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MULTIVERSE WANDERER

Soy una simple viajera de mundos, de estrellas y de situaciones, navegando entre las constelaciones de la creatividad y...

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creating fanfics

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FANFICS :

—The Hatred Of Love | Ghost x König (Call of Duty) [ESP & ENG] - ONESHOT

—You Are My Quarter Mile | Dom x Brian (Fast and Furious) [ESP & ENG]

—Spider Hunter | Eddie (Venom) x Peter Parker (MARVEL) [ESP & ENG] - ONESHOT

—Unshaken Outlaws | Arthur Morgan x John Marston (Red Dead Redemption) [ESP & ENG]

—The Golden Heresy | Radahn x Radagon (Elden Ring) [ESP & ENG]

—The Last of Days Gone | Joel Miller x Deacon St. John (TLOU x DG) [ESP & ENG]

...

MÁS ESCRITOS EXCLUSIVOS EN PATREON - MORE EXCLUSIVE WRITINGS ON PATREON

BIO:

[ ESP ]

Soy una simple viajera de mundos, de estrellas y de situaciones, navegando entre las constelaciones de la creatividad y la imaginación saltando entre todos los multiversos posibles. En este rincón del cosmos literario, nos sumergiremos en universos alternativos, donde tus personajes y OTPs favoritos cobran vida una vez más, tejiendo nuevas historias en una telaraña cósmica de tinta y papel.

Más allá de la creatividad, de la fantasía y los sueños, se encuentra un espejo donde reflejamos nuestra propia esencia. Aquí, en cada página, encontrarás un reflejo de tus pensamientos, deseos, miedos y caprichos en su estado más puro. En mis fanfics, te ofrezco la llave hacia libros prohibidos donde tu imaginación clama por más.

Aquí, yo te entrego un eterno multiverso de ficción.

...

[ ENG ]

I am a simple traveler of worlds, stars and situations, navigating between the constellations of creativity and imagination jumping between all possible multiverses. In this corner of the literary cosmos, we will dive into alternative universes, where your favorite characters and OTPs come to life once again, weaving new stories in a cosmic web of ink and paper.

Beyond creativity, fantasy and dreams, lies a mirror where we reflect our own essence. Here, on each page, you will find a reflection of your thoughts, desires, fears and whims in their purest state. In my fanfics, I offer you the key to forbidden books where your imagination cries out for more.

Here, I give you an eternal multiverse of fiction.

#fanfic #writing #wattpad #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #fanfiction #wattpad writer #fandom #oneshot

Rio de Janeiro Highway // Oneshot - Brian 0'Conner x Dominic Toretto (The Fast and Furious) -- ENG

[One-shot based on the OTP between Brian O'Conner and Dominic Toretto (Fast & Furious). This complete one-shot on Patreon may contain mature content; read at your own risk. It's a Patreon exclusive, check it out!

Get more from Multiverse Wanderer on Patreon. creating fanfics. Support Multiverse Wanderer and get exclusive access to their work.

...

REMINDER:

This story has been written in Spanish, which is my native language. This story has been translated to the best of my ability, although it is possible that it may have mistakes.

This is just a way to transport my writing to a common language for the rest of fans like me. For a better immersion, I recommend reading the story in its original version.

Thank you so much for reading me and see you in the stars.

...

The first glint of the dawn broke through the expansive windows, bathing the tangled sheets in a warm, golden hue. Outside, Rio de Janeiro was waking up —the distant growl of old engines, the muffled echoes of the favelas, and the sharp cry of a coastal bird— beginning to claim the day. Inside the bedroom, time had ground to a halt.

Dominic had been awake since before first light. Accustomed to sleeping with one eye open, his muscles always coiled tight, he now allowed himself the rare indulgence of absolute stillness. Lying on his back, he let his gaze drift across the ceiling as a newfound gravity anchored his chest to the mattress. His mind wandered through memories, his nose buried in the blond hair of the boy sleeping beside him.

At his side, a subtle shift stirred the bed. Brian’s body curled into a slow stretch, seeking out the other's warmth on pure instinct, and eventually settled against Toretto’s ribs. That simple, fleeting touch coaxed a faint smile from Dominic. His deep, rhythmic breathing seemed to quell Brian's restless energy. The contrast between them was stark beneath the clean morning light: Dominic’s massive frame, sculpted by scars, asphalt, and steel, set against the lean, wiry build of the former cop. Brute force and pinpoint precision; two worlds that had found their center of gravity in one another.

Dom’s hand, heavy, with calloused knuckles and skin weathered by years of baked-on grease and bare-knuckle brawls, descended with a reverent caution that no one who knew his history would have ever suspected he possessed. His fingers drifted down Brian’s back, tracing the gentle dip of his spine. He followed the path from the nape of the neck, gliding over the subtle tension of corded shoulder blades, all the way down to his lower back. As they traveled, his fingertips brushed away the lingering sheen of sweat, the last remnant of the feverish intensity that had consumed their early hours.

Lying there, sharing that bed in a Brazilian safe house, defied all logic for his mind and the history he shared with the kid from Los Angeles. His thoughts drifted back, crossing the equator and the years, landing in the sweltering streets of their old home. He remembered the worn wooden counter of Mia's diner, and that blond kid with the reckless smile and ocean-blue eyes who kept ordering ungodly tuna sandwiches just to steal a glance. He remembered the sting of betrayal upon discovering the badge, the dusty taste of the getaway, and how, much later, on the barren highways of the borderland while hunting down Braga, the resentment had simply collapsed under its own weight. The lies and the chases had burned away beneath the Mexican sun, forging something indestructible. Brian had emptied his clip of excuses; he had sacrificed absolutely everything, his FBI badge, his respect for the law, and his very identity, to become a fugitive. For him. Only for him.

...

CONTINUE READING THE FULL CHAPTER HERE:

Rio de Janeiro Highway // Oneshot - Brian 0'Conner x Dominic Toretto (The Fast and Furious) -- ENG by Multiverse Wanderer on Patreon. Join M

#fanfic #fandom #writing #ao3 #wattpad #male x male #fanfiction #patreon #oneshot #fast & furious #dom x brian #brian x dom #dominic toretto #brian o'conner

Carretera Carioca // Oneshot - Brian 0'Conner x Dominic Toretto (The Fast and Furious) -- ESP

[ Oneshot basado en la OTP entre Brian 0'Conner y Dominic Toretto (The Fast & Furious). Este One shot completo en patreon puede tener elementos de contenido +18, leer bajo su propia responsabilidad. Es un texto exclusivo de Patreon, ¡échale un vistazo!

Get more from Multiverse Wanderer on Patreon. creating fanfics. Support Multiverse Wanderer and get exclusive access to their work.

El primer destello del amanecer carioca se abría paso a través de los amplios ventanales, tiñendo las sábanas revueltas de un cálido tono dorado. Afuera, Río de Janeiro desperezándose —el rugido distante de motores viejos, el eco sordo de las favelas y el graznido de algún pájaro costero— empezaba a ganar terreno. Dentro, en la habitación, el tiempo se había estancado.

Dominic llevaba despierto desde antes de que clareara. Acostumbrado a dormir con un ojo abierto y los músculos en tensión, ahora se permitía la extraña indulgencia de la inmovilidad. Tumbado boca arriba, dejaba la mirada perdida en el techo mientras una pesadez nueva le anclaba el pecho al colchón. Su mente vagaba entre recuerdos y la nariz se le hundía en el pelo rubio del chico que dormía a su lado.

A su costado, un leve movimiento agitó la cama. El cuerpo de Brian se contrajo en un desperezo lento, buscando el calor ajeno por puro instinto, y acabó acomodándose contra las costillas de Toretto. Ese simple roce le arrancó a Dominic una sonrisa minúscula. Su respiración, profunda y rítmica, parecía apaciguar la energía nerviosa de Brian. El contraste entre los dos resultaba descarnado bajo la luz limpia del alba: la envergadura masiva de Dominic, esculpida a base de cicatrices, asfalto y acero, frente a la complexión fibrosa y ágil del antiguo policía. Fuerza bruta y precisión; dos mundos que habían encontrado su centro de gravedad el uno en el otro.

La mano de Dom, densa, de nudillos callosos y piel curtida por años de grasa reseca y peleas a puño limpio, descendió con una cautela reverencial que nadie más que conociese su historia en el mundo habría sospechado que poseía. Sus dedos bajaron por la espalda de Brian, siguiendo la línea cóncava de la columna vertebral. Trazó el recorrido desde la nuca, sorteando la suave tensión de los omóplatos musculados, hasta la base de las lumbares. En su descenso, las yemas fueron apartando el rastro de sudor, último vestigio de la intensidad febril que había consumido la madrugada.

Estar allí, compartiendo aquella cama en un piso franco de Brasil, desafiaba cualquier lógica para su mente y la historia que compartía con el chico de Los Angeles. Su mente se fugó hacia atrás, cruzando el ecuador y los años, hasta aterrizar en las calles sofocantes del antiguo hogar. Recordó el mostrador de madera gastada del café de Mia y a aquel chico rubio de sonrisa temeraria y ojos azules que pedía sándwiches de atún intragables solo para poder cruzar miradas. Recordó el escozor de la traición al descubrir la placa, el sabor a polvo de la huida y cómo, mucho tiempo después, en las carreteras desérticas de la frontera mientras daban caza a Braga, el rencor se había desmoronado por su propio peso. Las mentiras y las persecuciones se habían calcinado bajo el sol de México, forjando algo indestructible. Brian había vaciado su cargador de excusas; lo había sacrificado absolutamente todo, la placa del FBI, el respeto por la ley y su propia identidad para convertirse en un fugitivo. Por él. Solo por él.

...

CONTINÚA LEYENDO EL ONESHOT COMPLETO AQUÍ:

Carretera Carioca // Oneshot - Brian 0'Conner x Dominic Toretto (The Fast and Furious) -- ESP by Multiverse Wanderer on Patreon. Join Multiv

#fanfic #fandom #writing #ao3 #male x male #patreon #oneshot #fast & furious #brian x dom #dom x brian #brian o'conner #dom toretto #dominic toretto

The Last of Days Gone | Joel Miller x Deacon St. John (TLOU x DG) [ENG]

[Fan-Fiction based on Joel Miller (Last Of Us) and Deacon St. John (Days Gone)] "In this hell, we've all done unforgivable things just to keep breathing." Joel has spent years building concrete walls to protect his own in Jackson. Deacon is a drifting nomad, outrunning his demons across frozen highways. Their worlds collide in a snowbound cabin, forging a bond hammered out of scars, silence, and one night they both desperately needed. But out in the frozen wastes, the past is always hot on your heels. A simple transport run threatens to shatter their fragile alliance, dragging bloodstained truths into the light. Survival in a world where trust is the scarcest commodity, and yesterday's choices dictate tomorrow's damnation.

A Note to the Readers:

Every journey has a beginning.

If you wish to uncover the events that brought the protagonists to this point, I have published a special story (a prequel) on my Patreon. I invite you to drop by if you are looking for the complete experience. Reading it isn't strictly mandatory; as always, it's simply a companion to the main story. You can find the link in my bio.

Without further ado, I hope you enjoy the read!

REMINDER:

This story has been written in Spanish, which is my native language. This story has been translated to the best of my ability, although it is possible that it may have mistakes.

This is just a way to transport my writing to a common language for the rest of fans like me. For a better immersion, I recommend reading the story in its original version.

You can find this story on Wattpad and Archive of Our Own.

Thank you so much for reading me and see you in the stars.

White and Cruel Awakening

The dawn's light slipped through the cracks in the shutters like blades of pale, icy gray. The gale that had threatened to tear the cabin from its foundations all night long seemed to have surrendered to exhaustion, leaving in its wake a deathly, heavy silence, broken only by the faint crackle of the dying embers in the hearth.

Joel opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the fog of sleep. His mouth was dry, and a familiar twinge of pain shot through his lower back—a constant reminder of his age and the dog's life he'd been dragging around for decades.

His first instinct, hammered into him after twenty years of sleeping with one eye open and a revolver under his pillow, was to tense his muscles and scan the gloom for a threat. But the physical memory of the night before hit him before he could even raise a hand to defend himself.

There was no frost in his bones, nor that unbearable emptiness that usually accompanied his every waking moment. Instead, a thick, earthy, and fiercely human warmth enveloped him.

His right shoulder offered a dull, throbbing ache, a sharp reminder of torn flesh and poured alcohol, but the pain had been numbed, pushed into the background by his own actions the night before. He was exhausted. A profound, primal exhaustion born not from trekking miles through the snow, but from the brutality of stripping away his armor until he was raw. From letting himself be devoured, and devouring with equal fury.

He turned his head on the pillow, which smelled of old dust and spent firewood, shifting only a fraction of an inch so as not to disturb the precarious stillness of the sagging mattress.

Beside him, silhouetted against the shadows, lay the drifter. Joel made no move to get up. He merely watched, his gaze dark, settled, and strangely lucid, tracing the line of the other man's shoulders exposed to the cold air, the strokes of black ink against skin, and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the heavy wool blanket. Deacon was lying on his stomach, loosely hugging the pillow with his face buried in it. Rebellious dark locks of hair fell across his face.

He clenched his jaw, swallowing hard. The towering, reinforced concrete walls he had built around his soul over two decades lay in rubble on the floorboards, right next to the canvas pants and underwear discarded with such urgency hours ago. And the most terrifying part wasn't having surrendered to that ravenous hunger, to the desperate carnality that had made the bedsprings groan until dawn; what chilled his blood was the damn peace squeezing his chest right now. The silent, crushing certainty that he didn't regret a single fraction of a second.

With measured effort, exhaling through his nose in an almost imperceptible hiss, Joel slid his good arm out from the tangled sheets. The sudden shift in temperature made him shiver slightly. The room was freezing.

He sat up slowly, shifting his weight from the center of the mattress with the stealthy, cautious agility of an aging predator. He grabbed the thick, plaid flannel shirt with the broken buttons that had been abandoned near the foot of the bed, and draped it over his shoulders to ward off the cold, covering his lover's bare back in the process.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, his bare feet resting against the freezing wooden floorboards, he leaned forward. He propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his left hand, heavily rubbing his eyes and graying beard. Lingering on his weathered fingers, seared into his very skin, was the faint scent of cheap lemon soap, dried sweat, gunpowder, and the man he was leaving behind in the blankets.

The end of the world was still out there, buried beneath feet of virgin snow, waiting with open jaws to devour them the second they stepped over the threshold. The infected, the scavengers, the misery, and the arctic cold hadn't simply vanished. But for the first time since the world had gone to hell, Joel felt like he had a damn good reason—a real one—to want to survive the winter.

He turned his head back one last time, fixing his brown eyes on the drifter's profile. He let out a long, silent breath. Deacon St. John barely stirred as the rough, threadbare fabric of the shirt brushed against the weathered skin of his shoulder. It was a crude touch, a texture that nevertheless anchored him to that fleeting, fragile sanctuary. With eyelids still heavy as lead and his mind drifting slowly through the haze of half-sleep, his deep-rooted survival instinct demanded he snap to attention, but his body refused to obey. Instead of bolting upright, he simply gave in to gravity and curled up a little tighter, desperately seeking the last bastion of warmth in that bed.

His muscles were a physical map of what had happened last night, a geography forged by bites, bruises, spent adrenaline, and the smell of sex. He was exhausted. It was a profound, heavy, and lingering weariness—the kind that seeps right down to the marrow, the kind no night of sleep, no matter how long, can ever fully cure.

But his soul felt full.

...

CONTINUE READING THE FULL CHAPTER HERE:

Wattpad:

"In this hell, we've all done unforgivable things just to keep breathing." Joel has spent years building concrete walls to protect his own i

AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/87983371/chapters/233220936

#fanfic #fandom #writing #ao3 #wattpad #male x male #english fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #days gone #the last of us #joel miller #deacon st john

The Last of Days Gone | Joel Miller x Deacon St. John (TLOU x DG) [ESP]

[ Fan-Fiction basado en Joel Miller (Last Of Us) y Deacon St. John (Days Gone) ] "En este infierno todos hemos hecho cosas imperdonables para seguir respirando". Joel lleva años construyendo muros de hormigón para proteger a los suyos en Jackson. Deacon es un nómada errante que huye de sus demonios por las carreteras heladas. Sus mundos colisionan en una cabaña perdida en la nieve, forjando un vínculo forjado a base de cicatrices, silencio y una noche que ambos necesitaban desesperadamente. Pero en los yermos helados, el pasado siempre te pisa los talones. Un simple trabajo de transporte amenaza con destrozar su frágil alianza y sacar a la luz verdades manchadas de sangre. Supervivencia donde la confianza es el recurso más escaso y las decisiones de ayer dictan las condenas del mañana.

Aviso para los Lectores

Todo viaje tiene un origen.

Si desean conocer los sucesos que llevaron a los protagonistas hasta este punto, he publicado un relato especial (una precuela) en mi Patreon. Los invito a pasarse por ahí si quieren la experiencia completa. Leerlo no es 100% obligatorio, como siempre, es solo un añadido a la historia principal. Encontrarán el enlace en mi biografía.

Ahora sí, ¡espero que disfruten la lectura!

Blanco y Cruel Despertar

La luz del amanecer se colaba por las rendijas de los postigos como cuchillas de un gris pálido y gélido. El vendaval que había amenazado con arrancar la cabaña de sus cimientos durante toda la noche parecía haberse rendido por agotamiento, dejando a su paso un silencio sepulcral, denso, roto únicamente por el crujido débil de las últimas brasas en la chimenea de la habitación.

Joel abrió los ojos lentamente, parpadeando para espantar la bruma del sueño. Tenía la boca seca y una punzada familiar de dolor le recorría la zona lumbar, un recordatorio constante de su edad y de la vida de perros que llevaba arrastrando desde hacía décadas.

Su primer instinto, forjado a base de martillazos tras veinte años de dormir con un ojo abierto y el revólver bajo la almohada, fue tensar los músculos y escudriñar la penumbra en busca de una amenaza. Pero la memoria física de la noche anterior lo golpeó antes de que pudiera siquiera alzar una mano defensiva.

No había escarcha en sus huesos, ni ese vacío insoportable que solía acompañarle en cada despertar. En su lugar, un calor denso, terrenal y asfixiantemente humano lo envolvía.

El hombro derecho le dedicó una punzada sorda y latente, un recordatorio agudo de la carne herida y del alcohol vertido, pero el dolor había quedado anestesiado, relegado a un segundo plano por sus propias acciones la noche anterior. Estaba exhausto. Un agotamiento profundo y primitivo que no nacía de caminar kilómetros por la nieve, sino de la brutalidad de haberse despojado de sus armaduras hasta quedar en carne viva. De haberse dejado devorar y de haber devorado con la misma furia.

Giró el rostro sobre la almohada, que olía a polvo viejo y a la leña consumida, moviéndose apenas unos milímetros para no alterar la precaria quietud del colchón hundido.

A su lado, recortada contra la penumbra, descansaba la figura del motorista. Joel no hizo el menor ademán de moverse. Se limitó a observar, con una mirada oscura, sosegada y extrañamente lúcida, la línea de los hombros ajenos expuestos al aire frío, los trazos de tinta negra sobre la piel y el ascenso y descenso acompasado de ese pecho bajo la pesada manta de lana. Deacon estaba tumbado boca bajo, abrazado apenas a la almohada y con su rostro enterrado en la zona. Sus mechones morenos estaban rebeldes cubriéndole parte del rostro.

Apretó la mandíbula, tragando saliva. Las imponentes paredes de hormigón armado que había levantado alrededor de su alma durante dos décadas yacían hechas escombros sobre las tablas del suelo, justo al lado de los pantalones de lona y la ropa interior desechada con tanta urgencia horas atrás. Y lo más aterrador de todo no era haberse rendido a ese hambre voraz, a la carnalidad desesperada que había hecho crujir los muelles de la cama hasta el alba; lo que le helaba la sangre era la maldita paz que le oprimía ahora mismo el pecho. La certeza, silenciosa y aplastante, de que no se arrepentía de una sola fracción de segundo.

Con un esfuerzo medido, exhalando el aire por la nariz en un siseo casi imperceptible, Joel deslizó su brazo sano de entre las sábanas revueltas. El contraste térmico lo hizo tiritar levemente. La habitación estaba helada.

Se incorporó despacio, apartando su peso del centro del colchón con la agilidad sigilosa y cautelosa de un depredador viejo. Agarró la camisa gruesa de franela a cuadros de botones rotos que había quedado olvidada cerca de los pies de la cama y se la echó por encima de los hombros, cubriendo su espalda desnuda del amante.

Sentado en el borde de la cama, con los pies desnudos apoyados sobre la madera helada del suelo, se inclinó hacia delante. Apoyó los codos en las rodillas y hundió el rostro en la mano izquierda, frotándose los ojos y la barba canosa con pesadez. Entre sus dedos curtidos, impregnado en su propia piel, aún perduraba el leve aroma al jabón de limón barato, al sudor seco, a la pólvora y al hombre que dejaba atrás entre las mantas.

El fin del mundo seguía ahí fuera, enterrado bajo metros de nieve virgen, esperando con las fauces abiertas para devorarlos en cuanto pusieran un pie más allá del umbral. Las infecciones, los saqueadores, la miseria y el frío polar no se habían esfumado. Pero, por primera vez desde que el mundo se había ido al infierno, Joel sintió que tenía una jodida razón, una de verdad, para querer sobrevivir al invierno.

Giró la cabeza una vez más hacia atrás, clavando sus ojos castaños en el perfil del errante. Dejó escapar una respiración larga y silenciosa. Deacon St. John apenas esbozó un leve movimiento cuando el tejido áspero y raído de la camisa rozó la piel curtida de su hombro. Era un roce rudimentario, una textura que, sin embargo, lo anclaba a ese efímero y frágil santuario. Con los párpados aún pesados de plomo y la mente navegando lentamente en la bruma de la duermevela, su arraigado instinto de supervivencia le exigía ponerse en alerta, pero su cuerpo se negó a obedecer. En lugar de incorporarse de golpe, simplemente cedió a la gravedad y se acurrucó un poco más, buscando desesperadamente el último reducto de calor en aquel lecho.

Sus músculos eran un mapa físico de lo ocurrido anoche, una geografía forjada a base de mordidas, succiones, adrenalina pasada y olor a sexo. Estaba exhausto. Era un cansancio profundo, denso y persistente; de esos que calan hasta el tuétano de los huesos y que ninguna noche de sueño, por larga que sea, puede llegar a curar por completo.

Pero el alma se sentía llena.

...

CONTINÚA LEYENDO EL CAPÍTULO COMPLETO AQUÍ:

Wattpad:

Read Blanco y Cruel Despertar from the story The Last of Days Gone | Joel Miller x Deacon St. John (TLOU x DG) [ESP] by...

AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/87983186/chapters/233220341

#fanfic #fandom #writing #ao3 #wattpad #male x male #fanfiction #patreon #the last of us #days gone #joel miller #deacon st john #clickers

The Thawing of the Skin // Oneshot - Joel Miller x Deacon St. John (The Last of Us x Days Gone) -- ENG

[One-shot based on the OTP between Joel Miller (TLOU) and Deacon (DG)]. This complete one-shot on Patreon may contain mature content; read at your own risk. It's a Patreon exclusive, check it out!

Get more from Multiverse Wanderer on Patreon. creating fanfics. Support Multiverse Wanderer and get exclusive access to their work.

...

REMINDER:

This story has been written in Spanish, which is my native language. This story has been translated to the best of my ability, although it is possible that it may have mistakes.

This is just a way to transport my writing to a common language for the rest of fans like me. For a better immersion, I recommend reading the story in its original version.

Thank you so much for reading me and see you in the stars.

...

The wind roared. It was a deafening bellow that swept down from the craggy peaks, dragging with it a white inferno that reduced visibility to barely a few meters. The snowstorm had swallowed the world, erasing the roads, the traces of the old civilization, and any promise of mercy.

Joel trudged forward, sinking his boots into the snow almost up to his knees, leaning his body forward to offer the least possible resistance to the gale. The cold was no longer a mere discomfort; it was an invisible predator digging its icy claws through his thick canvas jacket, seeking to paralyze his heart.

On his back, the weight of the backpack reminded him of the modest but vital loot they had just scavenged from that half-buried gas station a few kilometers back: a couple of dusty bandages, canned supplies, and those bottles of alcohol that clinked dully with every jolt. A treasure in times like these. However, the effort was taking its toll on him. His shoulder throbbed with a burning, piercing fury. The wound was a constant reminder that death lurked behind every mistake, behind every second of hesitation.

The blood soaking his t-shirt and jacket was turning to frost under the snow. The splintered piece of wood—from when he had tried to move a wardrobe without asking for help, only for the piece of furniture to collapse on him because of his ego—had lodged itself badly in the hollow of his shoulder. If it hadn't been for Deacon, he would probably have remained buried under kilos of wood in that dingy little store.

Once again, he had saved his life.

...

CONTINUE READING THE FULL CHAPTER HERE:

The Thawing of the Skin // Oneshot - Joel Miller x Deacon St. John (The Last of Us x Days Gone) -- ENG by Multiverse Wanderer on Patreon. Jo

#fanfic #fandom #writing #male x male #english fanfic #fanfiction #patreon #the last of us #days gone #joel miller #deacon st john

Deshielo en la Piel // Oneshot - Joel Miller x Deacon St. John (The Last of Us x Days Gone) -- ESP

[ Oneshot basado en la OTP entre Joel Miller (TLOU) y Deacon (DG) ]. Este One shot completo en patreon puede tener elementos de contenido +18, leer bajo su propia responsabilidad. Es un texto exclusivo de Patreon, ¡échale un vistazo!

Get more from Multiverse Wanderer on Patreon. creating fanfics. Support Multiverse Wanderer and get exclusive access to their work.

El viento rugía. Era un bramido ensordecedor que descendía de las cumbres escarpadas, arrastrando consigo un infierno blanco que reducía la visibilidad a apenas un par de metros. La tormenta de nieve había engullido el mundo, borrando los caminos, los rastros de la antigua civilización y cualquier promesa de clemencia. Joel avanzaba hundiendo las botas en la nieve hasta casi las rodillas, inclinando el cuerpo hacia adelante para ofrecer la menor resistencia posible al vendaval. El frío ya no era una simple incomodidad; era un depredador invisible que le clavaba sus garras de hielo a través de la gruesa chaqueta de lona, buscando paralizarle el corazón. A su espalda, el peso de la mochila le recordaba el modesto pero vital botín que acababan de saquear en aquella gasolinera medio sepultada unos kilómetros atrás: un par de vendas polvorientas, suministros enlatados y esas botellas de alcohol que tintineaban sordamente con cada sacudida. Un tesoro en los tiempos que corrían. Sin embargo, el esfuerzo le estaba pasando factura. El hombro le palpitaba con una furia candente y punzante. La herida era un recordatorio constante de que la muerte acechaba detrás de cada error, de cada segundo de vacilación. La sangre que empapaba la camiseta y la chaqueta se volvía escarcha bajo la nieve. El trozo de madero que se le había astillado cuando intentó mover un armario sin pedir ayuda —y que el mueble se le vino encima por su ego— se le había clavado de mala manera en el hueco del hombro. Si no hubiese sido por Deacon, posiblemente se hubiera quedado sepultado entre kilos de madera en aquella tienducha. Una vez más, le había vuelto a salvar la vida. ... CONTINÚA LEYENDO EL ONESHOT COMPLETO AQUÍ: https://www.patreon.com/posts/deshielo-en-la-x-160332680

#fanfic #fandom #writing #male x male #fanfiction #patreon #the last of us #joel miller #days gone #deacon st john #oneshot

The Golden Heresy | Radahn x Radagon (Elden Ring) [ENG]

[ An Elden Ring Fan-Fiction featuring Radahn and Radagon ] "The duty of divinity fractures my soul under the weight of its own eternity. Hide me in your night, Radahn." The burden of the Golden Order's perfection is consuming Radagon. Locked away in his golden cage within the capital of Leyndell, the supreme god of the Lands Between harbors a heresy that could shake the very foundations of the world: an unconditional and desperate love for the colossal General Radahn. On a night stolen from eternity, Radagon secretly summons the Starscourge. As the echoes of the Shattering, the threat of the Scarlet Rot, and Miquella's subtle manipulations loom over the fate of the demigods, the two forge an oath in the shadows. Radahn is willing to claim the shards of the Elden Ring for his god, but Radagon desires only one thing: that his fierce lion does not sacrifice his freedom or his kindness in the process. Can the love between a captive god and an unparalleled warrior defy the designs of the Greater Will itself?

Author's Note / Before You Read

Hello everyone! Before you dive into these pages, I wanted to leave a quick heads-up so you know what to expect.

This story stems purely from my imagination and the immense love I have for these two characters and their fascinating universe. Please treat this story as a kind of Alternate Universe (AU). I am not strictly adhering to the game's actual canon when it comes to relationships, timelines, or events; I have molded the story, altering the facts as I saw fit, so they align with the tale I wanted to tell.

It is a story parallel to the official one. I am fully aware that much of what you will read here has nothing to do with established canon, but ultimately, that's why we write fanfics! It is the perfect space to give free rein to our wildest ideas, step away from what everyone already knows, and explore the characters' development, dynamics, and depth from a completely unrestricted perspective. I simply had an overwhelming urge to write about the two of them and dive into their world under my own rules.

Additionally, I want to let you know that it is very likely this story will be continued in the future, as I have more written material for this plot that I would like to share over time.

With that said, set canon aside for a little while, get comfortable, and... I sincerely hope you enjoy the read!

...

REMINDER:

This story has been written in Spanish, which is my native language. This story has been translated to the best of my ability, although it is possible that it may have mistakes.

This is just a way to transport my writing to a common language for the rest of fans like me. For a better immersion, I recommend reading the story in its original version.

You can find this story on Wattpad and Archive of Our Own.

Thank you so much for reading me and see you in the stars.

...

1. - A moment stolen from eternity

Silence reigned in the capital. From the high terraces of Leyndell, the light of the Erdtree seemed cold and insufficient against the immensity of the dark sky. Radagon observed the fixed constellations in the firmament, and every glimmer hopelessly reminded him of Radahn. His blood, his greatest creation, the Starscourge himself... and the master of his most heretical thoughts.

At his feet, the great Red Wolf rested, breathing steadily. Radagon knelt and stroked its dense crimson coat, a reflection of his own hair and Radahn's. The loneliness of his divinity suffocated him, and this eternal night was becoming unbearable without the general's imposing presence.

—Go find him —he whispered as an earnest plea. His voice resonated with the authority of a god, but it cracked with an undeniable vulnerability known only to those closest to him—. Find the general.

The wolf pricked up its ears, looking at him with golden eyes, perfectly understanding the secret and desperate nature of the task.

—Tell him the weight of the Golden Order is consuming me —he continued, looking away toward the darkness of the Lands Between—. Tell him I miss him. That I need to see him, even if it is just an instant stolen from eternity. Bring him to me. Tell him Radagon needs him.

The great beast issued a low growl in agreement and, with an enormous leap, vanished into the shadows of the Royal Capital, guided by the unmistakable essence of Radahn. It disappeared with asingle bound, it disappeared through the large windows of his golden cage, its red trail fading like a promise. Radagon remained alone on the terrace, his heart beating with a force unbecoming of a deity, counting the seconds until the general's return.

Under the scorched sky of Caelid, General Radahn waited, as immovable as the dunes that surrounded him. Despite his greatness, even the demigods were subservient to the will of the supreme god, though his people adored him for that kindness which was matched only by his prowess in combat. In the immensity of his desert palace and in the depth of thoughts that were beginning to cloud, a crimson trail cut across the horizon. The dragon Ekzykes raised his heavy head upon recognizing Radagon's faithful emissary, emitting a growl laden with fatigue. Lansseax and Fortissax, the ancient dragons the King Consort had bestowed upon his rebirth—symbols of an eternal affection following Godwyn's fall—awoke from their lethargy at the flanks of the fortress. Ekzykes, resting before the thresholds where Radahn soothed his wounds after the clamor of endless battles against the rot, observed the wolf with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. With relief and fear, because seeing the wolf cross the entirety of the Lands Between could mean the best of news... or the worst.

—Great Wolf? What purpose brings you to these desolate lands?

The beast merely bowed its head in a gesture of solemn respect and acknowledgment, while Ekzykes stirred, yearning once more for the attention of the Starscourge.

Radagon's Red Wolf halted its swift sprint as it came face to face with the imposing presence of the ancient dragons. Though vastly outmatched in size, the crimson beast showed no fear; it carried with it the authority and essence of the King Consort himself. It dipped its head slightly to Lansseax and Fortissax as well, acknowledging the millennial bond that tied them to its master's lineage, but its intelligent golden eyes immediately fixed upon its true objective: the colossal General Radahn.

It advanced with an elegant, cautious stride, navigating the reptilian gazes until it stood before the demigod and the dragon Ekzykes. Reddish sand tangled in the fur of the wolf's underbelly. Upon hearing the deep and gentle voice of the Starscourge, the great canine beast sat back on its haunches. No bark erupted from its maw, but rather a faint halo of golden and crimson light that began to trace a seal in the dense air of Caelid. It was the unmistakable emblem of the Golden Order, yet intertwined with the briar-like thorns that characterized Radagon's personal magic.

Through that magical manifestation, a familiar presence, overwhelming and suffocatingly warm, projected into the surroundings, seeking the general's mind. They were not words spoken aloud, but the direct echo of Radagon's soul, imbued with a secret longing that defied his own stoic divinity:

"My beloved Radahn... The weight of eternity and the chains of the crown consume me in this cold capital. The Order demands perfection of me, but the night is too long and empty without the strength of your embrace, without the fire of your spirit. Come to me. Find the way to my chambers beneath the Erdtree. I need you in Leyndell. I need you, mine."

Once the message was delivered, the golden hologram vanished, swept away by the arid desert wind. The Red Wolf stepped forward and gently rubbed its head against the general's immense hand, a gesture of affection unbecoming of a war beast, meant to physically convey the caress its divine lord was desperate to give him. After that, the wolf stepped back and sat again, waiting patiently like a stone guardian, ready to escort him or carry his answer back to Leyndell.

Leagues away, on the highest terraces of the capital, Radagon remained motionless. With his gaze fixed on the eastern horizon, toward the lands of Caelid, the supreme god gripped the marble with such force that his knuckles turned pale. In his immense solitude, he understood that all the power of creation was nothing more than a brilliant cage if he could not share eternity with the only warrior capable of halting the constellations for him.

His broken soul was held captive within the Erdtree by Marika's actions.

The general did not hesitate to gently stroke the wolf's head in a grateful and loving gesture.

—Great Wolf, you must leave before the enemies of the crown see you here —he whispered, pressing his forehead against the beautiful beast's head affectionately—. Go ahead. I will follow behind you. —He turned smoothly toward Lansseax and Fortissax—. Brethren, approach—he ordered the two dragons, with the calm and sweetness of a master, father, and brother.

The Great Red Wolf closed its golden eyes, accepting the caress and basking in the immense warmth the giant radiated. A faint whimper, reverential and meek, tumbled from its throat upon feeling the general's forehead against its own.. It understood the urgency and the danger; this was not territory for the beasts of the crown, much less under the watchful gaze of factions that coveted the power of the demigods.

At the command, the beast backed away with a graceful, silent leap. With one last look of loyalty toward Radahn and the ancient dragons, it turned and melted into the night. It became a crimson lightning bolt streaking across the desert, moving through hidden paths and shadowy ravines, making certain to leave a magical trail, subtle yet unmistakable, for the Starscourge to follow to the heart of the Altus Plateau.

Hundreds of leagues away, in the suffocating golden perfection of Leyndell, Radagon closed his eyes. He felt the vibration of the bond, the echo of Radahn's touch through the magic of his beast. A shudder ran through the god's imposing figure. A sigh that harbored centuries of longing escaped his lips, momentarily shattering the mask of impassive severity the world knew.

He is coming to me.

...

CONTINUE READING THE FULL CHAPTER HERE:

Wattpad:

[ An Elden Ring Fan-Fiction featuring Radahn and Radagon ] ------ "The duty of divinity fractures my soul under the weight of its own eterni

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85877371/chapters/227005611

#fanfic #fandom #writing #ao3 #wattpad #male x male #english fanfic #fanfiction #elden ring fanfic #elden ring #radahn x radagon #promised consort radahn #starscourge radahn #radagon of the golden order #general radahn #au

The Golden Heresy | Radahn x Radagon (Elden Ring) [ESP]

[ Fan-Fiction basado en Radahn y Radagon de Elden Ring ] "El deber de la divinidad agrieta mi alma bajo el peso de su propia eternidad. Escóndeme en tu noche, Radahn". El peso de la perfección de la Orden Dorada está consumiendo a Radagon. Encerrado en su jaula de oro en la capital de Leyndell, el dios supremo de las Tierras Intermedias alberga una herejía que podría hacer temblar los cimientos del mundo: un amor incondicional y desesperado por el colosal general Radahn. En una noche robada a la eternidad, Radagon convoca en secreto al Conquistador de las Estrellas. Mientras los ecos de la Devastación, la amenaza de la putrefacción roja y las sutiles manipulaciones de Miquella se ciernen sobre el destino de los semidioses, ambos forjarán un juramento en las sombras. Radahn está dispuesto a reclamar los fragmentos del Círculo de Elden por su dios, pero Radagon solo desea una cosa: que su fiero león no sacrifique su libertad ni su bondad en el proceso. ¿Podrá el amor entre un dios cautivo y un guerrero inigualable desafiar los designios de la mismísima Voluntad Mayor?

Nota de la autora / Aclaraciones antes de leer

¡Hola a todos! Antes de que os adentréis en estas páginas, quería dejar un pequeño aviso para que sepáis qué vais a encontrar.

Este relato nace puramente de mi fantasía y del inmenso amor que le tengo a estos dos personajes y a su fascinante universo. Por favor, leed esta historia como una especie de Universo Alternativo (AU). No me estoy basando estrictamente en el canon real del videojuego en lo que respecta a sus relaciones, líneas temporales o acontecimientos; he moldeado la historia, alterando los hechos reales a mi antojo, para que encajen con lo que a mí me apetecía contar.

Es una historia paralela a la oficial. Soy plenamente consciente de que muchas de las cosas que leeréis aquí no tienen nada que ver con el canon establecido, pero al final, ¡para eso escribimos fanfics! Es el espacio perfecto para dar rienda suelta a ideas más alocadas, alejarnos de lo que todos ya conocen y poder explorar el desarrollo, la dinámica y la profundidad de los personajes desde una perspectiva totalmente libre. Simplemente tenía muchísimas ganas de escribir sobre ellos dos y sumergirme en su mundo bajo mis propias reglas.

Además, os comento que es muy probable que esta historia tenga continuación en el futuro, ya que tengo más material escrito sobre esta trama que me gustaría ir compartiendo.

Dicho esto, dejad el canon a un lado por un rato, acomodaos y... ¡espero de corazón que disfrutéis muchísimo de la lectura!

---

1. - Un instante robado a la eternidad

El silencio reinaba en la capital. Desde las altas terrazas de Leyndell, la luz del Árbol Áureo parecía fría e insuficiente frente a la inmensidad del cielo oscuro. Radagon observaba las constelaciones fijas en el firmamento, y cada destello le recordaba irremediablemente a Radahn. Su sangre, su mayor creación, el mismísimo conquistador de los astros... y el dueño de sus pensamientos más heréticos.

A sus pies, el gran Lobo Rojo descansaba, respirando pausadamente. Radagon se arrodilló y acarició su denso pelaje carmesí, un reflejo de su propio cabello y del de Radahn. La soledad de su divinidad le asfixiaba, y esta noche eterna se le hacía insoportable sin la imponente presencia del general.

—Ve a buscarlo —susurró como súplica sincera. Su voz resonó con la autoridad de un dios, pero se quebró con una innegable vulnerabilidad que solo sus seres más cercanos conocían—. Encuentra al general.

El lobo alzó las orejas, mirándolo con sus ojos dorados, entendiendo a la perfección la naturaleza secreta y desesperada del encargo.

—Dile que el peso de la Orden Dorada me está consumiendo —continuó, apartando la mirada hacia la oscuridad de las Tierras Intermedias—. Dile que lo extraño. Que necesito verle, aunque sea un instante robado a la eternidad. Tráelo ante mí. Dile que Radagon lo necesita.

La gran bestia emitió un gruñido a modo de asentimiento y, de un enorme salto, desapareció entre las sombras de la Ciudad Real, guiándose por la inconfundible esencia de Radahn. Desapareció de aquel brinco por los grandes ventanales de su cárcel áurea y su estela roja se difuminó como promesa. Radagon se quedó a solas en la terraza, con el corazón latiendo con una fuerza impropia de una deidad, contando los segundos hasta su regreso.

Bajo el cielo calcinado de Caelid, el general Radahn aguardaba, inamovible como las dunas que lo rodeaban. A pesar de su grandeza, incluso los semidioses se veían relegados ante la voluntad del dios supremo, aunque su pueblo lo adoraba por esa amabilidad que solo igualaba su destreza en el combate. En la inmensidad de su palacio desértico y en la profundidad de sus pensamientos que comenzaban a volverse olvidadizos, una estela carmesí cortó el horizonte. El dragón Ekzykes alzó su pesada testa al reconocer al fiel emisario de Radagon, emitiendo un gruñido cargado de fatiga. Lansseax y Fortissax, los antiguos dragones que el Rey Consorte entregó en su renacer —símbolos de un afecto eterno tras la caída de Godwyn—, despertaron de su letargo a los costados de la fortaleza. Ekzykes, que descansaba ante los umbrales donde Radahn aliviaba sus heridas tras el fragor de batallas eternas contra la podredumbre, observó al lobo con una mezcla de sorpresa y curiosidad. De alivio y temor, porque ver al lobo cruzar todas las tierras intermedias podía significar la mejor de las noticias o... la peor.

—¿Gran Lobo? ¿Qué propósito os trae a estas tierras desoladas?

La bestia apenas inclinó la cabeza en un gesto de solemne respeto y de reconocimiento, mientras Ekzykes se agitaba, anhelando una vez más la atención del Conquistador de las Estrellas.

El Lobo Rojo de Radagon detuvo su veloz carrera al encontrarse frente a la imponente presencia de los dragones antiguos. Aunque superado con creces en tamaño, la bestia carmesí no mostró temor alguno; portaba consigo la autoridad y la esencia del mismísimo Rey Consorte. Inclinó levemente la cabeza ante Lansseax y Fortissax también, reconociendo el milenario vínculo que los unía al linaje de su amo, pero sus inteligentes ojos dorados se fijaron de inmediato en su verdadero objetivo: el colosal general Radahn.

Avanzó con paso elegante y cauteloso, sorteando las miradas reptilianas hasta quedar frente al semidiós y el dragón Ekzykes. La arena rojiza se le enredaba en el pelaje de la panza del lobo. Al escuchar la voz profunda y amable del conquistador de las estrellas, la gran bestia canina se sentó sobre sus patas traseras. De sus fauces no brotó un ladrido, sino un tenue halo de luz dorada y carmesí que comenzó a trazar un sello en el aire denso de Caelid. Era el inconfundible emblema de la Orden Dorada, pero intrincado con la red de espinas que caracterizaba la magia personal de Radagon.

A través de esa manifestación mágica, una presencia familiar, abrumadora y asfixiantemente cálida, se proyectó en el entorno, buscando la mente del general. No eran palabras pronunciadas en voz alta, sino el eco directo del alma de Radagon, impregnado de un anhelo secreto que desafiaba su propia divinidad estoica:

"Mi amado Radahn... El peso de la eternidad y las cadenas de la corona me consumen en esta fría capital. La Orden me exige perfección, pero la noche es demasiado larga y vacía sin la fuerza de tu abrazo, sin el fuego de tu espíritu. Ven a mí. Encuentra el camino hacia mis aposentos bajo el Árbol Áureo. Te necesito en Leyndell. Te necesito, mío."

Una vez entregado el mensaje, el holograma dorado se desvaneció, arrastrado por el viento árido del desierto. El Lobo Rojo dio un paso al frente y frotó suavemente su cabeza contra la inmensa mano del general, un gesto de afecto impropio de una bestia de combate, diseñado para transmitir físicamente la caricia que su señor divino desesperaba por darle. Tras ello, el lobo retrocedió y se sentó de nuevo, esperando pacientemente como un guardián de piedra, dispuesto a escoltarlo o a llevar su respuesta de vuelta a Leyndell.

A kilómetros de distancia, en las terrazas más altas de la capital, Radagon permanecía inamovible. Con la mirada fija en el horizonte oriental, hacia las tierras de Caelid, el dios supremo aferraba sus manos al mármol con tanta fuerza que sus nudillos palidecían. En su inmensa soledad, comprendía que todo el poder de la creación no era más que una jaula brillante si no podía compartir la eternidad con el único guerrero capaz de detener las constelaciones por él.

Su alma rota estaba cautiva dentro del árbol áureo por las acciones de Márika.

El general no dudó en acariciar suavemente la cabeza del lobo en un gesto agradecido y amado.

—Gran lobo, debes partir antes de que te vean los enemigos de la corona por aquí —susurró, juntando su frente sobre la cabeza de la preciosa bestia de forma melosa—. Adelántate. Iré detrás de ti. —Se giró suavemente hacia Lansseax y Fortissax—. Hermanos, acercaos —ordenó a los dos dragones, con la calma y dulzura de un dueño, padre y hermano.

El Gran Lobo Rojo cerró sus ojos dorados, aceptando la caricia y dejándose empapar por la inmensa calidez que desprendía el gigante. Un leve gemido, reverencial y manso, brotó de su garganta al sentir la frente del general contra la suya. Entendía la urgencia y el peligro; no era territorio para las bestias de la corona, y mucho menos bajo la mirada atenta de las facciones que codiciaban el poder de los semidioses.

Ante la orden, la bestia retrocedió con un salto grácil y silencioso. Con una última mirada de lealtad hacia Radahn y los antiguos dragones, se giró y se fundió con la noche. Se convirtió en un relámpago carmesí que surcaba el desierto, moviéndose por senderos ocultos y barrancos sombríos, asegurándose de dejar un rastro mágico, sutil pero inconfundible, para que el conquistador de las estrellas lo siguiera hasta el corazón de la Meseta Altus.

A cientos de leguas de allí, en la sofocante perfección dorada de Leyndell, Radagon cerró los ojos. Sintió la vibración del vínculo, el eco del toque de Radahn a través de la magia de su bestia. Un estremecimiento recorrió la imponente figura del dios. Un suspiro que guardaba siglos de anhelo escapó de sus labios, resquebrajando por un instante la máscara de impasible severidad que el mundo conocía.

Viene hacia mí.

...

CONTINÚA LEYENDO EL CAPÍTULO COMPLETO AQUÍ:

Wattpad:

[ Fan-Fiction basado en Radahn y Radagon de Elden Ring ] ------ "El deber de la divinidad agrieta mi alma bajo el peso de su propia eternida

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85877216/chapters/227005121

#fanfic #fandom #writing #ao3 #wattpad #male x male #fanfiction #elden ring #starscourge radahn #general radahn #promised consort radahn #radagon of the golden order #radahn x radagon #elden ring fanfic

Patreon is empowering a new generation of creators. Support and engage with artists and creators as they live out their passions!

¡Nueva actualización y ajuste de precios en la Tienda! 🪙

ESP

¡Hola a todos! He estado revisando la tienda de Patreon y he decidido reorganizar los precios de los one-shots para que sean mucho más justos y proporcionales. A partir de ahora, el precio de cada historia se adaptará directamente a su número de palabras (extensión de la lectura).

Los precios ahora van ordenados de forma muy clara: desde los relatos más cortos por 3€ hasta las historias más largas y detalladas por 6€.

Si queréis echar un vistazo a cómo ha quedado el catálogo o haceros con alguna lectura para hoy, ya tenéis la tienda totalmente actualizada.

Recordad que la tienda de one-shots es por si sólo os interesa alguno en particular y no queréis invertir en la suscripción mensual que incluye acceso a todos los one-shots de la tienda.

¡Muchísimas gracias por el apoyo de siempre!

ENG

Hello, everyone! I’ve been reviewing the Patreon store and have decided to reorganize the prices for the one-shots to make them much fairer and more proportional. From now on, the price of each story will be directly based on its word count (length).

The prices are now clearly organized: from the shortest stories for €3 to the longest and most detailed stories for €6.

If you want to check out the updated catalog or grab something to read today, the store is now fully updated.

Remember that the one-shot store is for when you’re interested in a specific story and don’t want to invest in the monthly subscription, which includes access to all the one-shots in the store.

Thank you so much for your continued support!

#fanfic #fandom #writing #ao3 #wattpad #patreon #male x male #english fanfic #fanfiction

brilcrist

[Oldmen yaoi doing "adult stuff~"]

Beside projecting period cramps, i also wanna projects my frustration on tax's paperworks.... kidding🤧

Please, accept domestic Chreon art to heal my aching soul

brilcrist

Resident Evil Requiem: Chreon short comic inspired by @naditwombly

I'm so sorry Grace, u still need to witness those oldmen's PDA after surviving such horror🙈

(PS: also thanks to my "daughter" @akatsuki-shin for filling n fixing the text)

Nueva actualización de Patreon // New Patreon Update

¡Hola!

He realizado algunos cambios en Patreon para mejorar vuestra experiencia. A partir de ahora, podréis adquirir acceso a las historias de forma individual, ideal si solo os interesa leer un oneshot en concreto, y además a un precio más reducido que la suscripción mensual.

Por otro lado, también he simplificado los niveles de suscripción. Desde ahora, habrá un único nivel que incluirá acceso completo a todos los contenidos: escritos, oneshots, votaciones y fanfics.

¡Nos vemos entre las estrellas! ✨

ENG

Hi!

I’ve made a few changes on Patreon to improve your experience. From now on, you’ll be able to purchase access to individual stories, which is perfect if you’re only interested in a specific oneshot—and at a lower price than the monthly subscription.

I’ve also simplified the membership tiers. There will now be a single tier that gives you full access to all content: writings, oneshots, polls, and fanfics.

See you among the stars! ✨

creating fanfics

#fanfic #fandom #writing #ao3 #wattpad #patreon

¡Hola! Os escribo por aquí para informaros de que recientemente me he hecho una cuenta en Instagram y en Threads, por si queréis encontrarme por esos lares y estar al tanto de novedades <3

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/multiverse__wanderer/ Threads: https://www.threads.com/@multiverse__wanderer

¡Recordad que también podéis encontrarme en Twitter y en Tumblr, además de relatos exclusivos en Patreon!

---

Hello! I'm writing to let you know that I recently created an Instagram and Threads account, in case you'd like to find me there and stay up-to-date with the latest news <3

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/multiverse__wanderer/

Threads: https://www.threads.com/@multiverse__wanderer

Remember you can also find me on Twitter and Tumblr, as well as exclusive stories on Patreon!

#fanfic #fandom #writing #ao3 #wattpad #male x male #english fanfic #fanfiction #instagram #threads

allthingswhumpyandangsty

I don’t care how disgusting or fucked up a fic is. NO writer should EVER be harassed for writing taboo fics, especially when the warnings are properly tagged and you choose to go ahead and read them on your own free will.

you’re not morally superior for harassing real people for the sake of fictional characters and fictional stories. you’re just a bully.

Tengo ganas de escribir One-Shots, pero no sé de qué pareja u.u ¿De qué ship os gustaría leer?

---

I want to write One-Shots, but I don't know which couple u.u What ship would you like to read about?

#fanfic #fandom #writing #ao3 #wattpad

Cruel Game // Oneshot - Ghost x König (CoD) -- ENG

[Oneshot based on the OTP between Ghost x König from Call Of Duty (MWII). This full one shot on patreon may have elements of +18 content, read at your own risk.] This is a Patreon exclusive text, check out the different memberships and what each one can offer you!

creating fanfics

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REMINDER:

This story has been written in Spanish, which is my native language. This story has been translated to the best of my ability, although it is possible that it may have mistakes.

This is just a way to transport my writing to a common language for the rest of fans like me. For a better immersion, I recommend reading the story in its original version.

Thank you so much for reading me and see you in the stars.

...

The clock struck half past eleven at night, and the dim light of the room enveloped them in shared intimacy. Only a small lamp flickering in shades of amber could outline the harmonious and broad figures of both soldiers. The thick walls, the heavy curtains—everything conspired to isolate them from the outside world, creating a sanctuary where time held no meaning, at least for once. Simon "Ghost" Riley had made sure that nothing and no one could intrude upon this space he considered sacred. He had turned off his phone, locked the door, and, as a final act, dragged the heavy chair from the corner to block any attempt at interruption. Tonight, he wasn’t going to share König with anyone. He wouldn’t let him leave early either. Not duty, not the shouts of a superior, not even the war itself would have power over them.

At least, for a few hours before dawn.

He had worked hard in the days leading up to this moment to secure a few free hours before his morning shift. And even though his body was exhausted, his need to merge with König outweighed any fatigue. The need this man awakened in him was akin to that of a starving animal or a nocturnal creature parched with thirst. Alexander was a sort of paradise amid chaos, an oasis in the midst of hell. The only moment when all his senses took center stage and his mind could finally shut off, where feeling was the one thing that made him feel alive.

He could mentally replay, over and over, every moment when König had awakened new sensations in him. He remembered the first brush of their hands, the involuntary shiver that ran through him when their eyes met during that shared mission, and the way their breaths synchronized when their bodies intertwined in the darkness. But he would never admit it. He would never accept, not even to himself, that he had fallen in love with this man. He refused to acknowledge that he had an irrational dependency on those blue eyes, on that unique way of loving him. And, above all, he refused to admit that König was his weakness.

He tried to convince himself with cruel, almost ruthless thoughts. He told himself that if he were in a situation where he had to choose between König's life and his own, he wouldn’t hesitate to save himself. He couldn’t afford that vulnerability; it would be foolish... right? Yet, deep down, he knew he was lying.

König sat at the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders leaning slightly forward as if bearing the weight of a world only Simon could understand. He wore a tight gray t-shirt that outlined his powerful figure, with small cigarette burn holes—remnants of long nights and shared watches with his comrades. His lounge pants hung on his hips with an apparent carelessness, but Ghost knew every line and curve beneath that fabric. Despite his imposing height and chiseled muscles, at that moment, he looked like a gentle giant, vulnerable and exposed to the storm of emotions Simon unleashed in him.

Ghost approached silently, his steps muffled by the rough carpet. He observed König's profile—the straight line of his jaw, the way his messy hair fell over his forehead, casting shadows that danced to the flickering light. Every detail was etched in his memory; every feature formed part of a map he had traced on countless nights like this one. But what drew him in the most was König’s gaze: those blue eyes that seemed to contain an entire ocean, deep, enigmatic, and yet full of a tenderness only Simon could provoke.

König looked up upon sensing his presence, and their eyes met in a silent clash of emotions. No words were needed; in that gaze, they said everything. König let his guard down for him alone. In front of others, he always kept his impenetrable mask, his façade of an indomitable warrior. But in this room, under that soft amber light, he allowed himself to be just Alexander—vulnerable, human... and completely his.

That purity, that exclusivity, was what made König so addictive to Simon. No one else knew that side of him. No one else could touch that hidden fragility behind his armor of strength. And Ghost, who had lost so much in life, wasn’t willing to share it. Not tonight. Not until dawn came to reclaim what was rightfully its own.

Simon knelt before him, slowly and deliberately stripping off his shirt. The heavy fabric fell aside, vanishing into the eternal darkness of the room's play of light and shadow, revealing his broad, sculpted torso. Scars stood out even more perfectly in relief, and the tattoo on his forearm completed the picture of perfection that was Simon Riley. His tactical jeans rested low on his waist, highlighting his pelvis in his flawless physique, and Alexander couldn't help but let his gaze linger on his form, swallowing thickly.

Alexander’s blue eyes traveled from Simon's waistband to his face, getting lost in his beauty, even though it was still covered by that balaclava that always concealed his features. Even so, he could see his beautiful eyes—those eyes that, this time, bore no trace of violence but a desire charged with tenderness.

Simon tilted his head slightly to look down at him, his gloved fingers gently tracing Alexander's jawline, outlining that perfect profile. Alexander didn't move, his body tense, his breathing uneven. He felt vulnerable under that touch, exposed like never before, but he couldn't pull away. He didn’t want to.

—Ready for me?

Alexander found no words, his slightly parted lips voiceless. But his breathing quickened noticeably, his chest rising and falling uncontrollably, and his eyes shone with a mix of longing and submission. He nodded slowly, the gesture clumsy and almost primal, like a warrior surrendering to a superior force. And at that moment, Simon knew he had him—completely and utterly.

Without breaking eye contact, Simon straddled König’s broad legs, moving with a predator’s precision. His hands found the sides of the Austrian's neck, firm and possessive, his thumbs feeling the rapid pulse beneath the warm skin. He leaned in slowly, forcing König to lie back on the bed, to surrender under his control. König’s legs gave way, and his back met the mattress with a faint creak of the springs. He was a giant subdued, vulnerable and docile beneath his lover’s hands.

Simon pulled up the edge of his balaclava, revealing his lips—a small gesture that conveyed immense intimacy. He allowed himself to kiss König then, first with gentleness, exploring his lips as if it were the first time, with a tenderness that belied his strength. It was a kiss that held ancient yearnings, unspoken desires, and a love he couldn’t afford to name. He claimed him slowly, ensuring every corner of that mouth belonged to him.

And he did.

Their connection went beyond the physical. Every touch, every look was a reminder that in a world full of death and chaos, they had found something unbreakable. Simon shed his mask, his soldier’s armor, to be simply a man who loved with an almost savage intensity. And König, in turn, ceased to be the unyielding giant to become someone who could fall apart in the arms of the one he loved, knowing he would be held.

Time ceased to exist for them. Simon devoted himself to exploring every inch of König with his lips, as if engraving a map in his memory. He touched with infinite patience, as if the world could wait, as if nothing else mattered.

But when someone knocked on the door, the spell shattered. Reality intruded like an icy gust, tearing apart the bubble of intimacy they had created. Simon's body tensed instantly, his muscles standing out under his skin as he sat up slightly. His eyes locked on the doorway with lethal ferocity, an expression so cold and dangerous it could’ve frozen hell itself. He was a predator ready to strike.

...

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