#But at that point it's not a lake it's a pond. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thedreamlessnights · 8 months ago

Note

Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it.

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing.

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long.

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path.

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel.

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face.

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch.

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now.

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

“Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.”

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same.

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel.

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best.

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too.

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees.

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?”

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.”

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud.

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything.

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound.

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood.

“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?”

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision.

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue.

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind.

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething.

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief.

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps.

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him.

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck.

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it.

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand.

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again.

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot.

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment.

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements.

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble.

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire.

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals.

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion fic #astarion smut #bg3 x reader #mywriting

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fluffy-bluffy · 3 months ago

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When can you expect to meet your Future Spouse

Hello everybody 🧁 Another short PAC on the poll results. I hope you all will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed doing it for you guys.

Just a warning that this is a general reading and it is only for entertainment purposes. So take what resonates and leave the rest for others.

Let's get started 💪🏻

Pile 1 ---- Pile 2 ---- Pile 3

Pile 4 ---- Pile 5 ---- Pile 6

Pile 7 ---- Pile 8 ---- Pile 9

Pile 1

You could meet your future spouse in the season of spring. The month of March is significant over here. It could be the month you meet or something significant in this connection will happen in the month of March. When you meet this person you could be actively searching for them. Although I see you are in a hurry. You are being impatient. You could meet them at a celebration. Something to do with family. For a smaller chunk of this pile I am getting an arrange marriage. At this point of time you will feel closer to your loved ones.

Pile 2

You could meet your future spouse in summer time. Maybe near a beach or any other water body. Could be a lake, pond , river or even water park. The month of November could be significant for you. It could be the month you meet or something significant in this connection will happen in the month of November. You will meet your spouse when you are in a phase of disappointment. It could be related to work and might have been a situation which did not turn out as you expected it to leaving you in guilt and disappointment.

Pile 3

You could meet your Future Spouse in the season of spring. August and September could be significant for you. Something important in relation to this connection to develop in the months or it could be someone's birthday month. When you meet your future spouse you will be on a journey of self reflection. You will be trying to find yourself and create a better version and a better sense of value.

Pile 4

September and October are significant for you pile 4. It could be the month where someone's birthday comes. Or something important in relation to this connection will happen. Springtime is also significant for your connection. you might meet them in spring. When you meet your future spouse pile 4 you will be in an adventurous mood there will be a lot of excitement and adventure in your life at that point of time. You will be accomplishing your long term goals and moving towards a successful lifestyle. the kind you have always wanted.

Pile 5

You could meet your Future Spouse in summer time. And June and July are significant for your connection. I am sensing either you or your future spouse is the mind your own business kinda person. Like one of you guys dony't like bullshit and all the other one does is ramble about unnecessary things. very cute play fights I can sense over here. When you meet your future pouse pile 5 at the time you guys will be taking a moment of rest. It is quite possible that you have taken significant steps towards your goal and now it is your time to take some rest or go on a vacation. You might meet your person at that time.

Pile 6

You could meet your future spouse in spring. And the month of August could be significant. I lost my focus and started thinking about another reading which I have to do and as a result I was shuffling for a little while until my focus was shifted back on this reading. The cards fell instantly after that. This could be advice for some of you that focus on whatever you are doing. Don't lose your focus. As you will be meeting your future spouse after a wish fulfilment for which you have to work hard and focus on the process. Why do I get that many of you are procrastinating do not do that. Pile 6 you have to focus on your goals this is like a serious warning and advice from your spirit guides. You will only be able to meet your future spouse after you have achieved this goal. Your guides are telling me that you are forcing them to be strict on you. Try increasing your attention span slowly. Are there any students here? I am getting that energy. Try pomodoro method. And is somebody struggling with history? Or with how to make notes? Search on youtube. You will find your answers.

Pile 7

You could meet your future spouse in autumn and March, April could be significant months for your connection. I am getting fierce and fearless energy over here. One of you could be in your rebellious phase when you meet. I am getting this is more of your energy and you are in this mindset that I want to win at any cost. This is mostly about your work life and I am getting you may meet them in your professional realm. So, it is quite possible for a few of you to have your future spouse working in the same industry as you are. But you are focused on your goals. And you won't stop until and unless you achieve them.

Pile 8

You could meet your future spouse in spring and the months November and December could be significant for your connection. You should be away from your home and it could be a professional work trip or a personal vacation for a family vacation or you shifting to a totally new place. But I see that you will be exploring the world at the time you meet your future spouse. You will be getting out of your comfort zone.

Pile 9

You can meet your person in the month of March , April and May. They could be someone who holds a lot of authority. They could be someone who is ambitious and stubborn. You will be facing a big decision when you meet your future spouse. And you will have to take this decision rationally using your logic and common sense. Maybe this has something to do with your person maybe not. Whatever it is you are advised to think from your head and not feel from your heart in context to this decision.

Thank you Thank you Thank you everyone for reading. Hope to see you in the next one.

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emacrow · 5 months ago

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When 20 year old Danny moved into gotham for Space Engineer University, his apartment that was set up thanks to Sam had exploded due to a super villain. (joker)

Leaving Danny's only available apartment that was stuck to a seedy part of Gotham. Nobody didn't told him that most of Gotham's waters that wasn't from the rich area was very very pollution with nasty rancid junk ectoplasm.

Ellie and Dan were with him due to a core accident with a forgotten fenton trap that hadn't been torn down yet, but they were now 4 and 6 years old physically and mentally until The medicine Frostbite specifically made for them to take every once a month, help their core regained the loss energy to reform back to their natural state later.

Luckily he had the fenton ectoplasm water pipes filter to throughly clean out the nasty junk to turn back into normal pure ectoplasm mixed water which was a bit light greenish blue to the normal person's eyes but glowing green to liminals, ghosts and halfas. Though he had to sneakily goes transport down in the sewer to fixes those rusty ol pipes, made a undead zombie friend whom seem to be trapped in a terrible limbo of saying a repeated phase.

Then danny felt a bit terrible that some of the neighborhoods also had the same problems with the pipes. Whom is the mayor to not investigate this much rusty pipes that had a a few thousands spirits and feral blob ghosts of the deceased not properly buried!?!

Seeing sick looking children outside with a bad case of slow bad ectoplasm poisoning jerk at his slow beating heart. He knew that if it goes on, there is going to be enough corrupted ectoplasm to cause a lminals to go completely crazy with enough mixed dark ghostly intentions and territorial issues from the restless spirits (a certain leader of assassin sneezed)

The protection mixed space core in him was nearly feral at this point of all the harm that had been done to the people of gotham before Danny gave in, called in his parents to sent him a couple hundred of fenton ectoplasm water pipe filters and grab emergency fenton shovel smacker to start building proper graves for the restless spirits..

By next three month, just looking at his window to see the street kids playing outside actually acting like children, looking more healthy and lively, the anemic lady next door who just had a baby seem more calm and friendly instead of paranoid and scared when he first met her with a package of freshly baked fenton Brownies.

He had almost replaced 3/5 of gothams rusty ol waters pipes, had made nearly 10 thousands Graves more then what he had expected after diving deep in the Gotham's oceans, lakes, ponds, and abandoned public pools.

So far that Gotham has gotten a positive effect when the first morning of August came in, as that the Gotham's news went viral as the black smog clouds that mostly covered Gotham's skies had parted to reveal a beautiful sky along side with incredible decreased in Crimes in certain parts of gothams.

Only for Danny to arrived into his Apartment to see Gotham's City Spirit, who was absolutely jaw dropping gorgeous sitting on his Couch with Dan and ellie chatting her ears off.

Meanwhile a certain bat fam are becoming more and more anxious as the decreased in crimes at night became to the point that tim is becoming more paranoid then gollum from the rings, damian is becoming nearly feral with the lack of criminals to beat upon, dick is actually enjoying the break, dick had been commenting on the lovely colors that gotham had been getting lately, and Jason haven't contact them in weeks ago until last Friday coming by for Dinner feeling and seemingly like the ol Robin he once was before that Bruce had actually ugly cried clinging to him when Jason hugged him.

#dpxdc #dc x dp #danny phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp prompt #dcxdp #danny is the ghost king #danny fixed Gotham's nasty water pipes #accidentally fixing Lady Gotham's ectoplasm blockage #she gotten stronger and less sickly #that crime decreased #the bat fam are panicking and having a breakthrough at the same time #the leader of league of assassins are freaking out when his own entire assassins army rebelled against him #jason got cured unawared that Gotham's water got purifed which kills the pits inside #de aged dan #de aged ellie

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moon13dreams · 4 months ago

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What if during the years Luo Binghe was in the Endless Abyss, Shen Qingqiu not only knelt at the sword mound, but he also started planting white lotuses around the Peak?

It would start slow, just a few lotuses appearing in places they hadn't before, but they were so sparse that no one really took much notice. If they did, who would complain? It was just a flower and a lovely one at that. Their Shizun surely wouldn't mind the sight of them. He had been so distraught after the conference... Best to not trouble him with something so inconsequential.

Slowly more and more of those lotuses began to pop up, spreading to every lake and pond on the Peak. That couldn't be an accident. Never had lotuses grown on Qing Jing Peak before. Perhaps their Shizun commissioned An Ding to plant the lotuses, but for what reason they didn't know. Their Shizun had developed more of an interest in beasts than flora, but even that passion was smothered by his grief. Whatever the reason for the flowers, they must be special.

It wasn't until Ning Yingying informed her shixiong that she had been assisting the Peak Lord in cultivating the lotuses, hoping that it would ease his troubled heart. He had lost his most favored disciple and even after a year, their Shizun still knelt every day at the sword mound when he wasn't avoiding the memories haunting him on the Peak (though they would never speak of such things around their Shizun out of courtesy).

And so, they said nothing about the lotuses. If gardening and caring for the flowers that overtook their lakes and ponds brought comfort to the grieving heart of their Shizun, who were they to rob him of it? He was still in mourning, but when they did chance at seeing him caring so tenderly for the blossoming lotuses, they could see a little bit of that old light return to him, even for just a moment.

At some point, even the common people in the surrounding villages began to whisper about the widow of Qing Jing Peak, endlessly beautiful in his mourning amongst the tall bamboo and pure as snow lotus blooms.

#shen qingqiu is still doing mental gymnastics this whole time #he's only doing this because yingying had suggested it with such big puppy dog eyes #he didn't want to make her cry #and maybe he found he's actually good at gardening when it doesn't involve digging in too much dirt #he just likes to look at them #of course it doesn't make him think of his sweet little bun #what would make you think that?#scum villain au #svsss #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #mourning shen qingqiu #sqq #bingqiu #mxtx svsss #the scum villain's self saving system #scum villain #scumbag system

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roanofarcc · 5 months ago

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UNFINISHED BUSINESS

pairing. sasappis x ghost!reader

summary. (requested) as the two youngest ghosts at woodstone, you and sasappis understood each other and your laundry lists of unfinished business. at the top of the list for both of you? falling in love

warnings. dead!reader, fem!reader, mentions of death, sad sasappis, happy ending!!

masterlist

“Good morning!” you greeted cheerfully as you entered the living room where the rest of the ghosts were hanging out, lounging and waiting for today’s adventure to spring to life. Usually, when you awoke, you could gauge how the day would go from the looks on their faces. More often than not, they were a little bored as they awaited to see what Sam and Jay had on the agenda for the day, but today was slightly different. When you greeted them, the looks on their faces were a mix of boredom, worry, and confusion.

“There you are,” Hetty said, standing up with a small huff. “Is Sasappis with you?”

You furrowed your brows. “No, why?”

“We not know where he is. We thought he with you,” Thorfinn said, looking slightly distressed at his seemingly missing friend.

It wasn’t possible though for Sasappis to be missing. If he had been sucked off, or passed on to whatever awaited you after ghosthood, someone would have seen it. And it wasn’t like ghosts could wander off the property. You thought for a moment, longer than it should have taken you to realize just where Sass had run off too.

“I’ll get him,” you said, starting toward the back door. The other ghosts began following you, but you paused and turned to look at them. “Um, maybe I should talk to him first.”

You hadn't known Sass the longest, not by a couple hundred years, but the two of you had bonded as the youngest ghosts to haunt Woodstone. All of them had unfinished business, that’s why you all were stuck in the mansion, but you and especially Sass had so much unfinished business that it felt overwhelming at times. That was when you’d each need to get away from everything to mull it over. But as you quickly learned, mulling it over alone was even more isolating. Then, one day you stumbled upon Sass sitting alone by the large pond on the property. From that point on, whenever the two of you felt extra jaded about your untimely deaths, you’d find yourself by the lake with each other, slightly soothed by each other's company.

There were protests from the other ghosts, except Thor. He knew Sass the best since they had been dead together the longest. He stepped forward and placed a heavy hand on your shoulder, offering you a nod before he turned around and did his best to explain to the others why it was best that you go speak to Sass first. While he did that, you slipped outside and headed toward the lake.

You found Sass in his usual spot, with his feet pulled up to his chest and his chin resting on his knees.

“Hey,” you greeted quietly, as to not scare him, before you sat down beside him on the slightly overgrown grass.

He offered you a weak smile in return before his gaze returned to the rippling water. The rising sun glittered across the surface and it bathed everything in a warm orange glow.

“Everyone was worried about where you ran off too,” you said. “I think they thought you got sucked off or something.”

Sass shook his head. “Like that’ll happen.” The edge in his voice made you frown. “I’m never leaving this place.”

“You don’t know that,” you said, gently.

He laughed bitterly. “I’ve been here 500 years and still have unfinished business. I don’t think I’ll ever finish it all. It's not like it was one thing I wanted to do; I had everything left to do.” And it wasn’t fair. All of the ghosts at Woodstone had potential in their lives, lots of it, but died before they reached it. But Sass, one of the youngest at the mansion, had his whole life ahead of him. He had hardly started it before he passed, and after five hundred years it was probably hard to see a point of even trying to continue completing any unfinished business in a world so different than the one you’d been alive in.

There was little you could say to make him feel better. Instead, you scooted closer to him and placed an arm around his shoulder. Like second nature, he shifted his head from his knees onto your shoulder, melting into your side as you both kept your gaze on the lake. You stayed like that together for a while, until the sun had risen, and the sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue. Only after that did he lift his head and turn towards you with a small, sheepish smile on his lips as he rubbed his eyes.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn't mean to dump that all on you. I just…” he trailed off with a sigh. “It’s just nice having someone who understands.”

You brushed a couple of rouge pieces of hair from his forehead and smiled. “Don’t apologize. That’s what I’m here for. We both have unfinished business, a lot of it, but at least we died on the same property. I think that makes up for some of it, us getting to be…friends.” Friends didn’t quite feel like the right word. What you and Sass had was more than just friendship, it was a connection that no one else really understood. You were still practically just kids who had died on the verge of their lives starting and you were trying to figure it out.

Sass’s expression became unreadable for a moment before it turned into a small smile. “Yeah. Friends.” He stood up and offered you his hand before pulling you to his feet. Together, you walked back to the mansion, where Sass was swept up in whatever daily plan the other ghosts had to keep their boredom at bay. You, however, broke off from the group and found yourself in front of the series of photographs that Sam had put up along the upstairs hallway. She said it was a little homage to the ghosts of Woodstone, some of them anyway. She had found old photographs abandoned in the basement from the many lifetimes of Woodstone. There was a family portrait of Hetty that Sam had smartly cropped in the frame not to include Elias. There was a photo of Alberta on stage and a hand-drawn photo of Isaac and his regiment that Jay found for a couple bunks on something called E-Bay. It was sweet, you thought. There was even a photograph of you when you were a little girl at your aunt's wedding that took place at Woodstone ages ago. In the picture, you stared up at the bride with a stary gaze full of admiration and hope that one day you’d fall in love and have a wedding of your own.

The list of your unfinished business was long, but near the top of the list was to fall in love. You’d come close in your lifetime, a couple of times, but you had died before anyone became serious enough to plan a wedding. As a ghost, you still sometimes felt like the little girl in the photograph, captured by the idea of love with a dream to feel it yourself. As foolish as it was, you still held out hope that it would still happen to you. How, you weren’t sure. But the large and bleeding heart of the little girl you had once been still existed inside of you, underneath cobwebs.

“There you are,” a voice came from behind you. “We’re about to play charades.”

You threw a glance over your shoulder as Sasappis approached you, seemingly in better spirits than earlier. “I might pass today,” you replied.

He stepped in line beside you, nervously playing with the beads on his clothing out of habit. “I didn’t bum you out earlier, did I? Because I’m sorry if I did-”

You cut him off with a shake of his head. “Stop apologizing for how you feel, Sass”

“Sorry-” You shot him a look and he sighed, hanging his head. “What I mean is, I didn’t want my bad mood to rub off on you.”

“There was a lot on both of our lists,” you said, earning a slightly confused look from him. “Our list of unfinished business. There was a lot we both wanted to do. I really wanted to fall in love like my aunt in this picture. Look how happy she looks.” Your aunt was practically glowing beside her partner, dressed in white with a look of pure admiration and love that one could feel radiating off of the framed photo.

He gazed at the photo for a moment. “You looked happy too.”

“I was. I remember that the whole day here felt like a dream. That’s why I came back a couple of years later. I didn’t know I’d end up dying here. though.”

After a beat of silence, Sass said, “It was on my list too, falling in love. Well, technically I was but I was too scared to tell her. Then I died and that was that.”

“Looks like we both fell short there, huh,” you said, laughing breathily in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Sass’s brows furrowed and he pressed his lips together in a thin line as he stared at a spot on the floor for a prolonged moment. “Maybe…Or…” He snapped his gaze upwards, falling onto you. “Can I say something that might be, uh, a little crazy?”

You smiled. “We’re ghosts living in a haunted house, Sass. There isn’t much you can say that could be crazier than that.”

“I wouldn’t say that yet,” he muttered under his breath, but you still heard it. He turned his body toward you and rolled his shoulders back. “I missed my chance when I was alive to tell someone I liked them. I was scared and a little bit of a coward. But, you know, I’ve had five hundred years to think about what I would have done differently if I ever liked someone again. But I never thought it would actually happen.” He spoke quickly like he was trying to push out his thoughts before they got too jumbled inside his head. Even as he took a quick breath, there wasn’t enough time for you to say anything before he started again. “And maybe this isn’t…I don’t know. Maybe it’s a long shot and a stupid one. Maybe you just see me as a friend and that’s fine. But I,” his breath caught in his throat for a moment as his gaze fell off of you. “I like you.”

Your eyes widened at his admission; speechless and breathless. You body moved without help from your brain as you stepped right in front of Sass and placed on hand on the side of his face, getting him to look at you. His eyes were swarmed with unease and nervousness, like the young kid he was and not a five-hundred-year-old ghost.

“Really?” you asked, voice just above a whisper. He nodded. Your lips curled up in a smile. “I like you too.”

He let out a breath in relief and matched your smile for only a moment before his arms encircled your waist and pulled you in closer before he pressed his lips for you. You hugged your arm around his neck and kissed him back like you had silently wanted to do for years.

The kiss was short but sweet, as it was interrupted by a hardy laugh that startled both of you. “Thor knew it!” You both spun around to see all of the ghosts as they made their way to the usual room for charades.

“About time,” Hetty scoffed.

You gazed back at your photograph and smiled brightly at the little girl. You had been wrong. Not all of your unfinished business had to stay unfinished. Perhaps there were things you weren’t to accomplish in death just as the things you had accomplished in life.

#cbs ghosts #sasappis x reader #sasappis x you #sasappis #thorfinn #hetty woodstone #fluff #ghosts fanfiction #cbs ghosts fanfiction #sasappis fic #pete martino #sam arondekar #jay arondekar #flower montero #alberta haynes #isaac higgintoot

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multific · 2 years ago

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All You Wanted

Ultimate Predator x Reader

Read Part 1 here. Part 3

Warnings: human x alien relationship, incorrect description of pregnancy and birth

Summary: Maybe being pregnant wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, but having your strong and big mate close did help.

You felt so sick at times you couldn't even move.

You felt so sick at times you couldn't even eat.

If it wasn't for the huge Yautja telling you that you need to eat something, you wouldn't have.

You know he was worried.

He liked to plan everything ahead. It is what he was created for after all, to plan and to execute.

And as your pregnancy progressed, it became more and more difficult to plan. As your belly began to show, you grew weaker. You could barely sleep or move.

But you weren't broken. Oh, not one bit. You knew you needed to be strong for both of you. You wanted this child more than anything.

You were glad that your Mate often checked your and the baby's health. It at least gave you an idea of what was going on, he also tried to explain everything simply so you would understand.

Then, one day, almost everything changed.

You started to crave the food you couldn't keep down for weeks. Your energy was back and you could sleep a lot easier.

It was strange, but you didn't complain.

Then one evening.

"I wish to be in water." you said suddenly and you could tell the translator had issues.

He looked at you before pointing at the shower.

"No. I need a lake or something." Lake. On that planet? You must have gone insane.

But there was a small pond close by.

He found it not too long ago when looking around the planet. His dog kept you company while he left.

And so, when you requested for water, he brought you there.

You wanted to enter as soon as you arrived but he put up an arm, stopping you.

He entered the water, and soon you understood why he stopped you. He was waist-deep in. Which meant the water had to be very deep, thankfully you did know how to swim.

While he knew the water wasn't toxic, he checked if there were any creatures living in there which could hurt you.

You had a rather comfortable cloth wrapped around you, you usually slept in that but you thought it would be better not to be naked in the water. Even if there were no creatures on this abandoned planet.

When he found nothing, he put his arm up, you took his hand as he lifted you towards him, slowly, he eased you into the water.

It was cold, which did make you hiss a little, it made him flinch as he pulled you back up out of the water. You placed a hand on his shoulder, letting him know it was okay, and so, he put you back into the water.

As you slowly swam around, thankful for the water and how easy it made your movement.

He walked out of the pond, clicking something to the dog as it sat up. You watched as he walked away. You assumed he had to check on something.

You were leaning against the stone when you heard a shuffle behind you.

You turned and saw your mate, moving to join you hopefully.

"It is a lot better like this." you told him as he sat down behind you across the small pond. "The little one keeps moving and I can't get comfortable though." You knew he wouldn't understand, you didn't have any means of translation.

You turned back, and with your back to him, you moved slightly, leaning against the ground.

Your mate slowly got back into the water as he walked over to you, slowly pulling you closer to his chest. One hand on your belly as he moved you.

"Thank you." you said with a slight groan as you felt another kick against your husband's hand.

The yautja slowly turned you in the water.

You slowly moved in the water, feeling weightless. You placed your hand on top of his hand which rested on your belly.

You felt the little one move and by the twinkle in his eye, so did he.

You smiled as you looked around, you weren't outside the home that often, while the planet did have many trees, or at least what you would call trees, and plants, it was fully abandoned. Noone lived there only the creatures which roamed the green planet.

This planet was a lot like your mate, you noted.

This planet reminded you a lot of the elements, survival of the fittest and your mate was certainly that, a survivor.

An outcast but still a strong male.

You slowly relaxed against him as he held you. His rough skin actually felt really good against yours. You often found yourself running your fingers down his scales.

Suddenly, he moved you to his other side as he walked to one side of the pond. He let go of you, leaving you there as you watched him walk across before turning. He put on his hands out, motioning for you to go to him, to swim.

"Alright." you simply said as you slowly started to swim to him, although you were tired, it did feel nice to move a little. Each time you reached him, he moved to the other side, or while you were swimming, he moved and you followed. You really enjoyed the water moving around you as you swam. You could tell it also calmed your little one.

Once your little work out, was completed, he scooped you up and walked back to the house.

You let him change your clothes before he put you to bed.

---

You had a suspicion that your pregnancy wouldn't take nine months.

Deep down, you were preparing every passing day.

Yet, somehow, you were still not ready when the pains started.

There was no point in hiding it, you were about to give birth. You might not be ready, but your baby and your body certainly felt like you were.

Not even the pain was the worst part.

Not even the fact that you were about to give birth to a completely different species. It was the fear of you doing something wrong and it would affect the baby in a way you can't correct.

It is all you could think about as your mate hooks you up to all these machines. You heard two heart beats, your own and the baby's.

He even gave you some pain killers. Making sure you were comfortable before you had to start pushing.

You lost a lot of blood during giving birth. You fainted in and out of consciousness twice before he hooked you up to another machine.

The third time, you heard cries before fainting, knowing you did it, you gave birth to a little boy and you could finally rest, it was as if your body shut down.

You woke up hours later.

It was so quiet and you were back on your huge bed, covered in furs.

You were so disoriented you didn't know what was happening. For a second you panicked when you didn't feel your baby bump anymore.

Then you noticed something in the room with you.

Not too far from you was the small bed which he made during your pregnancy.

And in it was your babe, sleeping. You looked around, but couldn't find your mate.

You slowly moved in the bed, everything hurt but you needed to see the little one.

You slowly stood up, falling back on the bed as your legs could barely hold you, you nearly groaned out in pain that hit your abdomen. But you still wanted to see the little baby.

So, you tried again.

This time, you were able to stand but your legs were shaking as you couldn't take a step.

The little crib was so close to you, yet so far.

So, you needed a plan.

You moved back on the bed, shuffling as close to the little bed as you could before standing, this time you were able to catch a glimpse.

Your little one was sleeping on his belly. From what you could see he looked more alien than human.

You did fear you would give birth to a creature so bizarre, but from what you can see, his little face looked just like your mate's.

His sight gave you some confidence as you were able to take a step closer, then another before finally arriving to the crib.

And there he was.

Beautiful little one. Rather big but he looked healthy. And you knew if he wasn't he probably wasn't sleeping here with you. You placed your hand on the crib before slowly walking back to the bed behind you. Positioning it right next to you so you could take a better look at him as you sat down.

You wanted to hold him. Your arms were itching to hold him but you couldn't wake him.

Instead, you put your fingers through the bars and ran them down his little back.

He had scaly skin, and adorable little mandibles, he already looked annoyed much like an older version of a yautja and yet he looked so amazingly cute.

You wondered if he had the same yellow eyes you had grown to love.

You wondered what, if any, human did he have in him. He certainly didn't look human.

But he didn't have claws. Or at least not yet. his little fingers found yours as they wrapped them around yours.

You counted all five, five little fingers and five little toes.

Then he flinched a little before slowly waking.

You watched in awe. And something in you switched.

All your long nights of worry, fearing if you would be a good mother if you knew what your baby needed, all boiled down to right here and right now.

He was about to cry, you knew he was.

Your body moved on its own, slowly lifting him out of the crib and putting him against your chest.

Slowly bouncing him as you kissed his forehead. He calmed down rather quickly. Not even making a sound as you moved in the bed. You moved to sit up against the pillows and be a little more comfortable.

Now that you had him in your arms.

You had a feeling Yautja women didn't raise their children this way. But you were no yautja.

You wondered how you would be able to feed him, given his mandibles were small and he had no teeth, maybe it wouldn't be a problem.

Then the door to your bedroom hissed open and there he stood.

Your eyes locked with his as he stopped in the doorway.

For just a second you worried you weren't supposed to take the babe from his crib but then you saw it in his eyes, it wasn't that.

He clicked something and the translator that he installed in the home did the trick.

"How are you feeling?"

"A lot better now that I am holding him." he waited a second for the translation before nodding. The door closed behind him as he walked over to the bed. Slowly sitting down next to you.

His huge frame didn't scare you anymore. You fit right next to him like a puzzle. He moved one of his arms behind you, pulling you to him as he looked down at you and the little one.

"Is he healthy?" you asked and he nodded.

"Strong, healthy and cried his eyes out to be with you." he said. "It isn't true yautja custom. You having to hold him. Most don't hold their children, while others do. It is to ensure the son is strong warrior." he said.

"I will hold him until I can't because he is too big." you said.

"I figured. I know human traditions. You hold him, feed him and love him. More than yautja does."

"He is beautiful." you said looking down at your sleeping child.

"He has your eyes. Human DNA inside him, but Yautja DNA more permanent, it is why he looks more like me."

"I don't mind. As long as he is healthy." upon hearing you say that, he tightened his grip around you a little bit.

"I'm proud."

"You should be, you have a son."

"No, proud of you. Human gave birth to Yautja, strong one."

"I had good DNA to mix with mine, you said smiling up at him."

He soon let you lay back as you slowly fell asleep. You placed your baby back into his crib before moving back to your favourite position, being the little spoon as his huge body wrapped around you like a second blanket.

This was your life know, with your mate and son.

And you wouldn't change it for a thing.

After all, this is all you ever wanted.

Part 3

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, PLAGIARIZE, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

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leeknow-thoughts · 6 months ago

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୨୧ DRAG ME DOWN TO HELL/YOU'LL HOLD MY HAND

𝝑𝝔 cw : silly!mimo, fluff!, one joke about sewerslide, slice of life

𝝑𝝔 a/n : guys I love mimo he's so sweetieful to me

"Jagi, look at it!" Minho teases you as he holds the fish that is flopping around in his hands.

You do your best not to gag at the sight as your face falls in disgust, "that is so... gross."

"Oh hush, you won't be complaining tonight when you're eating it," Minho grumbles at your disgust and puts the fish in the cooler.

"Yeah, I will be, I'll be thinking about that fish and it's family that it could have had before you murdered it," you huff and take a seat in one of the chairs at the campsite.

"You take the girl out of the city not the city out of the girl," Minho supposes as he rebaits the fishing line.

"I'm happy with being a city girl if it means not murdering innocent fish and shit like that," you cross your arms.

"You know we can go back home right, you're the one who wanted to go camping with me," Minho reminds you.

"Yeah, whatever," you roll your eyes, "honestly I'd choose bear."

"What?" he looks at you with disbelief.

"Like being stuck in the woods with a man or a bear," you watch as he walks behind your chair to grab a different type of bait, "I would choose bear for obvious reasons and at least the bear would keep me some what entertained!"

You feel Minho's hands suddenly wrap around you tickling your sides, while you swat at his hands but can't help the smile that breaks across your face, "I'm sure they'd keep you very entertained, jagi," Minho chuckles and lets you go.

"I can't believe you just touched me with lake water! Lee Minho!" you exclaim and sit up as you try to shake the water off you.

You have a new focus as you lunge at Minho, he is faster though, swiftly evading your capture. Which leads to a game of tag as you run around trying to capture him.

You accidentally slip though, no big deal if it wasn't into the lake. Straight into the freezing cold, dirty water.

When your head pops out of the water you watch as Minho stares down at you and you can see that he is doing his best not to laugh, biting his tongue in order to keep himself from laughing. "Ja-Jagi," he almost laughs, before cupping his hand over his mouth, doubling over in laughter.

"Minho!" you shriek, splashing him with lake water.

"I-I'm sorry!" he chuckles, "you look like a s-soaked cat!"

"I feel like one too! Help me out!" you cry and have to bite your tongue to prevent tears from escaping your eyes.

Minho reaches over and helps pull you up, out of the water. "J-jagi, you're shivering," Minho points out.

"No fucking shit!" you exclaim as you try to warm yourself up.

Minho can't help the yelp-like laugh that escapes his lips before he's completely doubling over, practically rolling on the ground with laughter. "Ugh, fuck you!" you huff before marching off to the large tent you both would be sharing.

Luckily the tent had it's own shower, Minho opting for one because you would be joining him. The shower was small though, and there was no hot water, but at least it was something. You stripped off your dirty clothes, throwing them in a plastic bag before stepping under the freezing water.

You can't help but letting tears fall from your eyes as you try to gulp down the uncomfortable feeling that resonates all over your body.

"Little love?" Minho calls out to you, and you hear him step into the shower room.

He pulls back the shower curtain and takes one look at your teary-eyed state before his face falls. "Oh, jagi," Minho sighs, he reaches his hand out to you, "don't cry jagi, I'm sorry I laughed at you earlier," he coos.

"Was mean," you sniffle.

"It was mean," he agrees, gently cupping your face, "let me make it up to you. How can I make it up to you?"

"Go jump in the pond," you request.

"Jagi, I can't swim," he reminds you, "unless you're telling me to kill myself."

"That's so embarrassing, I hope you know," you sigh, shampooing your hair, "not being able to fucking swim."

Minho stifles his laughter before he begins stripping off his clothes, "what are you doing?" you question.

"Jumping in the pond," he answers.

"Naked?"

"It's not like anyone will see me," he hums.

He runs outside before you hear a splash, a moment after that Minho is running into the shower, he smells just like pond water, and he's drenched from head to toe. "Ew, you smell like pond water!" you shriek.

"Yeah," Minho sniffs you, "so do you."

"I can't believe you did that, how did you not drown?"

"Went in the shallow part," he explains as he kisses your shoulder.

You turn around, facing him. The limited shower space means you and Minho are practically pushed right against each other. "You're crazy you know?" you hum as you place a kiss on his lips.

"I'm fully aware, jagi," he hums against your lips, "also when did you get this?" he taps your inner thigh, the scar from a recent incident being what he was talking about.

"Oh, it's nothing," you brush off, "honestly didn't think you'd notice it."

"I know every inch of your body, obviously I'd notice a scar I haven't seen before," he sighs like it's obvious.

"You're sexy like this," you confess.

"Like how? Soaked in lake water?"

"Naked," you giggle, pressing a kiss to his lips.

A kiss that he happily returns.

After the shower you laid in bed while Minho began frying the fish he had caught earlier. "You should wear that shirt more often," you comment from your huddle of blankets on the cozy bed.

"Yeah?" Minho teases without looking at you, "you like it?"

"Yeah," you can't help but bite your lip.

"It's just a black compression shirt, jagi," he taunts.

You look over his form again, baggy jeans paired with a long sleeve black compression shirt with his long brown hair a mess on his head. "Still," you mumble, "looks fucking good."

"I bet it does," Minho agrees, making you whimper in frustration.

"You're confident today," you mumble as you turn over, looking at him.

"It's cause I'm around you," he smirks, looking back at you.

"What's that supposed to mean!?" you slap your forehead, tears of embarrassment threatening to fall.

"It means," he drags out the word while turning back to look at you, he notices your almost teary embarrassed face, "that you're the best," he hums turning back, "and you shouldn't be embarrassed about falling in the lake, or finding me sexy."

"I don't find you sexy!" you shriek.

"That's a fucking lie," Minho muses, "you said it yourself!"

"Shut up!" You slam your face into a pillow.

"You like me this way, jagi," he giggles before turning back to look at you.

"Loud and obnoxious," you raise your eyebrow,

"Yeouch, you're mean today, jagi," Minho hums before turning back to the food.

"Yeah yeah," you murmur before laying your head back down on the pillows.

"It's okay," Minho hums, "I like you a tiny bit mean."

You rise up out of the bed and join him in the small kitchenette area of the tent, wrapping your arms around his middle. Your chest to his back while he stands over a grill, rotating the salmon, making sure it's evenly cooked on both sides. "Your hands look good," you compliment, burying your head into his back with flushed cheeks.

"Mhm," he hums, "thank you, jagi. You know I think that's the nicest thing you've said to me today," he teases.

"I'm sure it is," you agree.

Minho flips around, now facing you, gently cupping your face, pulling you in for a kiss, "I'm glad you decided to come along, jagi," he mumbles through kisses planted on your lips.

"Me too, even if I did fall in the lake," you murmur.

You both eat over a campfire, no words exchanged between the two of you. Always preferring the silence that came with meals over talking with food in your mouths.

"Y'know," Minho starts, cutting through the silence like a knife to butter, "I'd let you drag me to hell if it means you'll hold my hand."

"I hope you know what an off putting thing that is to say over dinner," you tease.

"I'm aware, that's why I said it."

"You're very peculiar, I hope you know," you say through bites of salmon and vegetables.

Minho smirks, "it's okay, you're peculiar, just like me."

"I prefer to be called unique, thank you," you retort.

Later that night the two of you laid in bed together, Minho's fingers tracing that new scar on your thigh while you read a book. "You're perfect," Minho whispers in your ear.

"You're one to talk," you hum, putting your book on the nightstand and running your fingers through Minho's hair.

"Hell yeah I am, I'm the only person who gets the privilege of calling you perfect," he laughs.

"Yes you are, yes you are," you affirm.

#bun.writes #bunwritesskz #skz #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x you #stray kids #lee minho x reader #lee know stray kids #lee know #lee know x reader #lee know fluff #lee know scenarios #lee know imagines #lee know soft thoughts #lee know soft hours

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tangibletechnomancy · 9 months ago

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Doing It Wrong On Purpose: Episode 1 - The Un-Ship

Today's experiment: What happens if I prompt for something, and then negative prompt all the main keywords, plus various synonyms and related words?

The answer: Some gloriously weird stuff.

For example, let's look at a negative cat:

Positive prompt: A cat on a windowsill during a storm

Negative prompt: Cat, feline, felidae, kitty, kitten, animal, pet, windowsill, window, glass, pane, house, storm, rain, water, lightning, thunder, clouds, torrent, downpour, snow, blizzard, wind, windy

Interesting! Let's get a little more fantasy with it and try for an anti-deer:

Positive prompt: A deer in a peaceful flowery meadow, crystals, midnight, fantasy, colorful

Negative prompt: Deer, cervidae, animal, elk, moose, stag, doe, fawn, reindeer, antelope, cervid, antlers, flowers, night, dark, trees, foliage, bloom, stars, night, tranquil, fantastic, vibrant, cool, magic, blue, moon, sky, crystal, stone, statue, topiary, floral, blossom

Between these two experiments, including a few dozen other generations that remain unposted, one thing I can say for sure is that for living subjects, it's a great way to get the kind of anatomical wonk that older models are (in)famous for - and it makes sense why, the model is trying to make something that looks like a certain subject...but once it starts to look too much like it, well, shit, we told it NOT to do that! Break something up! Given that I love that kind of wonk, I think I've found a useful tool for myself.

One more living subject, and let's get even more abstract with our direction here:

Positive prompt: mind horse

Negative prompt: horse, equine, colt, filly, mare, stallion, bronco, pony, mind, brain, thought, essence, psyche, intelligence, consciousness, imagination, dream, soul, visualization, intellect, wit, cognizance

Now let's try something that isn't alive. One thing I love AI for is surreal settings and landscapes - lets try one now!

Positive prompt: A magic palace garden made of crystal and gold

Negative prompt: Palace, magic, crystal, gold, fantasy, castle, estate, stronghold, temple, garden, flowers, plants, blossoms, bloom, blooms, trees, grass, stems, foliage, leaves, greenery, branches, bush, bushes, hedge, hedges, metal, luxury, stone, glass, brass, rose, polished, jewel, prism, courtyard

I then tried to see if, learning from the animal subjects, I could make it more likely to return one of my favorite "mistakes" - making it impossible to discern the point where a water area ends and a sky area begins. I wasn't immediately successful, but I came up with some results I found pleasing regardless-

Positive prompt: Secret hideout in a cave behind a waterfall in the foggy forest on a floating sky island in fluffy clouds

Negative prompt: hideout, camp, campsite, home, abode, house, dwelling, rest, shelter, waterfall, water, cave, grotto, forest, woods, woodland, trees, fountain, cascade, pond, stream, lake, river, brook, puddle, creek, pool, beach, ocean, sea, cloud, clouds, sky, cumulus, cirrus, nimbus, fog, storm, rain, sunshower, falls

It seems that with landscapes it's got a much clearer and more specific "idea" of what a [SUBJECT] without [SUBJECT] looks like; it's more inclined to invent very specific, very consistent unasked for related elements. With the animals, I was tweaking the weight on the positive prompt to avoid getting straightforwardly just what I had positive (and negative) prompted, but with landscapes, I just get... almost something else entirely.

So how about inanimate objects? Let's try a ship, perhaps?

Positive prompt: A huge sailing ship with brilliant prismatic crystal sails on a stormy, turbulent sea of sunset clouds

Negative prompt: ship, boat, sailboat, sailing ship, pirate ship, galleon, ketch, schooner, sloop, cutter, sail, sea, ocean, storm, wind, rain, water, waves, cloudy, clouds, fog, sunset, dusk, dawn, sunrise, twilight, evening

...okay, I'm in love with the un-ship. It truly does manage to consistently give me results that look like, yet entirely unlike, a ship. It is everything I love about AI as a medium. More than that, it is my friend.

At lower positive prompt weights, they only get even more beautifully chaotic.

I want to live on one of these (in an alternate universe where they're geometrically possible and structurally sound, that is).

Failing that, I will be featuring them a lot from now on.

All images generated using Simple Stable, under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

#ai art #generated art #simple stable #stable diffusion

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blushstories · 3 months ago

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you almost drown on a run | joel miller x reader, hurt/comfort, slight angst

joel’s been quiet since the bloater. you’d never seen one before, but it was clear that he had. passing you molotovs to throw and igniting pipe bombs himself, you tried to ensure a continuous onslaught of fire towards the bloater.

and it was going down — once you ran out of bombs, you pulled out your shotgun. gathering that fire was its biggest weakness, you loaded it with incendiary shells and gripped the gun tightly. fighting against the recoil was hard, and your finger was slipping against the trigger. the bloater’s attention was on you, and after yanking an acrid pustule from its body towards joel, who dives to the side, it begins to charge.

a few shells slip through your fingers as they click into the gun. you snap it shut and fire all of them into the bloater, which is closing the distance between you by the second. your vision tunnels, and you hear joel yell something. the bloater’s hand reaches out but you fall prone to the floor, crawling between its legs and hauling yourself to your feet and sprinting heavily away. there’s a clattering, a bang, and the ground shakes mightily beneath you. you stumble into the mud. the bloater groans earthily, and there’s a puffing hiss as you roll onto your back.

pushing yourself up on your elbows, you watch the green cloud ascend over the bloater. you’re hoping that means it’s died. joel bounds over to you, boots clicking on the sidewalk as he throws his gun over his shoulder.

“get up, c’mon,” he says with urgency, a little breathless. he grasps your hand and with his other pulls you up by your forearm. as you stand, you watch over his shoulder as runner after runner, clicker after stalker emerges from around the corner. you understand his rush as you turn on your heel. he guides you with a hand on your lower back until you’re both sprinting away, low on ammo, low on energy.

joel shouts for you to keep up as you vault through broken windows of empty houses, crunching broken glass underneath your shoes. you duck through somebody’s musty abandoned garage, and slip out again through their back door, and the horde behind you thins out with each corner you slip through.

you keep your eyes at the back of joel’s head, and he leads you past the end of the street, but the road has been destroyed. a large crack has divided it horizontally, and over time it has eroded into a nearby lake. the water has found its own equilibrium in the pit the size of a house, and there’s not much time to think of a clever way to cross it, because there’s a runner catching up to you.

joel points to a fallen tree covering the expanse of the new pond, and you join him to climb it. the nooks in the trunk are sturdy footholds, and the damp bark is soft between your fingers. he speedily balances his way along, and you’re too focused on keeping your feet from slipping so when the runner throws its arms around you, all you can do is shout before you’re plunged into the icy water.

it swallows you whole as you try to wrestle with the runner, reaching into your pocket for your knife. it’s squirming like it’s been set on fire, but you drive the blade into its neck. kicking off of the runner, you break the surface and gulp down the ambrosia-laced oxygen, momentarily soothing the searing pain in your lungs. the water crashes against your ears as you sink again, unwrapping yourself from the runner; your fingertips are numb, though, and your grip almost nonexistent.

the runner’s body catches on something, and you’re yanked downwards by its grip on you. you’re suspended in the dark abyss, desperately trying to prevent any water entering your body; you’ve just stabbed an infected, after all. you kick at it again, and push yourself away, only for something to catch at your calf. it’s sharp, and you can’t pull your leg away. you think its broken skin, but you can’t be sure.

you fold forwards, running your fingers down your leg and tracing it to find something metal. your jeans have been ripped and caught in it due to the force of your escape. you can’t see anything, and you’re trying to pull. you only get resistance and an aching throb in your calf, and a bubbling scream from your lungs.

a particularly sharp tug causes you to exhale too much, and precious air escapes you. you’re slapping a hand over your mouth and hoping, praying, silently screaming for joel to realise you’re not coming back up again. it’s suffocating, and you can’t hold your breath anymore and your breath has exploded and your lungs are flooding and you’re choking without air and you’re floating away.

there’s a thunderous roll of water somewhere above you, and a few moments later there’s support under your arms and a realisation that you’re not moving. you don’t remember the ripping pain that accompanied the jolt of your leg as it was unhooked from an old metal pipe. nor do you remember the desperate race to the surface of the water, and how joel gasps for air himself before he drags you to the side, dragging you across aged tarmac until youre clear of the water, blood starting to pool around your leg. but it's the way your chest doesn't rise and fall that concerns him.

he breathes your name shakily, tapping your chin up and watching water droplets roll off your face.

“christ.” he lifts your chin and starts pushing his own breath into your mouth. once, he waits. twice. his own breath catches in his throat. he tries again, harder this time, and his hearing is foggy.

he glances down your body; “gotta wake up, c’mon,” he’s talking to himself. he leans down again, fills his lungs and pushes the air through, and water fills his mouth. you’re coughing and he’s spitting out water while helping you lean over, emptying your lungs.

even though water is leaving your lungs you’re choking, new air evicts it but you’re gasping and clawing at your throat, coughing so violently that it’s like shards of glass are scratching your throat.

when you’re finally done, you suck in a clear as crystal breath of air, and joel’s smoothing your hair away from your face and looking giddy with relief.

“almost lost me there,” you poke, voice scratchy. a shiver rolls through you.

“not on my watch,” he strokes your cheek lovingly and helps you up.

your leg aches, prompting you to look, “oh my god, joel.”

he follows your gaze and his eyebrows furrow. he takes a quick as flash inhale; “they’ll sort you right out at home. you’ll be fine, okay. gonna get you there.” he takes off his overshirt and rolls it lengthways. then, he wraps it around the gaping slash in your calf and tightens it harshly, apologising when you yelp in pain. he slips his previously abandoned pack on and swoops you into his arms tightly, taking the winding alleyways home to avoid any further encounters. his grip never falters.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel the last of us #joel tlou #the last of us x reader #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #the last of us #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal

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