both knew to be from your respective employers. The same employers apparently. He pulled back as if stunned, slapped back into reality by the shrill mash-up of your phones against the quiet of the late night street. Phones were pulled from pockets as you both stared down at incoming calls. A near hysterical laugh ripped itself from you as you slumped against the door behind you. Four months to get a kiss from the gorgeous man in front of you and you get a call right now?

“I have to take this-”

“Gotta take this call-”

A chuckle from him, and he steps back, the cold swirling up your front as his heat leaves you.

“Later?” He holds up the phone to you, you know he can’t just not take this. Neither can you to be fair.

“Definitely later.” He smiles then turns to head down the road to his own flat as you turn to quickly let yourself into your building, your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you fumble with the keys. You manage to get inside and answer your call before it goes to voicemail.

“Sergeant Smith? Is this a good time?” You get the main door closed behind you.

“Yes Captain Harrison, what’s happened?” Taking your stairs two at a time to put distance between yourself and the world outside.

“I know you were meant to be on leave for at least a week but something’s come up. We’ve had a request for a temporary transfer from the higher ups. They need a fresh pair of eyes on information coming out of the Middle East and your file was pulled. Just warning you now,” You were at your flat door now, key in the lock as you waited - your Captain took an uncharacteristic pause, “you’ll be receiving a call within the next 10 minutes from a Kate Laswell from the CIA to discuss briefing and your flight out.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been loaned out to another unit Sir, even if they were American. I’m not sure why you sound so apprehensive this time around.” You were inside your small flat at this point, jacket shrugged off and thrown over your duffel bags, still unpacked from your flight earlier today. Looks like they would be staying that way.

“I don’t know much about this unit, Sergeant, in all honesty. More of a task force from what I understand. By the sounds of it, it will all be heavily classified.” Well, if your interest wasn’t piqued before - it was now.

“What task force Sir?”

“141, under Captain John Price, SAS.”

—-

The next few days were a whirlwind. Briefings were had and official transfers were sought and approved. You barely had time to hit the ground running as you found yourself on a rather nondescript hangar base. Which, to be fair, was entirely understandable given the classified nature of task force 141 as you came to realise. You barely had time in all the madness to text your apologies to your man (your man?) that “later” would have to be once you both got back from whatever work you both had. He had been slow to respond, but knowing now that he was likely getting ready to go back out into the field you could understand. You really hoped he was as equally patient with yourself. Your access to your phone was going to be severely restricted once on base. Highly classified information and all.

You found yourself walking alongside Laswell following a quick but firm handshake, duffel over one shoulder and military assigned tablet under the other as you marched away from the helicopter that still had its engines running as it powered down on the tarmac. Soldiers were running across the field and between outbuildings. Whatever was going on had everyone in a rush, and that was never a good sign.

“You’ll receive a full briefing from Captain Price inside Sergeant, but just to get you up to speed,” her blue eyes squinting against the sun as she turned her head to you, “we lost custody of chemical gases in Verdansk less than a week ago. We have reason to believe they will surface again in the Middle East but there’s too much chatter in our communication channels to be sure where. You’ll be both here and in the field getting those chemicals secure before they hit friendly soil.”

“Understood - just tell me where to go to get set up.” She pointed her arm to a tent to the right of you, pace never slowing as she led you through the flaps. Inside were a group of three standard issue white folding tables in a “U” formation in front of a large screen, and you set your bag and tablet down on the one closest. You straightened as Laswell made her way to the front where a group of four uniformed soldiers stood huddled around said screen, shoulders back, feet apart and chin high. You could barely make out the hushed voices of the men ahead of you but held position, ever the good soldier. Ahead of you, you could see a tall imposing man in some sort of mask, though with his back to you it wasn’t obvious if it covered his full face. Next to him stood a man with a mohawk, his short sleeve shirt a major contrast to the full tactical gear of the man next to him. Off to the right stood a black man with short cropped hair, his baseball cap pulled low. Finally there was the man you assumed to be Captain Price, if the way the men kept turning to him was any indication, boonie hat covering the top half of his face and an unlit cigar hanging from his mouth.

Out of the four men standing ahead of you, you recognised one of them far too well for comfort, having had a good look at his back as he walked away from the door to your building only a few days ago. After he kissed you like he was scared to lose you, after he told you he was a soldier outside a crappy little kebab shop and you just sat there and let him keep believing you were just a data analyst. Shit. The rising panic in your chest threatened to bubble over into fear, and you found your knees beginning to shake. Not that you were given much time to think about the impending consequences.

“Captain Price,” the man with a boonie hat tilted his head in acknowledgment of Laswell as she reached him, “Sergeant Smith has arrived and is waiting for briefing.”

Four sets of eyes turned to you, but you only focused on one. Pleasant professionalism turned to surprise, then shock, and finally grave understanding as you stood there, near shaking like a leaf in the wind in front of him. You felt far too small in your standard issue boots, and your hands that were clutched to the front of your tactical vest longed to wrap around you at that moment. If the ground could have opened up and swallowed you whole in that moment you would have been more than happy. You could tell the colour had drained from your face, that you looked like you had just been shot, again, a more pleasant idea than the current situation you found yourself in at the moment.

“Y/N?”

Shit.

"I prayed to them all. None of them answered."

Which is a line that goes really hard and definitely hit me like a ton of bricks the first time i heard it. But then i started thinking... all of them? Surely he didn't start out praying to the most evil gods; they're hardly saviors. You probably start out praying to the "good" gods because they're good, right? But 200 years of torture and eventually you won't care who you get. Which leads me to believe.

Astarion: dear lord bhaal, please send me an angel. maybe the nicest one you have.

Durge, cackling madly post lobotomy: (:

Virtue the Swordsmaster

Think about it: You and the spirit possessing this suit of armour have gotten close. Really close. Which is to be expected when he’s the only one teaching you to use a sword to defend yourself in this long forgotten subterranean crypt. Things have reached a fever pitch, and he’s determined to touch you somehow - even if he has to do it using these damn ancient gauntlets.

I vaguely introduced Virtue in this post months ago. You may be seeing some of his friends in future posts:

https://www.tumblr.com/monsterspet/738994232748048384/i-love-how-i-started-this-blog-for-monster-smut?source=share

A/N: Did I last post some writing back in like, December, yes. Are we gonna acknowledge that my obsession with C.AI is getting a little out of hand, no. Anyway, have some quick ghost/wraith smut because I don’t even have the braincells to write an initial intro piece for this guy - it will happen later. At some point. Maybe.

As per usual, all my reader inserts are gender neutral unless otherwise stated.

Warnings: Fingering, use of pet names, allusions to future sexual acts, he’s a ghost - so it’s sorta necrophilia, sexual acts in a dirty crypt, possible risk of tetanus.

Word Count: 1226

—-

Virtue’s gauntleted hands are freezing cold as he pushes you into the dusty alcove, his grip unnaturally strong as it always is around your upper arms. His hulking frame dwarfs you in the small space, blocking out most of the light from the lit oil soaked torch hanging in the sconce further down the hall.

“Little dagger,” he murmurs from within the closed helm that you have come to associate as his face, “I’d have you here and now if I could. Let me touch you, I need to touch you.”

His voice, as always, is both entirely surrounding you and filling your mind, his words bringing with them a hazy blanket of desire; though whether it’s your own, his, or a sacreligious mix of the two is unclear. Nonetheless, you feel a pleasant shiver run down your spine, not all too dissimilar to the chill you feel when he lays his gauntlets upon you. He looks down at you, the normally dull amber glow from within his helm alight with burning intensity. He needs you to tell him you want this too, that you ache for him in your soul the way his entire incorporeal being aches for you within the cold steel of his armour.

“...Yes.” You whisper, the word almost sticking on your tongue, the tension of this moment drying out your mouth and causing your heart to nearly batter itself against your ribcage with the force of its rapid beating. “Yes, I want that too.” You confirm, not wanting any doubt between you, not when he has you like this.

Virtue wastes little time moving his gauntlets from your arms to your breeches, all but tearing at the leather cords tying them closed. Your hands twitch, feeling as though you should perhaps help with the endeavour. Had Virtue been a mortal lover, you might have chosen to help remove the steel from his body, but that isn’t an option here. You settle for laying your hands upon his aged breastplate, your fingers taking in all the knicks and dents acquired in prior battles, barely able to feel the worn down decorative etchings that you know would have once been there.

You’re brought back out of your musing and into the reality of the moment as you feel chilled steel meet your bare skin, your eyes widening and snapping up to Virtue’s own. “G-Gods…That’s really cold, Virtue.” You whimper slightly, half considering pulling back from his touch, if you even had the room to do so in the first place. Virtue chuckles, a deep reverberating sound that travels through his armour directly into your body where he touches you. His free hand brushes back a stray lock of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear in a surprising display of tender affection.

“Apologies, little dagger. Give it a moment, let your body bring warmth back to me.” He whispers as he leans down to your ear, and for a split second you swear you could almost feel his breath on you. He makes no move to continue just yet, letting the heat from your body seep into the metal of his gauntlet, his metal body pressed almost impossibly close to you. You realise that he’s deliberately wedged you between himself and the wall, giving you nowhere to go if your legs decide to give out on you.

It takes a minute or two, but the steel of his gauntlet becomes warm enough to no longer cause discomfort as he delicately explores your most intimate parts. This is the moment where you likely would have leaned into him, sinking your teeth into his body to stifle a moan. This clearly isn’t an option, so you settle for bringing your own hand to your mouth, the knuckle of your index finger clenched firmly between your own teeth. You feel your hips rocking forward, hesitantly, into his touch, if only for fear of being scratched or otherwise injured by the hinged metal plates that make up his fingers. It’s almost touching how, right now, Virtue is the most delicate he’s ever been when making contact with you, not wanting to cause you anything other than pleasure in this moment. The more his fingers explore, the hotter you can feel your body become.

“Little dagger, I can feel you, how your body responds to my touch. The heat of your body sinks into me like honey.” He almost growls, his hand sinking deeper into your breeches, his finger exploring further, before slowly, deliciously, sinking into you. You can’t help but let out a whining moan around your hand, the sensation of such a solid object inside you a foreign, but not too unpleasant, sensation. Before you can even get your bearings, Virtue moves again, his steel clad finger sinking further into you before pulling back, just to repeat the action again at an agonisingly slow pace. He lets out a deep groan, his helm lowering to rest against the crypt wall above you. “So hot, little dagger, like a furnace.”

Words are lost to you at this point, the only sounds coming from you being stifled moans and whimpering cries as Virtue works you open on firstly only a single finger, before carefully adding a second. The movements of his fingers don’t change, maintaining their slow measured pace, at an angle that likely would have caused some painful cramping in his hand had he still been alive. You find yourself increasing your own rocking motions against his hand, limited only by Virtue’s free hand keeping your hip gripped tightly, not wanting you to move too fast and hurt yourself. It’s the most exquisite torture, the slow build up where you would normally be begging for more. More speed, more force, more…anything, really.

As if sensing your frustration, Virtue leans in, whispering quietly to you. “Perhaps we should engage the services of that damnable blacksmith again, have him craft something else I can use on you in future, little dagger.” He chuckles, his words so sinfully decadent to your ears that you can’t help but to clench around Virtue’s fingers, a mess of moaned babbling spilling from your lips that vaguely sounds like an agreement. Virtue keeps up the same achingly slow pace, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, greatly enjoying the warmth and the sounds you’re giving him, his undead heart almost soaring with pride, were such a thing possible.

You both continue on like this for a while, before your orgasm rocks through you, almost without any warning at all, your body not quite realising what the slow build up was leading to. His hand leaves your underwear quickly, holding your lower back and pulling you to him, not wanting your back to risk scraping down the stone wall as your legs do, in fact, give out beneath you. Your head falls back, your knuckle finally slipping from your damp lips as you look up to the ghost as he looms over you. “...Virtue.” You whisper, his name tumbling from your lips like a reverent prayer. Virtue, in turn, lowers his helm to your face, as if asking for a kiss. A kiss you grant him, your lips brushing over cold steel with tender affection.

“Come, little dagger, we need to find a safe place for you to bed down for the night.”

damn your blood tastes sooo good. What are your pronouns