#Hand Wood Pipe for Smoke | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bucknastysbabe · 14 days ago

Text

Rating: Explicit

Tags: MONSTERBOINKING, pnv!sex, werewolves/lycanthropy, the cheesy calm the beast trope, step daddy Criston, vague Victorian/edwardian era but in Westeros, TW: dub-con, blood and guts, groomer behaviors, uh he got that dawg💄, YEAH ANYWAYS, virgin targtower!reader, prey predator tropes, summerhall! Help!, Criston’s conflicted anguish but can’t stop fucking syndrome, your honor she’s 22

Taglist: @aemondfairy @arcielee @elaratyrell @elfven-blog @ellemarianne555 @fairysluna @jacesvelaryons @jamespotterismydaddy @lovelykhaleesiii @sammmy7499 @starogeorgina @sugarpopss @towriteloveontheirarms @urmomsgirlfriend1 @zaldritzosrose

Divider by @racingairplanes W/C is 5k

A/N: Yeah so idk what came over me I slapped this out like the good ole days and hope for the best thanks Grammarly and horny colewives and the depths research take me to are places I would go with a grenade launcher but here we are. Happy Halloween fuckers boop boop

Your stepfather had returned from an expedition from beyond the Wall with fellow retired officers from the Westerosi army. He came back sick and delirious, an infected bite of lupine nature on his ribs. You worried by his sickbed beside your mother and Daeron.

Aemond had come home to help as the man of the house. It was a horrid time, you prayed and prayed as Criston moaned lowly, sweating and writhing in pain as the maesters whispered about Direwolf bites. How he was lucky he didn’t get mauled. How no one had seen one in centuries.

Centuries.

His fever broke. Quicker than expected he got better, up and walking within a fortnight. Your loving stepfather you adored was back. Yet dismay overcame your aching heart as Criston wasn’t quite the same. Summerhall was quiet and desolate as always. It was lively once— before all of your siblings moved away, to pursue a career, start a family, and be a wastrel in the Capitol living off the family wealth.

Your mother and Criston began to talk less and less. Your bedroom lay below them. They’d fight about Rhaenyra. Fight about whether Criston was too soft on you or Alicent with Daeron, why did your grandpa have to come by so often? After hissing and uttering horrible things they’d…carnally figure it out.

You hated how you willingly listened in, body in knots as you shamefully tuned your mother out, red-faced as you secretly relished in his grunts and sighs, deep throaty moans that had your hands gripping the bed in need.

Every morning after a night such, you would pray in the small Sept erected behind the manor, fervently apologizing and confessing your wickedness to the maiden for hours. You would continue until your fingers bled from the prayer beads.

It wasn’t a happy place. You had a reprieve in typing away on your new typewriter, riding horses with your younger brother, and Criston. Except Criston wasn’t Criston. As he got ‘better’, he became choleric and isolated.

Loud noises irritated him, he’d been on a witch hunt for every critter in the house, claiming he could hear them scuttling about. The carnal noises at night were feral and disturbing, enough to make you stop your secret listening and turn over, wide-eyed. He’d go hunting on full moons and return tired and ragged— no game in sight.

The horses disliked the normally genteel man, the woods grew quiet when he sat outside to smoke on the porch. You began to grow more and more concerned, but he was snappish and you were a meek little thing— the sheltered daughter who stuttered when she spoke to lords and caught chills easily. Overdue to not being married and with a child.

You’d peered out the grand windows of the manor, seeing the glow of Criston’s pipe. He was smoking his cherry tobacco, a habit of his on a nice night. You gathered your courage and gently peered out of the front door.

His sharp eyes flickered over, exhaling the fragrant smoke before rasping, “What are you doing up, bunny?” You blushed at the old nickname, something born of you being skittish yet soft, sweet, and easy to prey on. The way Criston’s dark eyes gazed upon you made you feel like a cornered bunny.

“I was reading and noticed you were still out sir, I wanted to check on you. We haven’t spoken much lately.”

You shifted, feeling awkward. Criston’s dark curls fell across his thick brows, puffing on his pipe again. It was dead silent as he exhaled, a hand running over his overgrown stubble. He rumbled, “You need to stop reading those dreadful pulp books. Come here.”

You made to sit next to him, a hand wrapping around your wrist, Criston’s voice a near growl as he pulled you gently onto his lap. He emptied his pipe, an arm coming around your waist. You swallowed, feeling your flesh heat, the feelings you prayed away coming back as he was so close.

“Who brings you those books, hm?”

You replied, “Aemond sends them to me, sir.”

He shook his head, one big hand rubbing your soft waist, then tucking your head against his chest. Your stepfather inhaled slowly, sighing out. He grumbled, “If it makes you happy. Like that damn typewriter, he got you too.”

Writing was a passion of yours— they’d begun to let women study at the University of King’s Landing. You’d ask. Sometime soon. Maybe.

Instead, you snuggled against his chest, desperately needing the comfort. Yet you remained wary of propriety at the moment. Your eyes helplessly cast to the front door. He laughed darkly, “She’s asleep girl, stop your fretting.”

You mumbled, “She’d be upset.”

“I don’t give a damn. You’re my girl, my most special girl.”

You flushed, chest warming at his words. He huffed a laugh again, looking at you, eyes almost flashing in the moonlight, squeezing your waist, lips stretching into a grin. Your heart thumped against your breast as he ever so softly murmured, “I’d keep you here forever if I could, the sweet little bunny doesn’t need all those wolves surrounding her at those balls.”

His canines were sharp in the low light. You wondered what he was if the lordlings were ‘wolves’.

Criston had been getting ready for his hunt, snappish and dismissive beforehand as always. He went without a horse, gun slung on his back, dagger on his waist. You’d tittered about the recent livestock attacks on some of the tenant's farms. Alicent stood up on the porch, arms crossed.

“There could be a puma down from the Red Mountains, do you want to be mauled for good with time?” She pointed out.

He snapped, “Someone’s got to deal with the tenant’s issues. Unless you plan on toting a rifle.”

You looked at Criston, pleading with your eyes. He tugged on one of your perfectly placed curls, a finger under your chin. His dark eyes turned up to your mother before moving to you. Criston murmured, “There’s much worse in the world than a big cat, stay indoors, tell Dare to be a good boy.”

You nodded, brows knitting.

Retreating to your mother’s side, Alicent pursed her lips. She shook her head, huffing, “He’s got a death wish, the fool.” You frowned, picking at the lace of your sleeves. Looking at her pursed lips, you nervously convinced yourself, “He’ll be fine. He’s got a gun. He’s always fine, right?”

She stared into the woods, dark eyes pensive as Criston’s form began to blend into the trees. She spat, “One day you’ll understand that no man will be tame. They do as they please and we pick up the pieces, do well to mind that.”

Her disapproving glare turned to you, hissing, “Even the ones you love so much.”

She turned on her heel, going inside with a slam of the doors.

You swallowed down a noise, hands gripping in your skirts. You worried. Perhaps if you just took a jaunt on your horse you could clear your head, run along your stepfather, and convince him to come back home where it was safe. Your boots were in the stables, there was a good amount of light left in the day.

You followed the trail down to the stone stable, the farrier already gone home. The staff had been making themselves scarce before sundown in light of the attacks. Entering the stable, you looked down toward Winter, Criston’s Barrowlands draft horse. The poor thing had not been ridden since Criston had returned.

Winter was cantankerous, but he handled her well. You’d overheard your stepfather complain to the farrier about the horse acting fearful. It was strange— he’d had her for ten years now. All the horses seemed to be displeased by his presence.

You took off your small-heeled shoes, changing into more comfortable riding boots. Approaching your horse, a Dornish Sand Steed named Ferris. You pet his ashen snout, cooing at the mild-mannered equine, feeding him one of the carrots always stashed in the stable.

Stepping into the stall, you brushed him off quickly before hauling on his saddle. You despised sidesaddle, your mother too, so you got to have a standard one. Ferris nickered as you pulled on his halter and attached the reins, patting his neck.

It was a swift hop until you were astride the steed, clicking your tongue to move forward, pushing one of the barn doors open to the path that divvied off into trails. Your eyes cast across the land, noticing the Red Mountains looked ablaze with the sun.

You’d better make this foolish jaunt quick. Praying you may see Criston and talk some sense into him dominated any sort of logic. You have always been such an emotional creature. Ushering Ferris into a canter, your pale hair flew in the wind as you rode.

Onwards you went, eyes wide as you looked through the brush and scrub. You’d passed some of the bloody leftovers of the sheep, stopping to gasp. Taking a moment to suck in a breath, wide eyes on a rotten half-gnawed skull and another strewn body, bloodied and maggot-covered wool about.

Ferris was edgy himself, the whites of his eyes on display. The imminent danger you’d ignored settled within your bones— cold and hard. You trembled, trying to ease your quickly panicking horse.

Snap.

Ferris reared with a whinny, you holding for dear life, cursing on the Seven as the breed known for its quickness was showing off. Yet this was a forest, not a desert. You dug your heels in, tried to pull on the reins hard, shouting ‘Woah!’

The sand steed skidded, taking a hard right— throwing you off. Your scream was cut short as your body hit a tree, breath was knocked out. You’d hit it so hard you bounced off, head struck hard against the ground as leaves and bark fell upon your unconscious frame.

You awoke to darkness. Cold. The smell of ozone and earth. With a soft grunt, you pulled yourself up, head splitting with pain. Your fingers felt a lump on your head, dried blood that had dripped down your face. You whined as you felt your bruised ribs.

Ferris threw you off.

You had no idea where you were, your horse was gone, it was dark. Not to mention a predator on the loose. Your stepfather was ‘hunting’. Probably not this far out. You remembered the gore of sheep remains, shivering.

Intense fear filled your chest, looking around the dark trees. You needed shelter, out of the open trees where the puma could stalk and hide. Taking a shallow, pained breath, you used the tree to help you upright. Exhaling sharply, you silently cursed yourself for your stupidity.

“Never tame a man— even the ones you love,” came your mother’s voice, nagging your mind.

Taking a shaky step forward, your eyes strained for any of the rocky feet of the Red Mountains. There were crags and sometimes old hideouts from the days of the Marcher Skirmishes. The Dornish were good at making hidden sanctums. You dragged yourself along, ears hyperactive.

The clouds must have shifted— the full moon’s light bathed the forest in an eerie glow. You whimpered, moving faster, frantic eyes spotting a hardness against the natural shapes of nature. It was a whittled-down stone, a sure sign of what you were looking for.

You pushed through the burning pain in your side, panting as you made your way to the stones. Now grateful for the moonlight, you saw it, a cut into the red rock, big enough for a man to get through, much less a woman like you. Your eyes almost caught the much bigger opening above.

You collapsed in a heap once inside, panting and whining in pain. You lay in the darkness, breathing shallow as some energy had to come back. Eventually, you got up again, looking around. There were old weapon racks and scimitars. Much neater if you weren't lost alone in the wild as a sheltered, idiotic noblewoman.

Eyes adjusting further, you noted there were two separate tunnels.

“I’m dead as is…” you murmured, taking the right, and limping into the darkness. As you went deeper, the smell of the damp cave turned into something more foul— iron and rot. Blood. You held a hand over your mouth, gagging. It was the damn thing’s lair? You walked a step further, boot splattering into a puddle.

You knew what it was.

The stench of rot thickened. This was the feeding grounds. You whimpered again, falling to your knees, sobbing in the darkness. A voice reminded you to be stronger than that. You didn't know whose it was in your brain. Probably everyone you cared for. You didn't want to die, let them grieve and miss you.

Criston would lose himself. He would blame himself, you know he would.

Taking another painful breath, you dipped your hand into the blood, slathering it on your dress and neck, wherever your scent may waft. More tears slid down your face as you wiped some of your messed up hair, the blonde tresses fell and frizzy.

You went to place your hand on the wall to steady yourself, finding nothing. You fell through a small gap, landing with a pained ‘oof’. Sitting up again with a grimace, a feeling of safety seemed to embrace you. This little nook of sorts was hidden away.

A plan began to formulate in your mind. You could wait here. Eventually, the beast will come back and feed or sleep. Your best shot was sneaking out and running for it when the animal was distracted. Sighing softly, you felt around the tiny room, finding a knife of sorts, thankfully sheathed.

More shifting around and your hands felt clothing, a shredded shirt, some pants? Your fingertips felt blind— picking up a jacket of fine quality, you could figure that much feeling the fabric. It wasn’t damaged like the other items. You felt at the inside of the collar, looking for embroidery or something sewn.

You kept smelling the air, wondering why something smelt other than rot. Something that made you feel. Cashmere? Silk? The leather of the knife perhaps. Fingertips grazed some thick threading, feeling out the letters.

L-t, C-o-l, C-C-o-l-e.

Your heart stopped. A cold sweat broke out upon your blood-covered skin and ruined dress. Why was Criston’s jacket here? You smelled it, figuring out the cause of the scent— it was that cherry tobacco. You gripped it tightly, confused. What if he had hidden here too? What if he was dead? You muffled your mouth with the cloth, too scared, too upset to do much but heave.

Silence fell once again.

Your mind was going wild in the dark. You ached, it was freezing, and your stepfather could be dead for all you knew. You leaned against the wall, holding his jacket against you. Held it even when you jolted from the sounds of heavy breath and dragging.

It grew closer, the dragging of two dead bodies accompanied by the sound of two feet, and heavy breathing. That wasn’t a damn puma, you realized. Puma didn’t walk on two feet. Your mind went even further into fear and madness.

A monster? Like the ones out of your stupid dime novels?

Full moon. Animal attacks. You shuddered, listening out, breath hushed by Criston’s coat. The recollection of a silly story about were beasts and half men-half direwolves preying on the frozen North struck you.

The crunch and sound of an animal eating voraciously alerted you from your mind going down the worst route…yet. Now was the time to run. You clutched the knife and coat— refusing to die without some comfort if this went wrong.

Slithering out of the space, you crawled and crawled, not turning back once. The pain in your ribs was searing— you grit your teeth. Larger teeth crunched against sinew and bone from behind as the more illuminated front of the abandoned hideout came into view.

You breathed out, feeling dizzy from your bruised ribs crying for mercy. You fell forward from your knees, panting as quietly as you could. The energy was sapping from your body quickly. Drawing up the last of your will— the need to see your family again, the need for another day came upon you.

You shrugged off your boots, quiet as a mouse, and limped toward the near-blinding entrance. You took one staggering step at a time, biting on the coat to shut up. Your hand reached the entrance before something fell behind you. You crumpled to the ground, seeking somewhere to hide, crawling under nets behind weathered supplies crates.

A roar echoed from the depths of the right tunnel. Your blood was ice. Your breathing grew frantic as the sounds of pounding footsteps and growling. Claws were tearing at wood, cleaving its way around.

Others take you. The boots. You left your damned boots right there. It knows.

You clutched the coat and unsheathed the knife with one, shaking and praying for a quick death if it all went wrong. It felt like hours as it sniffed around, growling and rumbling, growing frustrated. Your wide eyes saw one of your boots hit the carved-out ceiling.

The boxes in front of you splintered and crackled, the netting easily sliced. You screamed in horror, eyes now upon the beast as you frantically crawled backward— it roared, heaving and slowly stepping forward.

Your eyes studied it in a state of shock. The beast was huge, with black curly hair adorning its long arms and legs, and claws on its hands and feet. Blood dripped from the sharp canines, bared, snarling at you, the slightly elongated nose just as angry looking. You whimpered, unable to process what stooped in front of you, growing closer and closer.

No, wait, it was like the book. A werewolf. You screamed as it growled and stepped closer, holding the jacket up to your mouth. One of the werewolf’s big hands jerked you forward, a furrowed brow and dark eyes inspecting your face. It huffed and sniffed at you, bloody drool smacking you in the cheek as you cried.

It yanked Criston’s coat away from you— leaving you to reach and cry and screech for it. The knife was all but forgotten. A strange look crossed its once enraged features as you sobbed for the coat, begging for something that couldn’t possibly understand. One of those clawed hands encircled your throat, pulling you upward, clenching enough to stop your squalling.

Human-like eyes were closer now as it bent down, face to face with you. You stared, wheezing as it looked…confused…eyes turning from you to the coat and back. As if it was asking you ‘why?’

The pressure on your throat lifted.

“It’s my stepfather’s coat, I- I need it- I need it,” you pled, “If you kill me let me have it to hold, please- if someone is in there- please.”

The werewolf blinked, your shrieks muffled by his musky fur as its wet nose and mouth pressed against your neck and inhaled deeply, nuzzling you. You shivered at the strange feeling, whimpering once more.

“There’s much worse in the world than a big cat.”

The wolfman pulled back, brows furrowing. Your mind was reeling but the pieces all fit. You wept a little, crawling towards the beast and backing away. Back holding the coat you pled fervently, struck with emotions.

“Criston? Criston is that you? I won’t tell you, you don’t have to hurt me, is that you?”

The Lycan’s frightening visage softened, those big dark eyes you dreamed about facing you head-on. It held your gaze, a mournful noise deep from its big chest, peaks of his olive skin showing through.

You frowned, seeing the anguish. Criston was inside the beast, he was the beast. He was the horrid thing that ate the sheep and changed into something unnatural and dangerous. You watched him pace back and forth— claws hitting the stone made you jump, and clutch the coat harder.

“Please- I don’t want you to feel alone, I’ll keep this a secret, you shouldn’t suffer alone. Please, just look at me.”

He stopped and turned, advancing on you quickly, picking you up with one arm. You clutched the coarse hair of his shoulders, once again shaking. Criston— the beastly version— inhaled your neck again, softly smelling, a chest-deep rumble shaking your frame. You felt red in the face, squeaking when its long tongue lapped your neck, cleaning the blood off. You now notice his ears, pointed and bigger.

You were led down the other hallway and laid upon likely ancient furs. The lycan was smart enough to hand you a small candle and some flint stone. You had a feeling the beast was subdued, needs met and the human could come forth. Your shaky hands got the tiny fire lit, illuminating your messy state, and well…Criston was a giant man-wolf thing.

He grunted, eyes darkening at your state. You explained, “I smeared blood all over myself so my scent would be muted. I just couldn’t leave the coat. Your scent spooked my horse and I took a nasty fall.”

He looked annoyed, growling and grumbling as his over large frame paced around the chamber, picking you up once again and leading you further into the gloom. Your eyes widened as he somehow shifted through a hole, and you cradled against his chest. You had no doubt it was your stepfather now, the little gestures and micro-expressions too familiar.

You remained alive, staring at cave springs and glowing mushrooms. He dropped you back down, a claw flicking the button to your dress. You could almost hear it now.

“Get bathed, then come and let me see what you did this time.”

You blushed heavily, still not sure whether to run in terror or not. But you stripped to your shift, ready to step in. A growl stopped you. He pulled at your chemise then retreated into the poorly lit chambers.

You took off the buttoned drawers first, then the slip, shivering as you stepped into the shallow pool, sighing as it wasn’t cold, a lovey hidden hot spring. Briskly washing off the blood, guts, and wolf slobber, you braided your hair again, slipping the white linen back on, shivering at the coolness of the cave…shivering at Criston seeing you like this.

As a godsdamn werewolf.

He was hunched over now, looking at the coat, quickly turning as you reentered, the shift clinging to your wet curves, soft and rounded. You blushed and he let out a deep growl. You had decided to button the drawers underneath the slip, knowing he’d want to see your bruising.

You shyly sat down on the furs and carpets, letting the wolf lay you down, a claw lifting your slip, face turning into pure anger, a deep rumble from the sight of the mottling across usually soft and delicate skin. You nervously murmured, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I went looking for you like a fool. I didn’t think that…” you trailed off.

Silence filled the air.

Another shiver tore through you, heavy bust peaking through the thin fabric strained across your breasts. Purple eyes met obsidian. He covered you in an instant, paw-like hand gently rubbing the bruising, eyes almost pitying you. He rumbled again, nuzzling your neck and décolleté.

Another big hand was on the right side of you, a little rougher, feeling your softened flesh. You babbled under the ministrations, the warmth of his larger body a comfort and a distraction. You began to wonder if this was real.

“Criston- wolf- sir- why now?”

He lapped at your neck as to apologize, hands sliding up and down your sides, one ghosting up your slip, running back on your soft tummy, the claws barely touching. You whimpered, heart speeding up, waiting for something. Criston looked at you again, lips dropping to press a sweet kiss.

You gripped at the skin and human hair on his chest, finding yourself rather intoxicated with desire now. His touch roamed to your teats, huge hands able to get a nice handful, squeezing. You whined, babbling, “I’ve always wanted you- Gods save me.”

He rumbled, amused as he grew impatient, growling as he squeezed and flicked a claw against your nipple; lapping and lapping at the other through your thin slip. Your needy hands pulled at your drawers, shivering as you pushed them down, soaked cunt bare.

“Gods- oh gods,” you mewled.

Criston’s hands retreated from your skin quickly, his nose twitching now— growling, eyes moving to between your legs. You desperately mewled, “D-don’t tear me in half…I know the beast is coming back.”

The beast in him didn’t have all of its needs filled. Fight, flight, feed, and now fuck. You took off your slip, bared for his gaze.

You were promptly turned onto your belly, ass hiked up as feral grumbling and growls came from behind, his nose and tongue coming up your back, hands on your ass and thighs roughly as you whimpered, panting and shaking.

A blunt tip pushed at your virgin entrance, surprisingly slick. You whimpered again before he howled in excitement as the rest of his huge cock entered you, tearing your maidenhead and penetrating you deep. Your fingers clawed at the floor as he began to fuck in earnest.

You panted and whined in pain, getting on your elbows to ease the pressure on your ribs, dulled earlier by the hot springs. Now you were burning between your legs and there, focusing on the stretch of your inner walls, how thick and wet he felt.

The pain was still there, pinching some. Criston growled and growled, forcing the most obscene noises from your pussy. He licked and nibbled at the nape of your neck as you felt the primal rhythm of his fucking begin to heat up, growing hotter with every rub.

“Ngh, wet, oh! S’full.” came the nonsensical words between wet slaps. The beast seemed to like how he stretched you to your limits, rutting ceaselessly as he felt where his cock had you speared. You panted, hand slapping down to where a mess was being made, rubbing that place you’d read about, tightening down further.

Criston whined this time— claws digging into your full hips. His face nuzzled against yours, rumbling and whining like a puppy, his cock swelling as you tightened. It felt so good, surrounded by him, your virgin pussy being rubbed and rubbed from the inside and out with a frantic hand, noises wet and sloppy.

You didn’t realize how loud you were crying and carrying on as he fucked you deep and hard, Criston, the beast, both— began to grind upwards, easily manipulating your hips. You mewled when the soft, sensitive roof of your cunt was being massaged by his veiny prick. You gasped, at the end of your rope, “Sir, Cristoooon, oh, sir, sir, oh gods- I can’t do it- oh gods.”

That wasn’t an appropriate wolf-man answer. He simply angled you harder, the tip now gently kissing your cervix. Slow and intense, rub rub rub. You blinked, feeling a sob from the intensity building up. A furry arm wrapped up under you, holding you close to his warm body as you began to unravel, pleasure filling your lower body before spreading outwards like a heavy blanket. He lapped and held you through it, kissing a little, surprising you when the beast whined like it was in pain, a mournful howl before painting your twitching cunt with white-hot seed.

You knew you were done, for now, too fucked out and delirious. The wolf pulled your smaller body atop of him, you feeling like your beloved stepfather was back, albeit in a way you were sure it took being insane to see. You didn’t have time to think about it, resting against his broad frame, eyelids drooping as its big arms enveloped you.

You awoke with a gasp, yelping at a very naked Criston staring at a very naked you. He grabbed you gently, eyes fierce, pressing his forehead and nose to your own. His human-sized hands were holding your shoulders as he croaked, “My bunny, my baby, forgive me, you need to you need to end this.”

You pulled back, frowning before taking his stubbled cheeks in hand, eyes taking in the anguish across his features. You swore, “No. I- I wanted it. I still want it. If we need to come to a means like that, we’ll walk to the ends of the earth first.”

He stared at you, quivering in agony. He looked so tired. He looked scared. You hugged him, uncaring of anything but the man who kept you afloat— beast or not. You spoke firmly against his ear, “I’m not leaving you behind. I won’t have you do this alone. Just, just know I love you, more than anything I’ve ever shown.”

A tear slipped from his eye, his pretty lips quirking up, his fingers gripping your chin gently. Criston rasped, “I love you bunny. Never had anything keep me so…in tune with it. You- you shook me out of that animalistic fugue.”

“I’ll do it every night if need be,” you promised, kissing his cheek, hands seeking his.

Criston looked to the side, jaw and brows working as they did when he was nervous or stressed. Finally, he looked up at you, eyes firm again.

“Why don’t we stay lost a bit longer, I’ll smell out Ferris and you take your ass home. I should’ve eaten him for leaving you like this, a feast for a beast.” He picked you up, heading back towards the hot springs.

End.

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #ser criston cole x reader #criston cole x reader #criston cole x you #werewolf!criston #criston cole imagine #hotd imagine #hotd reader insert

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tremendum · 2 years ago

Text

fever

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, use of she/her) rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.) word count: 7.5k summary: but at the timbre of your voice, a cold shiver runs down his spine. his eyes widen in acceptance. there must have been some sort of- poison, or aphrodisiac in that damn plant that you'd both been struck with. warnings: SMUT. dubcon (sex pollen), age gap (not specified), use of the word ‘girl’, friends(ish) to lovers, canon-typical mentions of violence, needles/getting pricked by a plant, descriptions of canon-typical injuries, unprotected PiV sex, kinda rough, creampie, light cumplay, oral (f and m recieving), a fair amount of begging, dacryphilia, size kink, overstimulation, voyeur Joel if you squint just for a sec, facefucking, mutual masturbation, multiple orgasms, some spanking, choking, reader gets slapped on the cheek like once, dom!joel miller, spit kink, fingering, dirty talk/slight degradation if you squint, light praise, this is just basically porn with no plot, they’ve got feelings for each other but they’re in denial, ellie is in this in the beginning but doesn’t hear them thank GOD, notes: this is my first work for Joel and though I never finished the first game, the release of the TV series inspired me bc i am a SLU T for pedro lmao. this is terribly unedited because I just forgot i took edibles after i smoked and cranked this out in an hour and a half so sorry if it’s choppy or a bit ooc for joel. ALSO IF IM MISSING WARNINGS PLS MESSAGE ME

★

"whose brilliant idea was this?"

you say it from behind Joel, the echo of your boots splashing through the tunnel as you look around you, your eyes sneaking to observe the width of his shoulders, the stretch of his shirt over the muscles.

Joel can't stop the twist of his lips as he grumbles back at you, "yours." he mutters, rolling his eyes.

his flashlight cuts through the darkness in front of you two, scaling over the walls that grow slimy with repeated dew and rainwater, algae sprawling over the pipes and reaching its fingers down towards your shoes. he doesn't like being down here, it's too quiet, damp, dark. perfect for cordyceps to grow.

you let out a soft, amused hum at his words that coaxes a bubble of irritation through Joel - you'd always been stubborn, from the day he'd first laid eyes on you; a young thing at the time, baring teeth you thought were sharp but really just looked like a little doe snapping its jaw at him.

it's been long enough with you around now that Joel knows you better than he's willing to admit, and maybe also knows himself than he would ever say out loud - because you're still that stubborn fireball of a woman and he's still the tired old man who you find amusing to tease. and he likes it, deep deep down.

"yeah, maybe just letting it go was the better option." you muse from behind him, voice still somehow dripping like honey though the sloshing of the sewer provided nothing but unpleasantries for the group of you. he turns to spare a glare at you; you were already smirking at him. setting him up, then lying in wait.

a damn minx.

he sighs, looking away: sure, he wants you, of course he does - you were spry, beautiful, intelligent, and resourceful. but you were stubborn, and butted heads with him more than rams did in mating season. still, there'd been too many lingering glances, suggestive phrases, and gentle caresses for it to be a coincidence. he could tell that when you watched him split wood or help teach you to shoot a gun that you were probably soaked through your panties, and that made him hard as a rock when he allowed himself to think about it once in a blue moon.

but that doesn't matter, because in a world that wasn't like this one - without the danger, pain, the necessities to survive - a girl like you would never bat a fucking eye at a man like him.

and he's got more important things to think about than how tight you'd feel around his cock, how well you'd take his orders with his hand around your throat.

but your words not only fall to his ears - from where Ellie hangs upside down from the storm drain, she snorts, "you spent that whole time back there arguing with him just to decide he was right?" she boasts. at this, you grab her arm, pretending to pull her down from above your head and into the storm drain with you and Joel. a splashing noise and a squeal echoes through the tunnel as your boots slosh; Joel turns back with irritation, about to snap at the two to keep quiet.

but you're grinning, eyes reaching his from where you stand, covered in storm drain water. Ellie's flipped upside-down, hanging from the ceiling with a grin of amusement, her arm slack in your grip.

your shirt is wet, slick against your plush skin around your stomach and breasts, your hair stuck to your cheeks and forehead and neck. slowly, you bend down to pick the axe out of the murky water, a satisfied sigh leaving your lips as you shake the water from its hilt. he has to tear his eyes away from the flash of the lacy underwear that peeks from the waistline of your jeans.

Joel's breathing is almost stutters - you’re a goddamn sight right now, and if the tightening in Joel's jeans meant anything, it's that he needed to look away.

"it doesn't matter. you got your axe, now we need to get out of here." he mutters, tired of letting you convince him to do asinine decisions like try and crawl into a storm drain to fetch the axe you'd accidentally dropped. your lips pull into a tight line and he ignores the twist of fire in his stomach at your gaze, the smirk as you try to conceal your laughter. it just irritates him even more.

he watches with sharp eyes as Ellie starts to pull you up and out of the drain; he's trained with a flashlight and his rifle pointed towards the depths beyond you, into the unknown area of the drain. your head is almost out of his sight when it happens: you twitch suddenly and let out a yelp, "fuck!" you hiss. Joel's rushing towards you, calling your name.

you groan, pulling yourself up with the aid of Ellie as you mutter, "'m fine Joel, something stung me."

stung you? he looks around, flashlight searching the area for any animal or insect or other threat - nothing. but when you're clear of the drain, obscured by the dilapidated road above his head, Joel hears Ellie let out an interested but disgusted noise. his gun goes first, then the flashlight. he pulls himself up and as he nearly breaches the light of the Earth, a sharp sting attaches to his thigh, coaxing a grunt of shock from his lips as he pulls himself fully out.

you're laying, soaked on the hot pavement, Ellie staring at you with wide eyes as you inspect your calf. there's a barb on it with spikes that look almost like a cactus of sorts, bright purple and speckled with yellow. Joel doesn't have to look down to see his own thigh impaled with the spokes of the same plant. he tilts his head back, hand scrubbing his face with a deep sigh. damn it.

"what is that?" Ellie asks, eyes wide as Joel quickly pulls out the plant from his flesh with the flannel he'd tied around his pack. "don't!" he chastises as your bare hands move towards the spoked on your calf, and your eyes soon shoot up to him. "did y'touch a plant down there? or anything?" he asks, trying to ensure this wasn't anything toxic or lethal, or god forbid, a mutation of the cordyceps.

but if it had been, there'd have been signs of it. pulsing, infecteds even - but this was a plant Joel has never seen before.

"obviously" you grunt, shooting him a glare, "I wouldn't fucking touch something growing if I didn't know it was safe." you snark. he knows you hate it when he treats you like a child - you've said as much to him before, and loudly - but he can't help the protectiveness he feels for you. your skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, "but it shot out barbs towards me. I wasn't even close to it, you saw me." you defend.

Joel's throat clenches, his chest swimming with a warm feeling as the tingling sensation on his thigh lingers far after he'd pulled the barb from his jeans. he needed to get that thing out of you, too. you watch him as he pulls it out of your leg swiftly, Ellie sitting back on her haunches as she watches.

"we should clean these out." Joel decides, standing up and grabbing his gun and discarded flashlight, sending a glare down to the axe that sits glinting in the sun. just what he needs, another thorn in his side. literally.

the walk back to the house was much less exciting for you as it had been before the little romp with Joel in the sewer. the sun is hot beating down on your backs, and your dampness just exacerbates the mustiness of the storm drain's water soaking into your skin.

your calf is starting to vibrate, almost - although your heart twists with worry, you eye Joel's back and he seems fairly normal. so, you keep going, ignoring the heat that starts to consume you. your head aches by the time you round your last corner to get back.

Ellie's in her own world, kicking a rock as the house nears your sights: you'd landed here early this morning, some people who knew Joel before had lived here: they were gone now.

but it had beds, water that could be heated, and a collection of weapons and supplies stocked higher than your head.

so as you settle your things into the living room, you smile, digging into your pack to fish out the scraps of soap you'd saved, enough for several washes each of you were liberal with it. "so, who gets it first?" you say with a grin, unable to contain the excitement in your voice at the prospect of getting clean. Ellie jumps up, grinning with glee.

"dibs on going last!" she whistles, pulling a dry stare from both Joel and you. she shrugs, "what, don't want to be yelled at for takin' my time." she grumbles, flopping down on the couch, sofa releasing a plume of dust.

you lift a brow, "there's a second tub down here, isn't there?" you ask. Joel nods, eyes flickering to Ellie, "then you can take the tub down here. but only use a bit of hot water." he chides.

she rolls her eyes as he points a stern finger her way, swiping a piece of the soap you'd held out to her as she hauls her bag behind her, "relax, old man." she mutters, shaking her head as she disappears, "I'll let it run cold before I get out."

your eyes fall on to Joel, who sighs, nodding to the upstairs bathroom. "you go." he says dismissively. you chew on your lip, trying to figure a way out of taking the first bath: you needed to inspect this sting first. "no, i can wait. 's fine." you shrug, the feverish heat on your body not helping yourself to focus.

his hands run to the back of his neck, massaging a spot; your eyes are glued to the muscles that ripple from the movement, the long fingers thick and rough from a lifetime of hard work. you shudder, arousal pooling at the apex of your thighs easily. you swallow, embarrassed - why were you having such an odd reaction to this plant? it was making you feel fuzzy, feverish; the only thing you can focus on is Joel.

he shakes his head, "nonsense. ladies first." he insists, not meeting your eyes. you feel yourself clench around nothing at his words, his abnormal attempt at chivalry - you laugh a bit. he glares at you, but there's no heat.

"since when have you been one for chivalry, Joel?" you ask, shaking your head with a smirk. it's sweet, because despite the horror of reality, there were still times when that charming Southern Man that Joel probably once was peeks through the cold, hard exterior.

rare but not unheard of were the times he'd hold a door open, or say ma'am - but it seems that all that remains of his past is that damn smooth accent and the broken watch he keeps on his wrist at all times.

he rolls his eyes but says nothing. his face looks red, and you almost bring up the pulsing at the site of that plant's needle; instead, you bite your tongue. you need a moment to analyze it, alone - and to get your thoughts straight, to - to not think about him.

"you can take first, Joel. I prefer my baths lukewarm, anyways." you joke, a fleeting touch on his arm.

your hand burns when you pull away and his eyes catch yours as if he felt it too. he must decide to not protest anymore as he nearly stumbles his way upstairs, disappearing into the master bathroom, his hands shaky as they take your soap from your grasp on the way.

Joel knew something was wrong immediately. the more he'd stood there, debating with you about who gets to fucking clean themselves first, the more he saw you, in a tub, fingers caressing yourself; the more real it felt, to see you touch your hardened buds, play with your tits, to hear you moan his name gently.

but his body was hot. he felt a fever like nothing he'd ever felt before, his mind going fuzzy as he'd stumbled into the bathroom, scrubbing his whole body from head to toe vigorously, as though whatever was happening would fade away if he'd just get clean.

the bath couldn't have been longer than seven minutes.

by the end of it, he was grunting into his shoulder to muffle the noise, his fist squeeing his cock tight as he fucks himself into it, the hot spurs of wanton need curling around his body, choking him. that god damned soap. it smelled like you.

he'd thrown it across the room, its pieces splintered across the ground as Joel bites back a groan of your name, the images of you, soft hands pumping him, slick mouth opening to take him inside- he cums over his chest in hot spurts, the guilt red and hot across his cheeks as the feeling snaps from his chest.

but the fever is still there when he blinks away the pleasured cloud of his orgasm.

and it's still there, burning hot like a snake of revenge in his body when he slams the door open, body still damp and quick to react to the fresh air of the upstairs bedroom.

he doesn't go back downstairs, not like this. not when the girl is down there, probably still in her own bath; he's still not sure what he's come down with, or if it could spread.

now, it’s your turn in the bathroom in the master bedroom - he'd beelined it for the office upstairs before calling for you and telling you it was your turn; he knew that something in him would snap if he were to see you while he was in this state.

but he should've gone back downstairs, because the moment he hears it, it's too late for him.

you're moaning.

it's almost clear as day; muffled through doors as you'd shut yourself from the rest of the house in the master bedroom, and Joel can't fucking unhear it.

he became painfully hard again mere minutes after his first orgasm and has been restraining himself for what can only have been the ten minutes you'd been bathing, but at the timbre of your voice, a cold shiver runs down his spine.

his eyes widen in acceptance. there must have been some sort of- poison, or aphrodisiac in that damn plant that you'd both been struck with.

"fuck." he groans, surprised as it comes out much more breathy than intended, his whole body shuddering as his brain gets even more swarmed with thoughts - you, spread for him, or on your knees, or laying on the table, his cock shoved down your throat-

he hits the wall, hard. his fist stings but it's nothing in comparison to the burning need he feels swirling in his gut and his legs carry him until he's knocking on the door to the master bedroom frantically.

he calls your name, and a weak gasp is the only response. he tries again, and then your muffled voice calls, "fuck, Joel, that plant-" you cut yourself off with what Joel can only imagine is a moan of pain and pleasure. his cock twitches and he thinks he may pass out. staggering over to the bannister, Joel calls out for Ellie. she stomps over to peak her head up towards him expectantly.

he's shaking, sweat already sheening over his whole body. he's sure he looks like hell as he grips the landing under white knuckles, "Ellie, we're sick." he groans, "stay downstairs."

she calls back up, joking that she’s going to leave the house; but she doesn't sound sincere. he barely registers her laughter before she shuts the door, closing herself off to explore the downstairs house without Joel or you to protect her. he's momentarily glad she's not suspicious, instead is relieved to have her own time to herself.

but his cock is so hard he thinks he may pass out again, and he can hear you gasping out his name from behind the door to the bedroom and bathroom.

the door to the bedroom shuts and echoes through the empty upstairs as he tears through, chest heaving. you're still in the bathroom, gasping as your moans echo through the chamber.

he calls your name as he slumps against the door frame to the bathroom, the desire coursing through his body as he shakes with the feverous affects from the plant's venom.

he can't think straight, "I can't come in." he says, shaking his head as his forehead rests against the cool wood. you wail from inside, "Joel, please, I need- I need you, please I need help." you whimper. he can practically see you, the pleading look on your face pathetic as your brows tangle together, eyes shut in frustration. he knows you're touching yourself, and it makes his cock twitch.

"I can't." he says sternly, knowing that if he is to come through that door, there may be no stopping himself. he can't let that happen, not like this. "I'll- I'll be good, just- I can't, nothing's working." you whimper.

"not like this, darlin'." he's grunting through his teeth, but he feels so much desire that it's painful, like he'll die. anger courses through his chest as you let out a drawn out moan, low and full of need even through the wall that separates you.

"fuck you." you groan, "I hate you, Joel, never let me fuckin' have anything," your voice is strangled, a shuddering moan leaving your lips that sends jolts of electricity throughout his entire being. his hand finds his aching cock, slowly trying to relieve the painful desire that shoots through him with need.

he glares through the wall, "yeah, well, fuck you too." he spits back, anger coursing through him at your bratty exclaim of irritation for him - the one who kept you safe, who let you do what you wanted - who followed you into goddamn sewer drains to find the shit that you’d lost.

"walking around, flaunting that fuckin' ass at me." his words fall from his lips before he can stop himself, the desire and haze pulling it out of him as he twists his wrist around himself. "do you know what you do to me?" he nearly growls, "every time you open that mouth it's some shit. always gotta have somethin' to say to me, huh? make me wanna shut you up."

your moan is nearly a sob this time; it's raw, full of desire, and Joel could just about cum from that noise alone. his neck heats up with the knowledge that his words pushed you even further; he always knew you'd be a dirty little thing.

but he nearly falls over as the door to the bathroom rips open, catching himself with one arm on the doorframe, his cock still in his fist. his eyes find you on the ground, fully naked, on your goddamn hands and knees for him.

his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head when you gasp, "Joel, we need to-" you swallow as though you were salivating at the sight of him above you, cock angry and flushed, "you have to fuck me, now."

he stares down at you, his whole entire body tremoring at the sight of you; your bare chest, nipples peaked at you suck in breaths, face flushed with desire and sweat, your own legs shaking terribly. your hands are glistening with your own juices. he lets out a moan.

"please," you try to get his attention again, squirming as though you're in just as much pain as he is, "please, just use me, I don't care, I want to taste you."

he shakes his head, "we-we aren't thinking straight... can't do this." he gasps, even his own words starting to sound absurd to himself. you shake your head actual tears welling up in your eyes, "I think about this all the time, Joel-" you moan, your hand slipping between your legs, the wet sounds sending streaks of desire through his body. “it’s not just the fucking plant, Joel, I need you.” you hum. his wrist hasn't stopped moving, he realizes, chasing that sweet fucking high as you stare at his cock with a wide, hungry glance, begging him to fuck you. he wonders if he’s just dreaming again.

"you know that I want this." you gasp out, tears nearly slipping from your lashline, "don't you?"

does he? how could you dare to ask that?

he groans, nodding, "shit, baby, shut the fuck up."

"you're a fucking asshole, Joel." you whine, "it hurts." you mutter, biting your lip with a ghost of a smile. that makes him snap. it hurts, and you're fucking enjoying it?

he grabs you roughly. the minute his skin touches yours it burns deliciously; he can't believe he had the control to not touch you this whole time. his moan is tandem with yours as his fingers thread through your hair, intending on lifting you to take you to the bed; your hands grip his thighs, though, and soon your hot, wet mouth finds the angry head of his cock.

you take him about halfway before you gag slightly and he slams his hand hard on the wall just above you; your eyes are fluttered shut, a tear squeezing out as your throat opens for him. he groans at the pleasure that courses through him, reaches his fingers, the nape of his neck. you're pulling on him desperately, and it makes him smirk down at you.

"what, you wan' me to fuck that pretty little mouth?" he mutters, heart thundering in his chest as his fingers shake with desire. you pull off him, gasping slightly for breath, your finger still touching yourself as you nod, a string of spit still connecting him to your lips, "yes." you say with a nod, falling back against the wall as he crowds over you.

he's not patient, not right now. he knows he could fuck your mouth until he was shooting his seed down your throat and you'd sit through it all with that pretty hair and grin and hell, you’d probably even thank him afterwards; but he doesn't have the time for that. he needs to be deep inside you, needs to be drowning in your cunt, needs to fuck you down into the mattress so hard you scream.

and you're desperate, clearly: you're two fingers deep, fucking yourself on your fingers as another tear trails down your cheek, breathless as you shift in near pain from need. he resists the urge to coo down at you, his thumb still swiping the tear from your cheek before he grabs you again, this time pulling you up and tugging you onto the bed.

you let out a moan of his name, your face flush with arousal as you spread your thighs open for him, watching with a pained expression as he pulls off his shirt and jeans, discarding his boxers as he goes. your eyes rake over him and you whimper, still not touching him until he gives you permission.

it makes him smirk, "for such a brat it's a wonder you're so obedient like this." he mutters, pulling your legs further open as he quickly stands with his legs against the edge of the bed, running his cock against your soaked, velvety cunt.

you whimper, jolting in pleasure as his head catches your sensitive, neglected nub and he smears his precum there, enthralled in the shapes your nails carve into his biceps as you gasp.

he can't pull his eyes away from your glistening center - how many times had you cum before he'd heard you? he swallows, the flames licking his belly as he pushes his head against your tight hole.

he grunts, you were so goddamn tight; your eyes widen as you try to move your hips, try to slide yourself onto his cock, but he stops you with a rough hand around your shoulder, pinning you down. "stop." he orders, leaning so he can spit down, the slick trailing down to settle right onto where his cock nestles against your entrance. you let out a strangled gasp at his actions, throat dry from your noises.

he doesn't give you time to beg, though, as he's slowly easing himself into you; you let out a yelp at the feeling, loud enough that Joel's hand clamps over your lips roughly, his breath hitting your face, "shut your damn mouth, girl."

you feel like you're splitting open as he inches in and it's barely just his head but you have never felt such excruciating bliss as now, your breath falling from your nostrils harshly as he eases himself into you.

you wonder how much he is restraining against just fucking hard into you - but you're tight after the orgasms you'd given yourself in the bath trying to satiate the feelings you'd figured out were from that fucking plant venom.

you don't even know if he'll fit all the way into you as he inches slowly in, taking a few grunting breaths before fully sheathing himself inside your hot pussy. you clamp around him, feeling full as he bites his lip, chest heaving, slick with sweat. his hand, still clamped over your mouth, tightens against you as he slowly starts to thrust; he reaches a part so deep in you that you nearly scream.

he's hitting your spot nearly immediately as he starts to quicken his pace, hips hitting against yours deeply. you moan his name, "Joel, fuck, 's so fucking deep." you gasp it, unable to think of anything but chasing the high that's been building since the second the plant's venom entered your system.

he doesn't seem to like when you start to move your hips, chasing his when he pulls away; his hand comes to your cheek in a quick smack, grabbing your attention immediately. you can't prevent the moan at the sensation, nor the way you clench tight around his cock.

the moan he lets out is half-way between your name and fuck, as he slides into you deeper, hand wrapped around your cheeks, training your eyes on his. there's a glint of something animal in his eyes: you're sure he sees the same thing in you, the venom of that plant coursing through the two of you, nearly palpable in the air of skin slapping skin.

your cunt flutters at the eye contact, the desire bringing you closer to the edge; his hands shoot to your shins, pulling them up to his chest and then he leans forward with a deep thrust, coaxing tears of pleasure from your eyes. "that's it, take it." he grunts into your hear, hips punctuating each thrust as his tip nudges that spongy spot inside you that curls your toes.

then one hand catches yours as you fist the sheets; he pulls your arm roughly down towards where he enters you as he bites the lobe of your ear. "you're going to cum." he tells you breathlessly, directing your hand towards your clit, pressing the pads of your fingers against it. you yelp in pleasure, more tears squeezing from ecstasy as you nod against his forehead, "yes, fuck, I'm gonna-gonna cum."

"that's right." he's deeper, "cum for me." he nearly whispers it, almost desperate. it's just what you need to push you over the edge: his hips angling in a way that has hot, searing pleasure coursing through you. you nearly go blind when you cum with a gasp of his name. his hips don't even stutter as he fucks you through your orgasm, the relief washing over you in waves of pleasure. you can't open your eyes, your chest heaving, arms locked on his biceps, hips quivering with the intensity of the feeling.

he keeps the roll of his hips as he slides easily through your ruined pussy, his brows pinched in pleasure.

"y'feel so good," you nearly go limp, your fourth orgasm drawn out by the touch of the man you couldn't ever stop thinking about. he's so deep inside you, you're surprised you can't feel him in your throat as he thrusts. "pretty girl," he mutters, pinching one of your nipples and sending shockwaves through you; the relief you'd felt from your orgasm, just like the previous ones, is soon washed away by the newly replaced desire, back again and somehow even more hungry.

you nearly cry at the thought, but something in you still yearns for it and you allow your ankles to cross around his hips. "never wanna leave this cunt." he mutters against your collarbone. you flutter again at his words, arousal slicking you, him, the sheets below you; the squelch of your juices fill the room as he chases his own high.

a particularly loud cry of pleasure lands you with his hand yet again over your mouth, but this time, you waste no time in pulling his fingers to your lips, sucking two of them in eagerly as your hand tries to wrap around his thick wrist.

his eyes meet yours and his jaw clenches as his hips stutter, nearing his own high. his fingers work quick; thrusting into your mouth, slick with your spit, gagging you as he bottoms out particularly roughly. your nails scrape down his back and you'd be more shocked if there weren't marks later.

a few more thrusts and you can tell he's close, so you pull his fingers out of your mouth to gasp, "please, cum in me, Joel," you whimper into his neck, biting down hard as he groans your name. his hand suddenly clasps around your throat, pushing you down against the mattress as he fucks into you deep, his eyes screwed shut, "don' say shit like that to me, darlin'."

but his thrusts are getting sloppier as you squeeze around him, luring him in, the intoxicating scent of soap and him and his musk surrounding your head. "please, I'll do anything." you whine, hand crawling up his neck to cradle his jaw. his dark eyes meet yours and he moans at how earnest you look, his hand tightening his grip around your throat and squeezing slightly, your airway constricted for a slight moment, causing you to gasp for air when he leans back.

your desire has you cloudily begging, pulling at his hair, his arms, his back, keeping him in, and finally he growls, "shut up." he snaps, "'m gonna cum in you, and you better be fuckin' good." he barely looks at you as he lightly slaps one of your tits, grabbing the other and pinching your hardened nipple as he watches your whole body bounce from the force of his thrusts. "god, you feel so good." he mutters to himself. you preen at the praise, your own high creeping near.

your lips are clamped shut, his hand holding your head down from your throat as you nearly scream, his thrusts slowing and sloppy. he lets out a delicious moan as he hits his high. "that's right, take me." he mutters, his chest shaking as he cums; he's moaning loud as he thrusts one last time, his seed coating your walls.

"fuck." he eases, his thumb falling to soothe over your hairline gently as he releases into you. "so good for me, aren't you?"

you swallow, the burning fire of desire still smoldering in your core, your tear trails long since dried, your body exhausted but full of energy. you nod, unable to trust your words.

he pumps into you slowly once more before pulling all the way out, the noise of your slick and his cum slippery as you feel empty without him filling you.

but he's already distracted, his eyes hazy as he watches a bit of his cum spill from your weeping hole, his thumb dropping to slide it back up and into you, pressing against your entrance, your breath catching.

"is it- is it gone for you?" he asks, his voice strained. you don't need to look down to see that the venom hasn't yet run its course through his system yet; his eyes are still alight with the same animalistic desire that you feel pounding in your heart. your feverish sweating, the headache - most of it's gone, replaced with an intense, destructive desire that has you keening into his hand as it cups your used pussy, his eyes teasing.

"no," you moan, "you?"

he's already dropping to his knees as he breathes out, "no."

your eyes widen. in your haze, you're searching for any relief for this growing arousal, the feelings you have for Joel driving you to beg endlessly for him, yet you hadn't expected him to do this. immediately, his hands wrap around your shaking thighs, his breath hitting your bare, throbbing pussy. you can't even think as you card your fingers back through his hair, hips jerking up away from his face as he licks a small stripe over her swollen clit.

you're so worked up that you can't help the tightening coil as he soon dives his tongue into you, cleaning up the mess you'd made between your thighs, swirling around your clit.

you tug hard at his hair's roots, hard enough he's sending a groan into you that reverberates through you, vibrating your chest as you clamp one hand over your lips.

fiery pleasure snakes through your body, your ankles falling over his shoulder onto his back as he eats you out like a staved man. you see his arm moving through your clouded vision and you let out a pathetic whimper as you realize the wet noises aren't just from his mouth on you: he's fucking his fist. his movements make your legs shake hard, eyes rolling back as he sucks lightly before releasing to swirl his tongue.

“Joel,” you mutter, his name the only thing that can come out of your mouth as you can’t help but grind down slightly. Joel's hands are hard on your hips; you know tomorrow as you pull on your jeans, you'll have ten fingerprints marked into you.

it sends a delicious swirl of pride through you as he moans into you, "you taste so good, darlin'.” he mutters lowly before slowly reattaching himself to your heat. your eyes roll back again as one of his hands reaches up to grasp your tit, thumb and finger pinching and rolling as he fucks his tongue into you. one of his hands snakes up to your ass, gripping it tightly and then slapping it, the stinging pleasure making you buck your hips against him.

“Joel, i-” you cut yourself off with a sharp gasp, the overstimulating pressure making it increasingly harder to speak. your toes curl and head tilts back as his teeth graze over your clit, your thighs clenching shut as your orgasm nears violently quick.

"you gonna cum again?" he mutters, barely breaking away from you, his own hand moving fast as he fucks his fist; you yearn to feel him in your mouth, to taste him. “please, please.” you mutter, your hips rocking on him as his tongue swirls, nipping softly at your clit and making you cry out. “please, make me cum, Joel.” you plead, tugging his head closer, his hand slapping your ass again.

and then you're clenching your thighs on either side of him and grinding down as you hit your peak, shaking in pleasure. you grind yourself onto his tongue as he drinks you in, cleaning you of every last drop, his thumb soothing over your hip. he rides you through your high, lapping at you and only pulling away when you go lax on the mattress, legs twitching, gasps ragged and scarce.

you'd have probably passed out right then and there if it hadn't been for his own strangled grunt, your eyes snapping back to him, to where his hand wraps around his own dick, slick with your cum and his own spit.

"Joel," you mumble, cheeks feeling hot as your mind starts to lift, desire yet again pooling between your thighs as you slide down, off the bed until your back hits it, hands caressing over his thighs, "let me taste you." you ask, cheek hot as it lays on his thigh, your eyes begging up at him.

he moans deeply as one had slides behind your neck, steadying you as his other grips himself, "stick out your tongue." his pupils are blown so wide you can only see black. you follow his order, sticking out your tongue as you eagerly lean towards his cock, his brows furrowing as he slaps your tongue with himself.

his hands tug you towards him, your lips tugging over him as you take him into your mouth, trying your best to look up at him. you gag around him as he thrusts his hips forward, your hands flying up to grip his thighs. "fuck, look at you," he moans, his grip tight against your head, slowly starting to fuck your throat, your eyes tearing up. "so eager for me, bet you'd let me fuck you anywhere, hm?"

your face heats up as you hum, unable to say anything as he slides into you, tip pushing against your throat, your eyes rolling back. "yeah, you would. i know you think about it, darlin'. think about it all the time."

you should be embarrassed to learn that Joel had, under more sober circumstances, noticed how you acted around him. but instead you let the trail of spit slide down your chin and onto your bare breasts, your fingers pushing it over your hardened nipples as he pulls off your mouth.

you gasp for air, looking up at him with wet eyes. "get on the bed." he orders and you scramble with weak legs onto the mattress, staring at him, the familiarly torturous desire in you throbbing. his hands push you around until you're on your elbows and knees, his hand swatting your ass. "gonna cum on that pretty ass." he mutters, hand grabbing a handful of the plush skin as he spreads you open, "okay?"

"yes, yes, please." you mutter, face sweaty and stuck with your wet hair as he leans down, spitting onto your glistening, puffy cunt. you're nearly sobbing into the sheets as he slides into your wet, warm hole, his groans just as wrecked as you.

"jesus christ, girl." he mutters to himself as he starts to thrust into you, the new angle setting your whole body alight with the coiled pleasure. it builds fast until you feel like you're on fire, his hands rough against your hips, swatting your ass every time your hips pulled away from the overstimulation.

"you need to come." his breath is hot as it hits your cheek, his chest pressing to your back. he's deep into you, tip hitting your sweet spot with every rolling thrust of his hips. then slipping one hand onto the back of your neck, the other snaking to toy with your sensitive clit.

your legs nearly give out as your back arches, the orgasm crashing over you before you can even register it.

you can't see, blind with the bliss of pleasure; your thighs shake as he mutters dirty words into your ear, Joel's hips stuttering as you clamp and flutter around him, slickening yourself and his pubic hair, skin wet with your arousal. you're so sensitive you can't do anything but take his cock as he fucks you, deeper and slower as though he's coming down with the mind fog just as you.

when he hits his own mind-numbing orgasm, he's pulling out of you fast and finishing in hot spurts onto your ass, streaking up your lower back and sliding down into your quivering core.

your name is the only thing on his lips as he slowly slumps down onto the mattress next to you.

you both wait; it's silent besides your sniffling from the overstimulation and the soreness of your throat and Joel's labored breaths. you both wait to see if that torturous feeling comes back to your groins, suffocating and clouding your judgement.

but instead, the fog clears, and within five minutes of silence and stoicism, you're sure that whatever the venom was, it'd passed through your system. "Joel?" you whisper it, cracking slightly. you hear his head shift; he'd not looked at you at all. you're not sure you blame him, embarrassment creeping through your face. but not regret. definitely not regret.

he whispers your name back, and there's a vulnerability in it that has your eyes snapping to his, searching for the dilation of his pupils, any sign to show the venom was still in his system. you can't find any. "do you- is it gone? for you?"

he blinks at you once before nodding his head, "yes. n'you?" you nod at him, muttering a small, "yeah."

he knows he should go get a cloth to clean you up. he'd possibly have to help you up, help you dress... his throat dries as his now less foggy brain recovers the memories of moments ago; the size of your pupils blown out with lust. he looks over you; he'd ruined you.

another wave of self-doubt runs through him; you were not like him, you weren't bad like him. you deserve better.

but the way you stare at him now, as though you want nothing more than to do what you'd both just done every day with him...

he opens an arm, accepting you as you slide your limp, exhausted body against his own naked form, his arm squeezing you to his chest as he sighs deeply. you nuzzle your face into his neck, your own heart racing just as fast as his.

he feels like a damn fool - it'd been far too long for him, he's not sure how to approach these feelings he harbors for you, so he'd hidden them down with anger and irritation and eye rolls; but now he's gone and fucked you like you were just some other whore.

his lips press to your forehead. he doesn't think he can say anything, not right now. he still feels like he's got a fever, and by the looks of you, you feel it too.

so he hopes the kiss he tenderly lays on your hairline says what he can't: he's sorry he was rough with you. he hopes you're okay. he hopes you don't regret it. he hopes you know... he hopes you know it wasn't just about that damn plant’s venom.

he pulls away from you after just a moment, rising to tug on his boxers. but as he crosses the threshold into the bathroom to gather a washcloth for you, your soft voice stops him.

"Joel." you mutter, eyes nervous, exhausted. he stops, looking at you.

you're just as nervous as he looks; you're unsure how to interact with him now, the man you trust with your life, the one who acts like he hates you, the one you know probably loves you; and then you'd fucked him like he was just a dick, though you wish you could tell him: he's so much to you.

"that wasn't-" you're unsure how to convey it, "it wasn't just about the-whatever that plant was. I don't regret it. and I hope you don't either." you're glad it sounds as genuine as you feel when you say it. you want him to know he didn't hurt you. and you hope you didn't hurt him.

his face flashes with relief, with adoration. "I don't." he says, turning from you quickly.

and if his lips ghost over your knees and leave goosebumps on their wake, if his hands soothe gently over every budding bruise of his handprint on your hip; you don't mention it now.

if he gently and devotedly wipes you both clean, if your hands fold together as he settles back down against you, if your hearts beat together as you settle into the fever nap that claims you both; you just smile gently at his bashful grin.

and if your lips brush against each other just before the sleep takes you both; well, then you'll talk about it all later.

taglist: (message to be on joel miller taglist/regular tag list.)

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us smut #joel miller x you #joel x reader smut #joel miller x reader smut #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader

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bunnys-kisses · 9 months ago

Text

by the fire - astarion ancunin

pairing: astarion ancunin x fem!reader rating: 18+ summary: ”Astarion.“ You said, ”C'mere."

He looked at you and he saw what was in your hand. You were holding a small pouch and between your pointer and middle finger was a small pipe. His red eyes looked at you and he smiled, “I see someone was expecting to have fun tonight.”

tags: pwp, drug use (d&d weed), outdoor sex, exhibitionism, high sex, sloppy sex, 2.7k words a/n: don't do drugs

”Astarion.“ You said, ”C'mere."

While most thought that it was just grass, the herbs that grew south of the nearby town could be smoked. And In all honesty, you enjoyed the after effects of it, even if it left you with a small headache come morning.

It was just the two of you, all alone in the big forest. Might as well have a little fun.

The fire was bright as you two sat on the shared bed roll together. You had the pipe, a pack of matches and the herbs. Astarion was already on you as you tried to put the ground up herbs into the pipe.

“You're going to make me spill it, asshole.“ You giggled as his teeth scraped your neck. You couldn't be mad at him for long.

He used to be prudish towards your consumption of something more recreational, that was until he had your blood. It turned out that the high could be passed if he drank your blood. While you smoked it, he simply had a sip of that sweet blood.

You used the match to light the pipe. You inhaled and your mouth filled with smoke. You coughed as you exhaled, the pungent smell of the smoke filled the air. As you coughed you tried to hand the pipe over to your lover.

He chuckled, ”No, no, I'll get my taste when I bite you.“ He smirked against your neck before he threatened to bite down on the skin.

You took another inhale and felt a shiver run through your body. You felt in a daze by the third hit. You were certain whatever lived in these woods could smell your good time. While wine was nice, as was mead, there was something about getting your hands on the herbs. It was a special occasion.

You felt a throb in your core by the time you were done. Everything felt like it had a soft hue to it. You were clearly not in a focused state of mind. You gasped when Astarion kissed your neck again.

”Astarion.“ You said quietly.

”I know, I can smell your blood.“ He smirked, ”So sweet, it made me almost lose control. Sometimes I want to devour you entirely. He could taste the high in your blood before he took his taste.

You giggled and fell to the side onto the bedroll. You laughed even harder which made Astarion pull away and stare down at you. You covered your face with your hands as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks.

You heard about people who could do many things while high, but not you. You ended up in a mess of giggles and beyond turned on. But Astarion was more than happy to relieve that.

“Look at me, my love.” He smiled down at you. He moved the pipe away from your hand so you wouldn't burn yourself. Those red eyes only seemed brighter by the campfire, “Look at me.” He said softly.

You marginally moved your hands away from your face so you could look at him. You noticed his eyes before anything which made you swallow. Your heart skipped a beat.

“I thought it took a while to take effect.”

“I think I took too much.“ You replied, ”I was given a lot. Now every time I look at you I can't help but laugh. You're making me blush.”

He crowded your space and gently kissed your cheek, “Well then, let me help you with that. Be a good girl and stay still for me.”

“Astarion.“ You drawled out but before you could cover your face again, he pinned your arms to the bed roll and went for your neck. You moaned loudly at the sensation of his digging into your neck.

You gripped onto the bed roll under you and arched your back. It made your pulse quicken from the sensation and felt like it was stuffing cotton in your brain.

”Shit.“ You moaned as you pressed your body against your lover. Your breathing was ragged as he had his fill of your blood. You heard him moan against your neck.

He held onto you tightly as he feasted. He could feel the high in his system. This was so much more efficient than smoking. He rubbed his clothed cock up against you as he sank his teeth deeper.

You whimpered, knowing there would be a bruise in the morning. You felt a bit of blood drip into the collar of your shirt. You clung to the bedroll as he finished up his drink.

He groaned against your skin and rested his head against you. He felt the pulse under his lips. He licked at the wound gently to stop the bleeding. His breathing was heavy as he gathered the last bit of blood on his tongue.

He threw his head back and exhaled, ”Shit." He panted before he looked down at you. His pupils looked bigger than before and there was a haze in his gaze at you. He let go of your wrist and brushed a hand through his hair. ”Perfect.” He said.

You swallowed and let him touch you gently. His hand quivered as he touched your face, you leaned into the touch and gazed up at him. You felt your heart in your throat.

”You are perfect.“ His lips were a little more loose as he felt the effects of the drugs in his system. He exhaled deeply, ”I mean it, I look at you and I see the whole world in front of me.“ He smiled, ”I can't get enough of you.“

“You’re such a sweet talker.” You giggled, “You just want to get in my pants.” You moaned when he placed one last kiss on you. When he pulled away you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for another searing kiss.

Astarion looked at you with lust in his eyes when he eventually pulled away. Under the light of the fire, he had an expression on his face that made it very clear that he was inebriated. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as he started to get his shirt off. He exposed the scars of his back to the open night air.

You swallowed and reached out for him. You draped your arms around his neck, you felt some of the scar tissue under your fingertips. You relaxed onto the bedroll as you watched him toss the shirt to the side. Your eyes met once more and you smiled.

You felt the high course through you as you laid there. The night air felt nice against your heated skin. You breathed deeply as you felt a slight pain in your lungs from smoking. You touched the scars on his back when he came closer once more.

“Let us get out of our clothes. I feel like we’ll be more comfortable.”

You smiled and kissed him once more. The high became more intense once you parted. He gave you room to get your clothes. He gazed at your naked body for a brief moment before he started to undress further, you had to help him as the high made it a little difficult to keep balanced.

Once he was nude, your eyes lingered down between his legs. His cock was impressive, a little under eight inches and rather thick. He was erect which only made it slightly more intimidating. But you weren’t afraid, in your high state, you were elated by the size of it.

“Does my love like what she sees?” He asked as he reached down and grazed a finger across your jaw, “I can see it in your eyes, you want me.” He chuckled, that soon became a full laugh, “You look like a lost puppy who needs cock.”

You blushed, “It’s not like that. I love you, Astarion. For more than just your body.” You moaned when he closed the gap between you too and left kisses all over your chest. Your nipples grew hard from the sensation as he cupped your breasts in his hands. You kicked out your leg slightly but he kept you down on the bedroll.

He groaned against your heated skin as he felt pre-cum drip down from the tip of his cock. His kisses were plentiful as he scattered them across your chest. He sighed before he continued kissing. He eventually focused his attention on your right nipple which he gazed at with his fangs which made the bud harder.

You yelped and tried to move back but he kept you pinned. He dropped his hips against your thigh where he rubbed his cock up against you in anticipation for what was to come. He could feel the throb in his body as he sucked your nipple. He eventually left it bruised before he went to the other one.

“Stay still.” He said quietly. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth before he went back to pleasing you via your chest.

You moaned, “Please, Astarion. It feels so good.” Your voice was so meek and small, it aroused his further. Your nails dug into his back as he licked your nipple with broad strokes of his tongue. You could feel the stutter in your heartbeat the more he pleasured you.

“I want you.” He said, 'You have given me the best high of my life.’ He nipped your chest, careful not to break the skin. Any more blood and he would sleep a lot earlier than he hoped. With one last kiss over the center of your chest before he pulled away.

He gazed down at you as his chest rapidly rose and fell. He pushed the hair out of his eyes before he grabbed you by the waist and rubbed his cock up against you. He could feel heat settle in his body as his cock throbbed for you. He wanted you, he needed you more than he needed air.

You held onto the bedroll under you and let him guide you in the position he needed you in. You hooked your legs around his waist as he rubbed his erection against you. He teased you for a little bit, then built the anticipation for sex. He was always theatrical like that.

“Do you like that, my love?” He asked. He felt fuzzy all over, but his cock felt painful. He knew he couldn’t keep the teasing up for much longer or else he wasn’t going to last. He swallowed back a hard groan as he felt the wetness between your legs.

“I do.” You whimpered. The high was a thrum in your body, paired with the pleasure of sex you felt almost dizzy. You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt him insert his cock inside of you. But once he was all the way in, you were able to relax.

“Shit.” He sighed, “You feel so good.” His hands were back on your chest as he started to thrust in and out of you. His aw tensed for a moment as he felt the pleasure pool in his gut. Sweat cooled on his back as he massaged your breasts.

You whimpered and moaned loudly in the night air. You tried to meet his pace with quick rolls of your hips. Your eyes squeezed shut once more as you repeatedly moaned out his name. You felt excitement for being so intimate with him.

The heat consumed your body as you rutted against him. Your nipples remain hard as the two of you move against one another in a situation of passion. The high in your body only heightened the pleasure between you too.

His eyes were on your breasts as they moved with each thrust. He licked his lips at the sight of them. You looked like a dream. You were his in every sense of the word. Mind, body and soul. But you had the same as him in return. Bound together like a pair of souls. Linked until the end of days.

He craned his neck to look at your face. He got closer until he was kissing you once more. You could taste the residue of your blood in his mouth. Which in turn made your pulse race. Your toes curled in your socks as the pleasure built up between you two. He raked his nails down your chest and abdomen as he moved. You gasped into the kiss as his cock hit just the right spots. You left red lines on his back as you tighten your legs around his waist.

Out in the woods, just the two of you in an uncompromising position. Any being could see what you were doing by the campfire light. Out in the open.

Your head felt abuzz, the high was starting to taper off due to the rush of blood in your body and the movements of sex. But the high of sexual pleasure kept you feeling content. You loved having sex with your lover, your Astarion.

The hard ground was tough on your back, but the intimacy with your partner made up for it. You felt the edge of orgasm creep up on you. Your heartbeat quickened as his cock dragged against your inner folds.

The kiss continued, he left them all over your face with special attention to your lips till they felt tender to the touch. You panted wildly, you clenched around him. Your grip was tight on him as he thrusted his cock into you.

“Astarion.”

“My love.”

Two lovers, it was that simple.

You moaned into his kisses, your arms dropped to the bedroll and kept a tight hold of it as you arched. With a few more thrusts of your lover’s hips, you clenched around him tightly and climaxed. You let out a loud moan as you came.

He admired your beauty as you climaxed. A cold shiver of excitement went through his body. He held onto your hips, feeling the soft flesh, as he started to thrust inside of you. The overstimulating of him fucking you left you almost squealing from the heightened feeling.

Your head spun as he continued to move. You could hear his heavy breathing but your head felt full of nothing. Everything had a heightened yet fuzzy feeling to it as the strength of the herbs plus the pleasure made its way through your body. You laid there while he fucked you, unable to do much but accept the continued pleasure from Astarion.

He humped against you, his cock ached with a want for a climax. His breathing was heavy and he felt sweaty in the open forest air. He continued to bounce you off his cock as he attempted to achieve orgasm. He could almost feel your hammering heartbeat as the two of you fucked under the stars.

A vampire and his lover, having sex like animals under the vast night sky. It made him smile briefly and with one last hard thrust he finished inside of you. He let out a hiss through his teeth as he released into you, and painted your insides white.

He dropped your hips and almost fell on top of you as he managed to steady himself. The rush of the high and of the sex left him feeling dizzy for a moment. His mouth felt dry as he let out a harsh cough in an attempt to come to his senses once more.

Soon you both made yourselves comfortable on the bedroll. You had no intention of getting dressed just yet, you laid there admiring your naked beauty. You occasionally kissed even though your lips felt numb. He rubbed your ass in small circles as he held you.

“We should get dressed or else we’ll pass out like this.” You said drowsily.

“I’d usually say who cared, but the idea of someone seeing you this way makes me feel a little… Jealous.”

You giggled and yawned, “Never change, my Astarion, never change.”

#bunny writes #bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate #bg3 x reader #bg3 x you #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x you #astarion smut

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daryltwdixon · 1 month ago

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The Ruins of Us: Epilogue

Crickets chirp around you, the warm fire casting red and orange light across the faces of those gathered. Along the highway, Rick had made the decision to camp for the night due to the lack of gas after a long few days of travel. No one really wants to do it—being out in the open is dangerous—but exhaustion has caught up to everyone. There was no food, no gasoline. The cars were running on fumes when everyone Rick decide to stop.

Hershel's hands gently press against your ribcage, carefully assessing your injuries, but despite his gentle touch, every breath still sends a piercing pain through your torso.

“Unfortunately, the only thing we can do is let them heal on their own. It’ll take a few weeks,” Hershel says quietly, his voice barely above the crackling of the fire. You nod, wincing as you pull your shirt back down and lean against the rough bark of a tree.

Daryl appears from the dark, quick and purposeful, throwing more wood into the fire before coming to sit behind you. He places a steady hand on your shoulder, guiding you forward just long enough to slide behind you, offering his chest as a more comfortable place to lean. His arms wrap around you, his legs on either side of yours, and you let out a soft sigh as you relax into him, the familiar scent of leather and wood replacing the acrid smell of smoke. You close your eyes, feeling at ease again.

“We’re not safe with him,” Carol’s soft voice breaks through the quietm making your eyes flash open again. She’s sitting beside the two of you, her face etched with worry. “Keeping something like that from us… how can we trust him?”

You knew the group was upset about the news Rick dropped on everyone. The virus–whatever made the dead come back alive, hungry for human flesh–was inside everyone. It didn’t take a bite or a scratch. Anyone would turn once they died. Maybe it was the shock still numbing your senses, but you hadn’t been surprised by the revelation. It should’ve been devastating, knowing that everyone was doomed to become one of them, a walking corpse. And yet, that truth seemed to settle quietly in the back of your mind, waiting for the right moment to break you under its weight. One day, you’d crack from the pressure of it all. But for now, you could only push it aside, another harsh reality in a world already brimming with them.

She looks into the dark before locking eyes with Daryl. “Why do you need him? He’s just gonna pull you down.”

Daryl’s reply is simple, “No. Rick’s done all right by me.”

Carol’s eyes narrow. “You’re his henchman,” she says bitterly, her tone making you scrunch your nose, but she continues, “And I’m a burden. You deserve better.”

Daryl’s gaze sharpens, and he looks at her carefully before asking, “What do you want?”

She hesitates for a moment, searching for the right words. “A man of honor,” she finally says, almost as if she’s unsure of the answer herself.

“Rick has honor,” Daryl shoots back, his voice rough but steady. He pulls you closer, rubbing his hands along your arms to fend off the chill in the night air.

Then you hear Maggie pipe up, “I think we should take our chances,” she’s looking to Glenn, Before he can respond, Hershel’s firm voice cuts in, “Don’t be foolish—there’s no food, no fuel.”

Suddenly, there’s a rustling in the darkness. Beth lets out a small yelp, her eyes wide with fear.

Daryl’s head snaps toward the sound, “Could be anything—raccoon, opossum—”

“Walker,” Glenn finishes grimly. The others are standing now, hands finding their weapons. There’s a quiet panic, people thinking we need to leave, the sound causing more chaos than relative to the situation.

“The last thing we need is people running off in the dark,” Rick says sharply, his voice full of authority. “We don’t have the vehicles. No one’s travelin’ on foot.”

Another branch snaps, and everyone holds their breath. Carol, visibly on edge, demands, “Do something.”

“I am doin’ something!” Rick snarls, his frustration boiling over, “I’m keepin’ this group together–alive,” he pauses, his weight shifting with intensity, “I’ve been doin’ that all along, no matter what. I didn’t ask for this. My best friend is dead because of me. I planned it. For you people,” his lip is curled, teeth bared as he reveals the truth to the group. Everyone looks over to you for a brief moment, taking in your reaction. You try your best not to flinch at his words, but Daryl’s grip tightens on you, protective, hackles raising. But the group is silent at Rick’s admission–scared, shocked… They didn’t know the whole story, but Rick was taking the blame. Even though the true guilt sat in your chest like a brick.

Rick continues, “You saw what he was like–how he pushed me, pushed everyone,” he pauses to look at you, “how he compromised us–how he threatened us.”

His eyes remain on you, and you meet his gaze unflinching.

“The Randall thing was staged, he wanted to kill him himself, we all knew that. But he went for Y/N, attacked her. Left her with no choice. It was supposed to be me, but I didn’t get there in time–so she had to act in self defense–look at her! Look at her neck, people. She has broken ribs, a cracked jaw for Christ’s sake!” His one hand holds the gun in its holster, the other points as he gestures to you, guilt lacing his voice.

Your pulse is skyrocketing, and you refuse to meet the gazes of the other’s as they take in your appearance. The bruises had fully set in on you, dark purple and blue fingerprints on your neck like a horrid necklace, and the side of your face where he punched you swollen and red. Your eyes are narrowed on Rick as he continues, “He gave us no choice,” he spits, “He was my friend, but he went after her. I was supposed to take care of him–I knew he was coming for me next.” Carl’s soft sobs carry through the air, and Lori pulls him in close, her eyes brimming with tears as she tries to comfort her son.

“My hands are clean–and so are her’s,” he growls, and pauses for a moment.

Looking to the ground with heated eyes, he says with heavy emotion, “Maybe you people are better off without me–go ahead!” he points into the darkness, “I say there’s a place for us, but maybe it’s just another pipe dream. Maybe I’m foolin’ myself again. But go ahead and find out yourself–and send me a postcard!” His voice is filled with anger, the heaviness of the last night on the farm weighing on every word, “Think you can do better? Let’s see how far you get.” Everyone stood still, breathing in deeply.

“No takers?” he quips, “Then let’s get one thing straight. You’re staying? This isn’t a democracy anymore,” he looks to Lori then, her eyes wide at the man before her. Before he walks away, he looks over at you and Daryl once more, then disappears into the dark.

You felt the air shift then–things were never going to be like they were–the farm had been a temporary refuge, but safety is an illusion now. You close your eyes, leaning into Daryl’s warmth, feeling everything you have lost and still have to fight for. Things were going to be very different going forward. Rick had changed because of that night.

But the thing was–so had you.

notes: THANK YOU! To all of you who read, commented, liked, reblogged! I haven't written fan fiction in over 10 years, let alone write anything, honestly. It means the WORLD to me to see all of you enjoy my work.

So truly truly truly: from the bottom of my heart, thank you!

Keep liking, reblogging and commenting <3

love, AR

#daryl dixon #daryl #twd daryl #the walking dead #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl one shot #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine #daryl twd #the ruins of us

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worldofsmoke · 2 years ago

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clitorises · 11 months ago

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You’re leaning back against my chest, hands bound in front of you, head resting back against my shoulder. Your eyes are half-lidded already, your breathing slow and rhythmic, the smell of sweat and smoke heavy in the air.

I’m holding your pipe in my right hand, my nails deep red and offset against the dark wood, while my left hand slides up your side, fingers splayed over your bare chest. I hold the pipe up to your lips. Again. You’re so obedient, and my head tips back with pleasure as I feel your ribs expand beneath my fingers, lungs filling, hesitating at the top of the breath before you exhale, smoke spiraling from between your pink lips—you snuggle closer, pressing your back into me as I dig my nails into your side, praising you softly. I feel you shudder as my hand trails down your body, my fingers barely teasing under the waistband of your briefs before your hips start to rock. Please—

I pull my hand back and lift your pipe to your open mouth. Again.

Your hips don’t stop their slow, smooth thrusts into nothing as you inhale. I chuckle against your ear as my hand slides from your side to your bicep, trailing up over your shoulder, nails skimming your collarbone before wrapping around your throat at the bottom of your exhale. You let out a long, delicious whine, and I tighten my grip, letting myself suck your earlobe, the first time I’ve put my mouth on you since tying you up. Your whole body reacts, your hips pitching as you moan, and I feel your heart racing under my fingers as I set your pipe down beside us and begin teasing the waistband of your briefs again. You squirm when I snap the elastic, and I can’t help giggling. You’re cute when you’re this pathetic. As soon as I touch your cunt over your briefs you start grinding up into my hand, and I pull back sharply—be still, baby—but my voice catches a little, and I can feel lust curling in my core just from feeling your hard clit through the fabric. Be still. I touch you again, licking and nipping at your jaw as my hand cups your soaked cunt, the fabric slick and hot, and as you shiver from the effort of resisting thrusting into my hand I let my eyes fall closed, feeling the weight of your body, soft and pliant, leaning back against me. My hands roam all over you as my mouth moves to your neck, sucking hungrily as you writhe from the sensation, curses turning into wordless moans as I dig my nails into your thighs, raking up to your hips.

My hands find the ropes binding your wrists, and I untie you slowly, murmuring in your ear while you pant from anticipation—I love making you this stupid for me, baby, that’s my brainless fucktoy—and I take my time massaging your wrists and hands before roughly shoving you out of my lap, turning you until you’re facing me—kneeling between my legs, looking up at me with a blissful and empty expression. Your cheeks and neck are beautifully flushed, pupils dilated, mouth slightly open as you pant, your eyes flicking from my face to my cunt as I slowly spread my legs.

Think you’ve earned it?

It’s your choice, Goddess.

I lean forward, hooking my finger under the padlock that hangs from a chain around your neck. It’s warm from your skin, and I tighten my grip around it as I tug you forward to kiss you, tasting the smoke in your soft mouth. My other hand moves to your hair, tangling and pulling as I start to suck your tongue, your mouth falling open as my head bobs. You whine against my lips, lost in the sensations as I claim you.

When I pull away I don’t give you a chance to catch your breath before I yank you forcefully by the hair into my cunt, and you dutifully run your tongue up my slit, moaning as you taste my arousal, nose bumping against my throbbing clit as you take my soft labia into your mouth, tugging gently, sucking, pressing your face tighter against me, my wetness spreading across your face. Each soft sound vibrates across my folds, and I tighten my grip on your hair, wrapping my legs around your head as your tongue finds my center, plunging in deep as I gasp—you’re so easy for me, dumb cuntdrunk slut, your mouth is mine, fuck…

Your eyes are closed, lost in service. I know every sensation is intensified for you, every touch and taste, your mind blissfully empty of anything but pleasure. I spread my legs again, freeing your shoulders as I reach for the side table, my fingers wrapping around the lighter and deep red candle that wait for me there.

I feel you smile against my cunt when you hear the lighter flick.

The wait for the wax to pool feels like an eternity, but as I tip the candle over your shoulder, watching the scarlet hit your freckled skin, the sound you make makes it worth it. You press your forehead to my inner thigh, your fingers digging into my hips, eyes screwed shut with pain and pleasure. I can barely look away from you, the expressions you make each time I drip more wax onto your back and shoulders are so delicious, your mouth open, your skin glistening with my wetness—mine—and when I’m not watching your face I’m watching your hips, your neglected cunt dripping in your briefs as you thrust into nothing.

Say thank you.

Your eyes are adoring when you look up. Thank you.

I tip the candle over and over, turning your shoulders into a bloodied landscape of peaks and valleys, reveling in your reactions each time the burning heat strikes your skin. Your hands move over my thighs in worshipful strokes, your moans muffled by my cunt filling your mouth. I stroke your hair with my free hand, murmuring—you like being my toy?—and your soft mhmm sends a little shiver up my body.

Touch yourself for me, baby. You moan with relief, and I start thrusting up into your mouth as I watch you… you look so good on your knees with a hand down your briefs, rubbing your hard clit as you suck mine, shoulders covered in hardening wax. That’s my perfect slut… fuck me, be a good dildo for me, be my easy fucktoy…

The sensation of sliding your fingers into my hot, dripping cunt, my clit throbbing on your tongue as your other hand rubs yours, every sensation intensified by your high, pushes you over the edge, and you come with my folds filling your mouth, shaking as I wrap my legs tightly around your head. You’re shuddering, panting.

Who does your cunt belong to?

You, Goddess. It’s yours.

All mine to play with. I tug roughly on your hair, making you squeak before I lean down to kiss your forehead. Get back in my lap—I’m not done playing with you yet.

#c.txt #intox #butch sub #domme femme

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invinciblerodent · 9 months ago

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i feel like I haven't seen enough people mention the fact that Halsin canonically smokes, specifically exotic tobacco, and specifically out of a nice, old pipe that looks (to me) like it might be briar wood.

i just think there is something so inexplicably warm about that, that he enjoys such a small, but extravagant little luxury.

like the only thing I can imagine him smoking is something that envelops him in that woodsy-spicy, pleasantly scratching scent of good quality tobacco for the rest of the day, and the only way I can see him doing it is settled back in a nice chair, with his feet propped up, a good book in his hand, and some fuzzy critter curled up in his lap.

#squirrel plays bg3 #halsin #i live in a town where there's a big tobacco processing plant #and in some parts of the city on certain days there is this..... incredibly pleasant scent of straight tobacco #it's not at all like the smell of cigarette smoke #it's just..... yeah a woodsy-herbal scent I can't describe otherwise #now I'll probably think of halsin every time I smell it #(of course i stole the pipe this is my halsin romance playthrough)#(sexy grandpa needs his pipe)#(which is coincidentally the title of his sex tape)

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anemhoez · 7 months ago

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Yashiro Rascal…

Ayato/AFAB Reader

WARNINGS: language, unprotected sex, light choking and degradation

A/N: THE THINGS THAT YASHIRO RASCAL MAKES ME FEEL!! 😤 hes not pookie but DADDY 🥴

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Peace amongst the various commissions in Inazuma became of the utmost importance after the vision hunt decree was lifted. The heads of every commission in the city met monthly to deliberate and come to mutual understanding on how best to run everything and make sure that everyone received what was owed to them.

As you were the newest leader of the commission you were raised in, you went out of your way to keep the peace amongst you and the other groups. Your reputation was important and you wanted to let others know you could earn your keep. You met with the leaders and established the boundaries of each commission’s territories, keeping the wishes of the common folk in mind.

But when it came to the Yashiro commission, the largest in the city, there always seemed to be trouble that followed them. Just recently, there was an altercation in one of your businesses. Members of the rival commissions were banned from this particular establishment and usually that rule was respected. But, out of all the other bars that welcomed the Yashiro commission with open arms, they made it a point to visit yours. You pondered what the reason could have been as your subordinate explained the situation. “What should we do next boss?” your right hand asked as you observed all the damage and sighed. “Go straight to the Kamisato estate and take care of this personally,” you said with determination in your voice.

After much protest from your crew to accompany you, you practically ran to the estate alone, being fueled by a rage you’ve never experienced before. You bypassed the guards that went for you, easily knocking them down with the use of your vision, not once having to unsheathe your sword. Once you entered the grounds, you headed straight for the entrance of the home.

You slid open the doors and demanded the nearest servant to direct you to Ayato’s office. The servant, fearing for their life, quickly guided you to the office and slid the door open for you in haste. You immediately met the intimidating stare of Ayato Kamisato himself. “I thought I told you to keep your goons out of my bar!” your voice was loud as you spoke directly to Ayato, ignoring his retainer that headed over to you. “Stand down Thoma,” Ayato said with a wave of his hand. Thoma bowed to his employer and headed out, but not without a glance in your direction, one that you deliberately ignored.

Ayato sighed as he sat down, the smirk on his face was way too cocky for your liking. “Was there an incident?” his voice was as sarcastic as ever. He reached for his smoking pipe, the elaborately carved wood clacking against the table in front of him as he packed it with tobacco. “Would I even be here if there wasn’t?!” your vision began to glow at your side, your anger building and threatening to explode in the fury of an electro burst.

Ayato put the pipe between his lips, lighting it with a match. He inhaled slowly, keeping an eye on you as he exhaled. “My men said your people started it, that they were only passing by and were suddenly attacked.” The gall of him to lie through his teeth right in front of you. The smugness that emanated from him as he sat there vindictively while you waited for answers was infuriating. The room was quiet as he smoked, his eyes going to the papers in front of him. He was deliberately ignoring you. “Mr. Kamisato, I’m not leaving here until we settle this.” You spoke calmly, the man still just puffed away on his pipe, the smirk that spread on his face was the last straw.

You grabbed the hilt of your blade, the sound causing his eyes to finally look over at you. You unsheathed your sword, slashing at the air in front of him quickly, putting your blade away before he had a chance to counter. The bowl of the pipe clattered onto the table, the still lit tobacco scattered all over his papers. Ayato looked up at you, the stem of the pipe still in his mouth. The man took the stem and tossed it on the table, “That was a family heirloom.” Ayato stood up and walked over to you, his stride as elegant and clam as ever. “You have my attention Y/n.”

You kept your distance, “Why is it always your men that seem to be the only ones running around as if they own the place? No other commission causes this much trouble.” Ayato held his hands behind his back and cocked his head to the side, “A little friendly rivalry, some shenanigans here and there never hurt anyone.” His arrogance was sickening, the look on his face begging to be slapped right off. “Mr, Kamisato, you’re not realizing the severity of the situation, this isn’t merely some childish game, this is a declaration of war,” you explained, the look on your face caused his to change to one of concern. You came closer and poked his chest, “Did you fucking hear me?! I said that-!” he cut you off with a kiss before you chastised him further.

You pushed him away from you, immediately grabbing the hilt of your blade. He put his hands up, shaking his head, “My apologies,” he sighed deeply, “for archons sake Ayato, you fool,” the man said under his breath. The sensation of his lips on yours was something you’d never expect to feel, and you hated how good it felt. “What the fuck was that?!” you yelled, your stance not wavering. He rubbed the back of his head, doing his best to avoid eye contact with you. “Theres just something about you that I find, quite mesmerizing.” He bowed to you, “Im incredibly sorry about that, truly.”

You scoffed and sheathed your sword back in its scabbard, standing back in a relaxed position, “I certainly hope that you don’t make it a hobby to kiss your enemies,” you bit your lip, stopping yourself from forgiving him. “Don’t think you can distract me with that kiss,” you spat as you moved closer to him, “we’re not done here Mr, Kamisato.” He gestured for you to sit across from him at the low coffee table. “Please, call me Ayato.”

You declined his offer to sit, choosing instead to stay standing, far away from him, “Ayato, you owe me for the repairs and products lost, and a kiss isn’t going to fix it,” you explained to him and he just scoffed. “That kiss was a reaction to you storming in here and putting me in my place. It was, quite enthralling,” his voice want low, his eyes meeting yours as you looked down at him. You put a hand on your hip, “Is that so? Whats wrong Ayato? Got no one to share a kiss with?” you teased him, somewhat hoping you had hurt his feelings even if by a little.

The azure haired man scoffed, taking the nearby teapot and pouring the both of you a cup. “The people that I share kisses with, treat me like royalty,” he took a long sip from the teacup, placing it back down on the table when he was done, “its gotten so boring.” You raised an eyebrow and finally came to sit across from him. You sighed and pulled a small flask from your sleeve and took a swig. He pushed his cup towards you and you reluctantly poured some liquor in the cup for him. “Thank you,” he said before downing the warm tea laced with courage. “Lets stick to business Ayato,” you said in response to what seemed like his attempt to flirt. He nodded and met your gaze with soft eyes, “Right, I’ll speak to my men, and make sure everything is paid for.” He seemed so much more vulnerable now, so much more inviting with his guard down like this. But, knowing him and the ruthless leader that he was known to be, you kept your own guard up.

“This can’t happen again Ayato! Do you understand?” you stood up, hoping the two of you could put this incident behind you. The man before you nodded, his piercing gaze meeting yours as he stood. He bowed with a hand on his chest, “You have my word Y/n.” And now that that business was settled, you could move onto seeing if he was all talk, or if he was actually interested. As he walked before you, your hand reached out, as if it had a mind of its own, and caught his long sleeve. He turned to look at you, surprised but not worried about your proximity. You then took his hand and intertwined your fingers together, pulling him closer to you. “This stays between the two of us, alright ?” your voice was but a whisper as you leaned in and kissed him.

He brought his hands to your waist and pulled you closer, his strong hands gripping you tight. You wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, your tongue meeting his for the first time. Your rival lifted you up and walked with you to one of the nearby walls. As your back hit the wall, Ayato sucked on your neck desperately trying to mark you. He palmed at your clothed heat with one hand and held you up with the other, his kiss intense and needy. “Ayato wait,” you huffed and he pulled away, his lips swollen and eyes pensive. You saw the lust in his eyes, he wanted you, badly.

You touched the hem of his pants, undoing one of the ties, relieved that there wasn’t too many layers to get through before meeting his hardness. You moved him so that he was now the one up against the wall and you got down on your knees. “Slow down, lets make this worth our time.” you said as you looked up at him with a devilish grin. You pumped his shaft and took his tip into you mouth, swirling your tongue against it. Ayato moaned softly and chuckled, “Looks like that mouth of yours is good for more than just yelling.” he teased and you took him in further. He threw his head back as his length hit the back of your throat.

You moved up and down on his shaft, letting your mouth salivate heavily over him. You made a mess of yourself, your sloppy mouth slurping and sucking loudly. One of his hands grabbed your hair tugging it harshly causing you to look up at him and move all the way down to his base, never breaking eye contact. You breathed through your nose, inhaling the sweet sakura scent on his soft blue hairs. You watched as his eyes rolled back, a deep moan mixed with a yelp came from his mouth. There was a sudden knock at the door, “My lord? Is everything alright in there?” Thoma’s muffled voice came from the other side of the door. You pulled off of him with a pop, letting your tongue fall out of your mouth as you stared up at him. He looked down at you as you began to pump him with both hands, your tongue dripping sticky white saliva on him. “Yes, everything’s alright, please carry on with your duties.” he huffed out reassuring his employee.

He pulled you to your feet by your hair and you moaned out at his roughness. “Had I known you were that good, I would’ve made a move much earlier.” he growled and licked the drool that dripped from your mouth. You giggled as he pulled at your clothes and helped you out of your dress. “As if you would’ve stood a chance.” you teased and tugged at his cock. “you’re just lucky i feel sorry for you right now.” He chuckled and held the back of your neck, guiding you to the floor. The usual regal and composed man in front of you desperately went to kiss, lick and suck on your breasts, taking each nipple in his mouth and sucking hard. He was intoxicated by your body, roaming his hands down your belly and to your thighs. “Gods, you’re divine.” He said in between sucks, “I’ve craved you for so long.” Your interest was suddenly piqued, “Oh? I wonder if that craving had anything to do with my bar being destroyed ?” you asked with a giggle.

You opened your legs for the leader of the Yashiro commission and he slid his gloved hand between your legs. He moved to kiss you and his fingers pushed deeper into you, “Unfortunately, I don’t know anything about that.” he said with a smirk and leaned back to remove the layers that covered his body. He bit the tips of his gloves and pulled them off before moving back to kiss you as he prodded at your entrance. He held the base of his cock and coated himself in your juices, grunting as he felt your wetness on him. “Is that so?” you huffed out as he slowly entered you, the stretch catching you off guard. “I’ll make you regret that Ayato,” you moaned as your walls clenched down on him as soon as he entered.

He groaned and stopped suddenly, his hands coming to either side of you as your warmth and tightness practically stunned him. “Too tight for you?” you said in jest and wrapped your legs around him, “No wonder you’re always so stubborn and cocky, you’ve never had a pussy like this to put you in your place.” you spat and watched him try to keep himself together as you pulsated on him. His hands came to your thighs and he pushed your legs back, practically by your ears. “More ahhh,” he said as you squeezed him inside tightly, “tell me more.” He pulled out and thrust back in harshly. your words caught in your throat as his cock hit your spot perfectly.

“Fucking Yashiro commission scum, can’t even fuck right.” You spoke harshly, moving your hands to rest on his abs, “you think you can please me with that pencil dick of yours-ahh!” You felt him hit your cervix, his long dick almost too much for you. Ayato groaned and came back to your neck, “Pencil dick? Your body says otherwise slut.” Your breath hitched, your nails scratching at his abs, the wonders his dick was doing to you causing your mind to go fuzzy. “Mmmh, fuck y-you ahh!” you yelped and wished you hadn’t given him that satisfaction. Now he knew exactly how to wreck you. “You want it harder? Faster perhaps?” his nails dug into your thighs, his hips rolled into you, making sure he hit your spot every time after seeing your reaction. “Faster, fuck me faster, please,” you begged and he picked up the pace.

Your breasts bounced faster, your hands coming to them to squeeze and suck on them. Ayato watched you, grunting and pistoning his dick inside you ruthlessly. “Ahhh Ayato fuck!” you cried out as your back arched. “You fucking prick!” you sighed still gripping your breasts tightly, making eye contact with him while you degraded him. The sound of his name spilling from your lips and the names you called him, gave him such a boost. He decided to slow down, to look at you tenderly and see the reactions you made. “Huh? wheres the aggression? I’m not going to break you know,” your voice was shaky, your hands moved to tangle in his hair.

Ayato chuckled and moved to kiss you, “You feel incredible, I’m afraid I may finish far too early, and that just wouldn’t be fair to you,” he said reluctantly and laughed at himself. He rolled his hips against you slowly, “Should I get on top then?” you offered and moved to straddle him. The two of you adjusted quickly and you began to ride him. “So you mean to destroy me I see?” he smiled at you as you bounced on his cock. You couldn’t help but smile back and put your hands around his neck, “Hush now, be a good boy and fuck me.” you said against his lips, and he happily obliged.

Your head lolled back, exposing your neck and he moved to suck and nibble, marking you as his, at least for the time being. Ayato buried his face in your breasts, licking your skin and sucking wherever his tongue could reach. His eagerness to please you mixed with the way he pumped up into you caused your gut to stir as you felt your peak nearing. Your hands squeezed his neck tighter, “I’m so, fucking close!” You praised and panted, his hands came to grip your ass and hold you as close as possible. He continued to suck on your nipples as you climaxed, you body convulsing and walls clenching hard onto him.

You silenced your moans by burying your face in his shoulder, your body going limp as you milked every ounce of pleasure that wracked your body. He huffed and moaned as he lifted you up and fucked you fast and hard, soon reaching his own peak with a deep guttural grunt. His seed shot into you, hot and sticky, a mistake in every sense of the word but the feeling more delicious than either of you could imagine. “Do you always fuck like that?” your lips came to place gentle kisses on his cheek and neck. The leader of the Yashiro commission laughed hard, looking up at you as you moved to stand up. “In all honesty no, but I’ve been a bit pent up as of late, you just happened to be at the wrong place at the right time.”

The two of you dressed, doing your best to look presentable before heading outside. You stood awkwardly in front of one another, as if you hadn’t just shared a very intimate and passionate moment. “Well, I’ll take my leave,” you bowed to him,“also, please forgive me for barging in earlier.” He shook his head as he walked you to the door, “Don’t fret, I’ve already forgotten about it.” he said as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “Hopefully, we can handle any future endeavors, just as amicably.” You couldn’t help but give him one last kiss on the lips as his hand came to your face to cup your cheek gently. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you’d never want to fuck him again, but of course you’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing that. “Perhaps, if you’re lucky.”

He led you outside and walked with you to the front gate, the guards you had attacked earlier quickly stood up to stand in front of Ayato. They practically stumbled over one another as he cleared his throat to address them. “Down on your knees, all of you.” the tone in his voice stern and commanding, a side of him that you normally saw in public. Every one of them bowed down immediately, yelling out and asking you for forgiveness. You simply turned on your heel and gave Ayato a wink as you left.

The whole walk home you thought about Ayato’s touch and desperation while fucking you, a memory you will look back on quite fondly. You were still in a trance as you entered your business, your right hand inquiring about what happened as soon as you stepped through the front door. “Well boss? Did you take care of it?” they asked as you practically skipped to the back room to find an undamaged bottle of wine. “Did I ever!” your voice boomed through the hall with a giddy laugh.

A/N: I WILL NOT ANSWER FOR MY CRIMES!!! I WILL DO ANYTHING FOR HIM!! 😭 hope you enjoyed!!

#genshin impact #genshin impact smut #ayato kamisato #ayato smut #ayato kamisato smut #genshin ayato #ayato x reader #genshin x reader #I WILL BARK FOR HIM BARK BARK BARK

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starks-hero · 2 years ago

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The Beauty of Chance

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Dúnedain!Reader

Summary: Whilst finding respite in Beorn's home, certain relevations are had. Or; you and Thorin do a little more than just talk things through.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: feather-light smut, the reader smokes a pipe

a/n: Reader is Dúnedain because I'm physically incapable of writing a middle earth fic where the reader isn't Dúnedain. Once again I used Irish as a replacement for the Dúnedain's native tongue because trying to translate Númenórean Sindarin is a nightmare :)

Beorn's home offered a sense of comfort and safety of the likes you hadn't felt since leaving the Shire. The high walls eased your nerves and you found your hand no longer instinctively reached for your sword. It served as a quaint port amidst the storm, a chance to catch your breath. And it had come long overdue.

After a breakfast sweetened with berries and honey and made up of foods far finer than anything you'd seen since passing Bree, you decided on spending the morning exploring Beorn's home in all its subtle splendor.

Everything seemed to dwarf you in size, from the furniture to the settlement itself. It was an odd feeling, one that stirred up a strange sense of nostalgia; wandering into your father's forge as a child and toying with tools far too large for small hands. You supposed it also offered a glance into the life of your companions.

You reached to undo the lock to the back door, vowing to never poke fun at Bilbo's height again when the plank of wood fell snugly back into the lock despite your best efforts.

You passed through the stables instead, petting the manes of the mares that resided there as you did.

The gardens, just like the rest of the skin changer's dwellings, were evidently tended to with no shortage of care. A small warren of rabbits dozed comfortably in the ryegrass and blooming flowers brushed your knees. You simply stood among it all for a moment, feeling the soil beneath your feet and the sweetened air in your lungs.

The outskirts of the garden were bordered by two oak trees, mature and proud. Their canopy provided a small shadowed patch and you quickly found respite against its bark and beneath its leaves.

With the company out of sight, you breathed a pained sigh.

Your muscles ached and your body felt stiff. It was somewhat difficult to convince it to relax after so long spent prepared to fight at a moment's notice. Shifting against the tree bark, you undid your shirt enough to reveal the unpleasantly long gash that ran across your shoulder and coiled down your arm. The fine work of an orc blade. The bleeding had all but stopped now, but the wound's edges were jagged and an angry red. And the horrid stinging that accompanied such injuries was yet to go away.

You undid the bandages and bound the wound in fresh cloth. It was by no means your finest work but others in the company had sustained far worse wounds during the scuffle on the cliffside and Oín only had two hands and a very limited amount of supplies. You wouldn't seek out care when your friends needed it more.

Besides, the blade had caught your weaker arm. You could still hold your sword, still carry out your purpose.

You'd manage.

Relacing your shirt and silently vowing to put your stubbornness aside and seek help should a fever set in, you sat back against the bark, shifting until you found comfort.

It felt nice to finally rest. To close your eyes and not fear for your company's safety. You reveled in the quiet. For all of two minutes.

The sound of brambles snagging on leather and stones shifting beneath heavy boots had you up and alert and despite all logic, your hand still grasped at your empty sword belt.

You calmed when Thorin rounded the tree. He seemed startled at the sight of you.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to intrude,” the dwarf said, words genuine. He stepped back, as if ready to turn on his heel should you ask him to.

“Searching for some peace and quiet?” You asked instead. Such moments were few and far between. “It would seem we both had the same idea.”

The king's head fell forward in a nod and when still he made no move to leave you motioned to your side.

“Sit.”

His hesitation was brief. He settled beside you, then all was quiet again. A sudden breeze, warm and tinged with the scent of autumn, rushed through the leaves. Thorin took a deep breath before releasing it in an uneven sigh.

It was an odd sight, seeing him at ease. You'd go as far as to call it unnatural. His relaxed shoulders and gentle expression seemed foreign and uncanny. But you couldn't deny the youthfulness that seemed to soften his features now. It was not unlike the glimpses you'd caught of him during your shared night watches when both of you were too stubborn to let the other stay up alone.

A quaint stillness began to settle and when Thorin still said nothing, you decided neither would you. You were happy to sit in silence at his side.

From your pocket, you produced your pipe, old and worn around the rims but still trusty enough to serve its purpose. You ran your fingers along the polished wood, all the way down to its blackened base. Generously stuffing it full, you held a match to the green leaves until they kindled and began to smolder.

Bilbo, bless his heart, had offered you what was left of his pipe-weed. ‘The finest you'll find anywhere south of Bree,’ he'd promised as he handed it over without a second thought after discovering yours has been lost to the greedy hands of goblins.

The first exhale of smoke left lips that were turned up in a smile. The generosity of halflings would never cease to amaze you.

The taste of tobacco sat heavily on your tongue as you blew out wisps of grey smoke and watched as they were carried off on the afternoon breeze.

“I owe you thanks,” Thorin said suddenly, shifting beside you. “The courage you showed on the cliffside, your willingness to help this company, it's not something I take for granted. You have done a great deal for us and we- I am grateful.”

“You don't have to thank me, Thorin.” You exhaled another flurry of smoke.

“But I do. When I called on my own kin for help they turned away. But you, a soldier of Man, a ranger, you answered. You didn't have to, by all means of sanity you shouldn't have. But you did.”

You chewed anxiously on the tip of your pipe. “I know what it's like to be without a home,” you said simply. “And it is not a faith I would wish upon anyone.”

Thorin only nodded in response. His gaze shifted to the tree roots beneath his feet.

You hadn't spoken much of your past, although by the way you carried both yourself and your sword, Thorin knew that your life until this point had not been one without hardship. The race of men were as dependant on each other as a fawn to it's mother; venturing out on ones own was strange for your kind. Gandalf had not indulged him with your story, only what he needed to in order to convince him to accept you as one of the company.

But Thorin knew what a renegade looked like. He'd lived as one long enough to know what the dreariness in your eyes and your indifference to battle and death meant. Part of him wanted to tell you that, to form that middle ground and hope it offered some comfort.

“Regardless, I am glad to have you with us,” he said instead.

At your feet, a lone beetle made its way through the undergrowth. You watched in bemusement, shifting your boot to clear its path. You turned to Thorin and found his own eyes trained on the bug as it continued on its journey. In an odd moment of catharsis, you saw the dwarf beside you not as a king, but a friend and fellow soldier. You offered him your pipe.

When the dwarf noticed your extended hand he smiled almost fondly. The sight made the aches in your muscles ease. He took the pipe in gentle hands, pressing the mouthpiece to his bottom lip and filling his lungs with the finest pipeweed the Shire had to offer.

He pushed the grey cloud past his lips in one deep breath, the smoke taking the shape of a perfect ring before disappearing above the tree.

You raised an unamused brow. “I would not have offered had I known you'd take the opportunity to show off.”

“Lying is not becoming of you, master ranger,” the dwarf responded smoothly, his eyes closed and lips turned up in a satisfied smirk. His hair splayed out around his head like a darkened crown, white strands catching in the sun like silver.

For no reason other than to make watching him an easier task, you shifted against the tree so that you faced the king. The resulting pain that lashed up your arm in doing so had you hissing through your teeth. Thorin's eyes were on you in a moment.

“I'm alright,” you dismissed quickly.

The dwarf looked entirely unconvinced. He reached for the collar of your shirt and when you made no attempt to stop him, pulled the fabric down.

“Mahal,” he said the word like a curse, low and rough. “How long have you kept this hidden?” Struggling to fall somewhere between a convincing lie and an honest under exaggeration, you decided against answering altogether. With a grunt, Thorin pushed forward and onto his knees. He took the hem of his undershirt in one hand and tore off a strip with less than a second thought.

Just as you hadn't answered him earlier, you said nothing as Thorin began to tend to you.

The bandages, already tinged pink, fell away easily in his grasp. A single line of blood seeped from the open gash and trickled down the swell of your bicep. Thorin swiftly decided the best he could do was simply rebind the wound. Despite their broadness, his fingers worked nimbly, carefully gracing over your arm and masterfully retying the bandages.

“You're a fool,” he said eventually, finishing the bindings with an unnecessary tug. “I believed your selflessness to be honorable, now I'm more inclined to think it idiotic.”

You huffed a laugh and winced.

Thorin took up the torn strip of blue linen from his shirt and carefully looped it around your arm, tying it taunt against your shoulder.

“Where did you learn that?” you asked. With the added support, the aching throb in your arm had all but ceased.

“I learned many things during my time in the Blue Mountains and in the villages of Man. How to properly dress a wound was one. It would appear that was a skill you did not pick up during your time on the road.” He answered with a smirk.

“Healers usually work in silence,” you reminded him.

He smiled at your words despite himself. He looked younger when he smiled. His eyes brightened and shone silver. You found yourself wishing it was a sight you could see more often.

There was something about the way he tended to you that set a deep ache in your chest.

He finished his work with one more tight knot and a satisfied hum. “It will do for now. I'll have Oín treat it once he has a moment to spare.” His hand ran down the length of your arm before falling away at the bend of your elbow.

“I'll manage,” you said. The words were almost second nature now.

“You always do.” Thorin's voice was soft. He regarded you in a manner so gentle the ache in your chest flared, a pounding against your ribs. But when his eyes caught your own, the look vanished and he stood. “I've intruded long enough, I'll take my leave.”

“Why not stay?” You were embarrassed by how quickly the words jumped from your throat.

“Because if I do I fear I'll do something rash.”

“Thorin–” you rose to your knees, reaching out and grasping his forearms. The action surprised you both.

You failed to find any words to confront him with, anything that would translate the fierce fire he set in you. How he regarded you not just as an equal but as someone to be respected, admired. How he tore the very clothes on his back to stop your bleeding. How the action was almost instinctive. Even the simplest things. Like how he hadn't complained once about how the earth dug into his knees as he tended to you. How he still hadn't pulled away from you now...

Gravity seemed to give way beneath you and you pushed yourself up on your knees further till your lips brushed his. Thorin was still for a fleeting, terrifying moment; before he returned your affection with a fierce passion.

The earth bit into your knees and you rocked forward. Thorin's hands grasped your waist and anchored you against him. The feel of his palms against your side was grounding. You swore the world had faded into the great void at the end of time and this moment was all that was left.

When you parted, a shaking breath passed Thorin's lips. “You are far braver than I.” His voice was quiet, hoarse.

“Brave?” you grinned. “I thought you'd settled on idiotic.”

The dwarf laughed, full and hearty, and gods what you wouldn't do to hear it every day for the rest of your life.

“I think, perhaps, both can be true,” he said, and his lips were on yours again.

His advance was softer this time, fixed on feeling you against him, marveling at your touch. He kissed your neck, just above the beating of your pulse. His lips turned up in a smile.

You watched him in absolute awe; a descendant of Durin touching you as if you were carved from gold, a king willingly on his knees for an outcast.

The ache in your chest seized your heart.

Your hand rushed up his arm, fingers running past the swell of his shoulders and gently catching in his hair. Thorin gasped sharply, the bridge of his nose pressing tautly against the curve of your jaw. In a single grounding moment, you recalled the significance of hair in dwarven culture as well as the boundary you'd just overstepped.

You rightened yourself against the tree, forcing Thorin to pull away in turn.

“Forgive me, I didn't mean–” you swallowed. “Thorin if you want this to end you need only say so. I won't take offense.”

The silence that followed was uncomfortably thick. You sat unmoving as the dwarf regarded you with something you couldn't quite place. It left you feeling uncertain whether he was going to reach for you again or stand and leave.

“Why do you do that?” he asked instead. “Doubt yourself. Ask for forgiveness as if you have done something wrong. Do you truly find the thought of me wanting to touch you, to be touched by you, so difficult to accept?” He caught your chin with gentle fingers and raised your head. “I can think of nothing I want more.”

His touch ghosted your neck and you shuddered. Words could not tell him how much he meant to you, but you hoped your lips against his own and your heart beating frantically against his chest would.

Thorins knees began to ache, straining and giving way. You pressed a steady hand to his back and guided him forward until his legs slot over your own and your height balanced out. He surged closer, you could feel the tree bark biting into your back. You ignored it with ease.

The kings hand ran along the underside of your arm and the feel of it drew from you a soft breath. Your hand brushed over his braid, gently thumbing at the strands. You combed your fingers through the knotted locks behind his ear; the knowledge of what the act meant to Thorin, the intimacy of it all, made your head light.

Then, your fingers tapped almost unnoticeably against the base of his neck, right above his pulse where the dwarf's blood rushed so fast he was almost certain you could hear it. Your mouth parted in an unasked question and Thorin grunted a low ‘yes’.

Your lips traced his neck, kissing down his collarbone and ensuring to leave each of your marks below the collar of his shirt. Thorin steadied himself against you, breathing a sigh against your temple.

“Tá tú go hálainn, a grá,” the words were so raw, came from somewhere so primal within you, you hadn't noticed they'd left you in your mother tongue. “Tá m'chroí agat.”

Thorin managed a shuddering breath, a weak sound that caught in his throat. “I assume you will not be telling me the meaning of your words.” His hands shook as they moved against your back.

“Consider it reparations for each time you have spoken to me in Khuzdul with no intention of telling me what it is you'd said,” you smirked against his throat, recalling each time he'd addressed you in his native tongue. How the words always seemed natural and unmistakably genuine. He didn't feel the need to tell you the meaning behind those words now. He felt you already knew.

Thorin chuckled, boyish and light, and it set fire to your heart.

The sun had sunk behind the mountains and turned the air cold. But with Thorin laying by your side and a bed of grass at your back you swore you had enough warmth to last you the night.

The dwarf's arm rested beneath your head, hand tracing patterns you didn't recognize against your bandaged shoulder. Even now, his lips still brushed your head.

His other hand rested against your stomach and you bid your time tracing his palm, slowly and with purpose.

Thorin shifted beside you. You could hear the careful workings of his mind as he forged his next words on his tongue. “Should we succeed in taking back Erebor, where will you go?” He asked. His words were heavy.

“I don't know,” you answered honestly. “South? Towards Rohan and then wherever the road leads.”

It took the dwarf a moment to respond. Your words hollowed out his chest and set an ill feeling in his stomach. The thought of you alone stirred up a deep sadness Thorin had not felt in an age. You, with your spark for storytelling and devotion to others and your incomprehensible ability to simply make a difference. To bring light to whatever situation you found yourself in, to join a company that was all the better to have you. To stumble into the life of a downtrodden king and singlehandedly remind him he deserved his throne.

“If we take back the Mountain, I want you to know that you are welcome to stay, should that be something you wish.”

You took a deep breath, holding it till you were certain Thorin's words had not caused your heart to cease beating. As the true weight of the offer set in, you released Thorin's hand.

“I would not think I'd be wanted. I have no right-”

“You have every right,” Thorin said, his words instant and forceful, convincingly so. “As much right as any dwarf that refused to help us in our hour of need.”

You huffed a sigh that fell somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

“Someone like me staying in the sacred halls of Durin's folk. A lowly ranger...”

“You are so much more than that.” He said the words slowly, as if they were the most honest thing he'd ever spoken. “You are a descendant of the Men of the West, a member of this company.” He paused. “You are Amralimê. My love.”

You shifted to look at him. A dwarf who by all means of faith and sense you should never have crossed paths with. But by the beauty of chance, he'd entered your life and reminded you, in all his subtle ways, that it was worth living. That you were worthy.

You dared to retake his hand in yours. “You'd have me?”

Thorin simply smiled.

“Above all else.”

Thank you for reading! <3

authors notes:

Irish translation: tá tú go hálainn, a grá - you are beautiful my love. Tá m'chroí agat - you have my heart. Phonetic pronunciation for those interested - taw two guh haul-in, ah graw. Taw muh-kree a-gut.

#sincerest apologies for pulling a 'fade to black'#thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin x reader #thorin oakenshield x you #thorin imagine #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit imagine

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ghoulsbeard · 5 days ago

Text

Strange, to begin with: bright sun from sun-up, and a cloudless sky, a high fast wind. Spring, in Skyrim; Kynareth must be laughing. Faralda strides bridge and battlement with her collar turned down and her hair swept up, to feel the sunlight on her skin.

The sea of ghosts seethes cheerfully at the rocks below the college. Gulls wheel and scream. The air is bright enough to see how bare and brown the main courtyard stands; a glittering chorus of icicles drips along their statuary... a few gaps, where prentices have knocked them loose with snowballs or sticks.

"You," Colette Marence barks from the great rime-frosted doors. "Hold! Hold right there!"

Their mistress of restoration is a font of unflagging energy; it is not past ten and she storms about the place like a stalking cloud of Aurbic lightning. The spring sunshine, weak as watered wine, draws roses from her tired cheeks. Her hair has already flown out of its tail in a curly brown-and-silver cloud.

"I've been looking everywhere for you.” A bony accusing finger waves around Faralda's face. "Have you seen the master wizard?"

"It's mid-morning," says Faralda. "She'll be beating Aren's carpets."

Colette gives her a look, a hairy look-- "She is not with the Archmage. I have already spoken with him; he has not seen her at all this morning."

"He wouldn't see the nose on his own face," Faralda grunts. "Well, and what do you want? Shall I shake him until Ervine falls from his pockets?"

"Your trouble, Mistress Faralda, is that no one boxed your ears when you were a young hellion. Younger," she amends. "I'm off to the lecture halls. I wish you'd see to her chambers."

"If there's a corpse, I'll summon you and Phinis."

"Mara mind your tongue!" Colette snaps. She's knitting her fingers guiltily together. "If you... I would owe you a favor."

"Don't be silly." Faralda claps a hand to her stooped shoulders. The wind is turning: pine and fresh snow, distant smoke. She tramps up salted steps to wander the College warren.

The master wizard's door is shut and locked. Faralda beats it until it rattles against the lintel. "Ervine," she barks. "Are you yet living?"

Magefire sputters on the wall. The long row of living quarters is otherwise quiet, at this hour; down in the common, prentices squeal and bicker. Tolfdir's reeling laughter rings from the stones. She's leaned against the doorway, lighting her pipe, when the lock sighs through a weak spell and clicks open.

Ervine's door likes to jam in warmer weather; Faralda shoves it open with a shoulder, wood and hinges wailing, and slams it shut again behind herself. The room is a tall dark cavern, smelling of herbs and burnt wax.

From the lone window-- small and thin-- a bar of white sunlight.

"It is you," a voice croaks. There is a rattle of a cough, or laughter. "I thought I was dreaming again. What do you want?"

The darkness resolves into shades of grey and brown. A shrubbish shadow, buried in the bed, with a weary round face, grieved and pasty. The stump of a candle on the bedside table, a stack of letters, a stick of wax. A green jar of ink. An empty cup.

"What ails you, master wizard?"

Ervine breaks into true laughter, then. She has never heard the woman laugh before, and hates the sound of it at once-- sour and pitiless.

"I am perfectly capable of my duties. Come a little closer and see for yourself."

She does, with her fingers twitching for a long curved dagger she no longer carries. Over-tired, she imagines Colette's diagnosis, in her clipped tones. Over-worked. Hale, besides. Constitution of an ox.

Something in her eyes, she thinks. She's seen a few deckhands with that look, that dullish beady glint... "You are not prone to fits of melancholy."

"You do possess a lovely arrogance, Faralda."

"So you've taken after Aren." She casts a disgusted hand about the dark room. "Licking your wounds in a drab little hole."

Ervine's dark eyes flash when she lifts her face. "Go to Colette. Tell her I shall see her at noon for a tisane."

She should have directly ordered 'get out'. Faralda bares her teeth in what might pass for a smile. "I will not."

"Will you not?" Tired amusement.

The cup catches her eye. "I'll fetch your tisane."

"Never mind the tisane."

"Berries, then." She draws her bag from within her sleeve, cloudberries and a little elk jerky, and sets it on Ervine's blanketed lap, and pulls it open with a finger. "Eat. You look like death."

"I really couldn't," Ervine says, in the same stern voice she uses to admonish prentices and professors alike. "Put that away, if you would."

"Hemicrania."

"Of a sort." She ought to look shrunken and small, swathed up miserably like this. She's as grand and stolid as ever. The grave face. The firm steadfast mouth. "You can tell Colette I said so."

Faralda risks another long, searching look at the letters. The seal on the first is freshly broken. Ervine winces. Her thick hand knots itself in the blanket.

"Ill news, was it?"

No reply. She watches Ervine's face. The twitch in her cheek; the hair standing greasily on the side of her head. "I'm sorry," she offers, and Ervine looks up fast as a gannet, and her mouth twists, and she barks laughing.

"'Sorry'," she gasps, in between peals of barking bitter laughter. "'Sorry'. Yes. Of course."

Faralda reaches for her other hand, trembling atop Ervine's thigh, and feels her pulse rabbiting in the wrist. "It will pass."

"Ce jeu féroce et ridicule, quand doit-il finir?" She smiles. "As the poets say. Out, Faralda. You do not want to play nursemaid at my bedside, I think."

"Of course not." She lets Ervine's wrist fall. "I cannot leave without you, master wizard."

"No?" Ervine drops her smile to her lap, where her fingers are buried in the blanket. "No, she ordered you here. Most commendable."

"Do you know something, Ervine? I woke impatient this morning." She folds her arms. "Are you unwilling or unable?"

"You are a keeper of confidences, Mistress Faralda. I think you might keep this one."

"I might not."

Ervine crooks a finger, still smiling; of all things Faralda sits at the side of her bed, and feels the heat of her bulky calf and thigh. "He is dead a fortnight now. A week for the letter to sail to Skyrim-- half a week to Daggerfall, half from Solitude to our little holding. I cannot fathom why it was written. But he is dead."

Faralda eyes her. She cannot tell, from the wretched stillness in her face, or the trembling in her hand, who or what or whether to commiserate. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I myself am dead in those lands."

"Then the world has ended."

Ervine wrings the blanket in her fist. "I don't know that it has."

"It ought to."

"Yes," she says, eventually. "Yes, it ought. I don't know that it has."

"If the world hasn't ended," Faralda says, "and you aren't abed with pain or disease-- you can take a turn with me about the courtyard."

Ervine, smiling, shakes her head.

"Don't go to seed here, woman. Won't sort your mind any faster."

"What did you call it... licking my wounds?"

"Lick them outside in the fresh air."

"You may leave."

She turns to watch the unmoving sunlight. Her eyes glint in the shadows; the tip of her long, thick nose, the curves of her chins and soft jaw. Neither overly stern nor discernibly friendly. She ought to have been the sort of woman that Faralda liked, very much.

"Who was he to you?"

Ervine's face stills, save her mouth; the mouth trembles. She covers it with a hand.

"He was good to you, I hope."

"Not to anyone. Not to himself. Now he is dead."

"That much," says Faralda, "ought to be celebrated. Come down with me, master wizard. I'll buy you a drink at the Hearth."

Her dark eye is turned to the light, and glassy.

"Come down with me."

She wheels on Faralda, implacable as the polar night. "Why should you ask such things? Why should I give them to you?"

"You shouldn't," Faralda agrees. "I was born with my foot in my mouth, and I'm a scoundrel besides. But come down. Come down with me and have a little air." She offers a hand.

Ervine shuts her eyes and composes herself, with some trouble. Her throat pulses. "Very well," she says, in a thin voice. "Very well."

The hallway is chilly and quiet. Mirabelle Ervine, now dressed in her robes, carrying pen and paperwork, trails Faralda out through the back entrance, along the shortcut to the crumbling stargazers' walk. She stops stunned when the door opens to clear sunlight, and the breeze blusters noisily in, lifting her hair from her cheek.

"What day is it?"

"The tenth of Rain's Hand."

"Sun," she puzzles, and pushes past. Noonday strikes bronze and a few shining greys from her hair. She winces at the light, raising a hand to her eyes. "What beautiful weather."

It is startlingly beautiful. The starkness of the bay; glittering snow and rock, foam and current, the city of the dead beneath the falling tide. Mirabelle Ervine's hair sparkling in the stiff breeze.

"Show me your shield," she says, to clear her head. This, too, she dislikes about their new master wizard; the woman has a remarkable talent for snarling up thoughts. Ervine raises an eyebrow, searches Faralda's face.

"Here?"

"Here and now."

Ervine studies her another moment, then twitches a fragment of a smile and stands wide-legged, just as she addresses the assembled collegium. She claps her hands together and slowly pulls the palms apart, fanning a thread of magic between them, up and out into a ward, full and fuller, warping like hot air as it goes.

Faralda tosses four spiraling mageflames, sharp as darts. Ervine swears viciously under her breath, but the ward holds against them.

"A little much, this early in the day," she comments. She looks less like a solemn corpse, Faralda decides. "Another."

Popular among mages of her persuasion to toss a few icicles, but Faralda has always favored claws of frost. The shield sputters.

"Passable work," Faralda allows. Ervine lets the ward drop, shaking her fingers as the spell dissolves wetly into thin air, and regards her with a bit of resigned amusement.

"Satisfied?"

"Not in the least."

Ervine laughs. It is unlike the rest-- deep and pleased. Faralda grits her back teeth.

"You should cast in a radial instead of a flat axis, master wizard."

"Should I." She comes up, smiling, to squeeze past Faralda's side. "I suppose a scholar of destruction would know."

Down in the courtyard, a gaggle of prentices are lunging about in the fine weather, chasing each other with wisps, turning cartwheels. The rest sun themselves under a few of the leafless trees, passing what look like scraps of paper back and forth, conferring in low, urgent voices. Young Brelyna paces at the gate, declaiming to herself. The wind carries most of her speech away.

Colette's eyes are huge and happy when Faralda leads the master wizard into the infirmary. "Mirabelle! How good to see you today. Let me make you a tisane. Put some color in those cheeks."

"I'm perfectly well, dear Colette."

"It'll only take a minute." She vanishes into the stockroom, rolling up her sleeves. "Tincture of..."

Ervine catches Faralda by the cuff before she can duck out and flee to the bridge. In the dim ring of blue magelight, her temper is unreadable. "We have our differences. I trust this will not be one of them."

"Peace, Mirabelle Master-Wizard," Faralda sneers. "I would not betray a colleague."

Ervine's fingers dig hard in her arm a moment; then she steps away, light calving over her face. "Very well."

The day is clear and crisp on the broken bridge; down in the Winterhold square, people come and go. She can feel where Ervine gripped her, even through her coat and robes. Absently, she rubs a thumb along the skin.

#microfic #mirabelle ervine #faralda #not really micro but wanted to post in full for people who dont want to read on ao3 #shoutout as always to jiub. had a vague idea of mirabelle being estranged from her family but her thoughts are a lot more richly developed #and the backstory shes come up with for mirabelle is canon to me...#the quote is from baudelaire

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francixoxoxo · 3 months ago

Text

୨ৎ Silver Soul 𓆝 𓆟

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝

𝐏𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞!𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐝 𝐗 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐝!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫.

𝐓𝐖: 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐄, 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭

Ever since you came into Billy’s life, he began seeing in color.

You made his dreary, murky future feel a bit more appealing. Brighter. His work didn’t seem so gritty when he had your face painted in the walls of his mind. Hell, he whistled while he worked.

You were engraved into his heart like marble, written into the pages of his story. There wasn’t a way around it, you had him under your spell. His mind was filled with memories of your head against his chest, your lilted voice telling him all about yourself, your sisters, your life beyond him, and asking about his own world. The smell of your dark tresses, like sea salt and amber. The smooth warmth of your skin under his calloused palms, the wistful look in your eyes as you gazed up at the sky.

These memories were a comfort while he was away at sea. When he closed his eyes for a brief respite against the bustle of the crew, or the brutal sun beating down on his back as he tied the lines until ropes were burnt into his splintered skin, your face was behind his lids. Hanging over him like a rosary.

Billy found comfort in the image of those rosy cheeks and heart-melting smiles as he sat up in the crows nest. It was a particularly scalding day, he sighed wearily as he pushed his damp hair back, putting his hat back onto the smoothed locks. He held a barometer in his hands, Jesse was a particular stickler about keeping an eye on the air pressure.

Well. Atleast he wasn’t busting his ass on the deck, he thought as his gaze dropped to a few of his crew mates tying lines, mopping the wood and, what truly made Billy grin, Ollinger’s punishment of re-nailing the uneven screws in the floorboards. Served that bastard right.

“Feel sorry f’ya mama, Kid.” Bob had snorted, shaking his head as he leaned over the deck on his elbows. He was smoking from a pipe, the putrid smell curling Billy’s lip. He barely remembers what biting remark he even spat at the older man. Not like it made a difference.

“All that trouble f’ya t’just end up here?” Ollinger whistled, shaking his head. Billy’s nostrils flared. White hot anger was clawing at his core, toiling like a storm under his skin. “I bet that poor mick is rollin’ in ‘er grave.”

Billy drags a hand over his eyes and down his face, sighing heavily. The worst part was that Ollinger was probably right. His mother probably wouldn’t be happy with the path her son set out on. Well, her son wasn’t too pleased with himself either, so nobody’s happy.

He dreams of running off with you. He’s not even sure how it’d work. Maybe he’d build a special house for the two of you, half in the water and half above the ground. Billy would find a way. His future was brighter because you had come into his life, because there wasn’t a possible future for him without you in it. He’d live out of a dingy if it meant he could hold you close at night, live beside you, no matter what he had to do. If he could, he’d cut himself gills to live in your world.

From what you’ve told him, it’s a hell of a lot better than Billy’s world of gypsies, tramps and thieves. Of pirates and pillagers, rotten crooks and wry thieves.

Billy’s so caught up in his own head that he doesn’t notice the commotion on the deck below. It’s not until Dick calls up to him, climbing up the rope ladder halfway to get his attention, “Billy! Billy, come on down! You gotta see!”

“See what?” Billy whirled around, his forehead creasing as he peers down at his crewmate. But he’s already focusing on climbing down. He doesn’t even think to look out from the crows nest to see what’s going on down there before he’s coming down the ladder.

About halfway down he throws his head over his shoulder, the crew is crowded around the object of their attention, nearly blocking it from his view. But Billy’s got the altitude to see, and he nearly loses his grip on the ladder. His sapphire eyes are buggy and wild, his chest heaving in a raw kind of fear.

Writhing in a net, crying like a baby, a woman with dark hair, struggling ‘gainst the ropes as they scathe her bare skin. Her hips melt into iridescent scales. A mermaid.

A mermaid, caught in a net.

A mermaid, surrounded by pirates.

A mermaid, laughed and poked at as she cries.

Billy practically falls down the ladder more than he climbs down. He’s shoving aside his crew, gaping at the mermaid. He lets out a breath upon seeing that no, it’s not you, but it’s still a mermaid. Still somebody just like you, with lighter eyes and paler cheeks and darker scales, but just like you.

“Jess— Jesse, Jesse, what’re y’doin’? What’s this?” Billy scrambles to Jesse, the captain, the one eyeing the mermaid like a blank check to cash in.

A grin split Jesse’s face. “Bucket o’gold, Billy, that’s what this is!” Billy follows the blonde’s gaze to the mermaid again, terror painting her features. Her eyes are glassy and wide, trained on him. It puts bugs under his skin but he can’t make himself look away.

“What.. what d’you mean, Jesse, what’s.. What’re we doin’?” Billy feels as though his head is clouded, his mind hazy and his thoughts narrow. His eyes are buggy with a visceral horror.

Jesse does a double take to the younger man. “Well, what d’ya do when y’catch a mermaid?” The blonde grimaces as if Billy is the strange one here. Billy shakes his head, his voice dead in his throat, cut off by Jesse anyway, “Dick, Dick, nah, that ain’t good karma. C’mon now.”

“What?” Billy whips his head to look at his crewmate, wielding a cutlass with a slight curve to it. Like a scythe, he thinks lamely, picking the words out from the murky water he’s trudging in. The mermaid can’t seem to stop crying, saltwater pouring down her cherub cheeks as her chest heaves and brow furrows. She hardly notices as Dick undoes the ropes, looking up at Jesse, ignoring Billy completely.

“I thought they ain’t feel pain?” Dick huffed, carefully bringing the sword to the mermaid’s nape. Billy can’t tear his boots from their spot on the deck, he can’t move, he wants to scream for him to stop, but his tongue is cut from his mouth. He makes eye contact again with the woman.

“I think they do, heard somebody say they scream like crazy,” another crew member shrugged, Jesse grunting in agreement.

“Jess.. Jess, please, we ain’t gotta..” Billy pleads, turning to Jesse again with pleading eyes. Jesse shoots him a look with a sharp and clear purpose. Be quiet and don’t mess this up.

Her eyes are round and hazel, pleading for something he knows he could give, Billy knows he could do something, but at he same time he can’t. He can’t do a damn thing. And he knows he’ll hate himself to the day they pour dirt over his grave for it. “I mean, it’s kinda gruesome t’get straight to it anyhow.” Dick muses, as if they’re talking about how they take their tea.

“Get straight to what?” Billy breathes, blinking some haze from his vision. He can’t break away from the mermaid’s stare. Still, nobody is hearing the soft voice of the youngest man in their midst.

The blade moves, swipes, Billy’s eyes begin to water, because all he can see as he’s looking into this mermaid’s eyes is humanity.

How strange is that? To find something so human, something so familiar in somebody so mythical. Somebody nobody on this boat can find even a little bit of sympathy for.

(Would they find sympathy for you?)

Dick is clutching her locks in his hand a moment later, a whimper passing the woman’s lips. She wraps her own arms around herself tighter as the conversation about her body continues to pass around the men. “‘Cause the hair’s good luck.” Jesse explains beside Billy, an excited smile parting his lips.

Billy feels a sickening bile rising up his throat as he listens to the last wail the mermaid lets slip from her pinkened lips, the sound like a drizzle crashing into heavy, oppressive sheets of rain. Dick is pressing the blade against her jugular, her weeping dying in the air as the cutlass slices through her skin like a fin through water, vermillion and like sea foam bubbling at the crevice in her throat, staining the deck maroon.

He’s dizzy with it all, watching but not seeing thick blood spill. A brighter color than human blood, he thinks quite lamely. A passionate vermillion.

(What had her name been? Everything has a name, even when it leaves this world, but Billy supposes every name must also be forgotten.)

Billy blinks, granting tears passage down his cheeks. Jesse hasn’t a word to breathe about it.

(Was your blood that same hue? He didn’t want to know.)

Dick hands the cutlass off to Ollinger, Billy watches through hazy eyes, eyes that hardly feel like his own. The cutlass connects with her hip, where scale meets taupe skin, the sickening sound of blade cutting through tendon, bone and tissue. Sickeningly slow, the sword's wielder struggling to wedge the blade twixt her bones, wriggling the metal, cursing and shaking off a crewmate who offers his help. Skin tears like ripped linen and organs peeking like pearls in an oyster. Bile rises up Billy's throat, boots thump on wood, he vomits over the deck as screws his sapphire eyes shut to ignore the contents of his stomach floating away on the surface of the water like a carcass.

Her eyes are permanent carvings on the back of his eyelids, her weeping etched into his mind like the grooves of a music box's drum. Vermillion is a color that paints each crevice of his brain, the sight of a knife gutting a living, almost human being like a fish something no drink can wash away.

Billy feels a familiar ache for your warm hands on his arms, your fingertips scrubbing discontentment from his skin.

(Why didn't he do anything?)

But with a crashing wave of perturbation, some horrific thought is unearthed. What great danger is he putting you in, for his own selfish yearning for you? His love was a death sentence.

(Did you know the risks? Did you have any idea of what macabre gutting he just witnessed?)

All Billy knows, as his lips part to throw more bile into the rushing sea, is that he'd never forgive himself. You might. God may. But he would throw himself into the ocean, his body limp and resigned, he'd wave off passersby and call, "There ain't a point for me no more." He'd slit his arms vertical-like and let his body decompose into the sand, let the seagulls make dinner of his sun-freckled skin.

He's hunched over the railing like a beggar, purging his body of everything ailed until the only disease remains in his mind, behind his eyes, in shades of gray and striking vermillion. There is only one way, he decides, to keep his woman safe. To keep her eyes bright and her hair flowing, her heart content and most importantly beating. Billy will live with a broken heart if it means your own will go on.

A woman's body, mutilated and stained, cut at the hip and at the hair, crashes into the ocean like discarded refuse and sends sea spray into Billy's eyes.

It was the third day you laid in the sand, closing your eyes against the sun, perking your ears to the seagull's cawing and disappointing yourself with every glance down the shore.

Billy hadn't come to you in three days since his ship docked. You knew for yourself The Seven Rivers was at port, you'd watched it come into harbor with your own eyes. A handful of shells were clutched in your hand, your thumb brushing thoughtfully over the delicate ridges of one in particular. So very many questions had piled up in the corners of your mind. What were these spots and blotches appearing on your arms and shoulders? Your skin had been red and angry for a day, but now it was darkened, why was that? A word in one of the novels he'd given you; Totalitarianism, what did that mean?

But they all went unanswered, as the third day came and went listlessly. You watched the sun as it reclined in the sky, worry embedding itself into the deeper recesses of your heart. Could something have happened to him? Was he held up somewhere? You didn't want to consider that maybe, just maybe, he didn't want to meet you. Perhaps he was tired of you now, he'd had his fill, and moved on. Moved onto a girl he could hold in the night, a girl who fit better with him. A human girl.

The thought sent a shiver down your spine. You weren't sure what possessed you that night, the pearlescent moonlight drizzling over the basin of the sea or the unease brewing in your gut, willing you to glide through the navy waters, coaxing the bravery out of you as you swim to the marina, find his crew's boat, search for a slat in the side of the hull. What are you thinking, you wonder lamely as you peer over the desk, relieved that Billy'd been truthful when he told you he often took the night shift on deck. He'd admitted to you that it gave him a moment's respite to think. You feel a swell of relief at seeing his handsome face, illuminated by the moon as his eyes turn up to meet her demure light halfway.

But the relief doesn't come unscathed by the prying hands of doubt, her fingernails digging crescent moons into your arms. If he was alive, well and free, then why hadn't he come to see you? The Billy you loved wouldn't spend a moment away from you if he didn't have to. Unless his love had waned? Unless his heart was turning to face another's? Unless he didn't want you anymore?

You swallowed down a dry sob, the very thought of such a tender love being gifted to you just to be torn from your hands was earth shattering. Billy wouldn't just be stolen from your grip, but ripped from your heart, the deep sutures keeping him stitched into the fabric of your being ripped apart for you to bleed away, sink to the bottom of the sea. The worst part? He'd still be out there, out somewhere in the world, just not with you. Living, but not at your side. Existing, just out of reach.

Your name spoken in a hushed tone snapped you out of your thoughts. You lift your gaze from the wood of the deck to see Billy's large frame looming over you, those sapphire eyes bright even when swaddled in the darkness of midnight. They dart over you, you think you see a shine to them, before he reaches over the railing to lift you by under the arms. You don't protest as he hoists you to sit on the railing. Billy's hands clutch at your arms long after you're steady, your name falling from his lips again like a prayer.

"You're here." He breathed, his brows lifting and a faint smile crossing his lips. His hands smooth over your arms as if to assure himself you're material, you won't blow away like sand under his fingers.

You nodded simply, a strange feeling brewing. A feeling you've never had to name before now, and now that the time's come, you aren't sure what to call it. "Where have you been, Billy?" His expression falters at your whisper. "I've been waiting for you, and you never came."

Billy shakes his head, lips pressing almost nervously. "I couldn't. M' sorry, I wanted to, but... you shouldn't be here." You could name the feeling now as it licked at your insides like flame. Indignation.

"What do you mean?" You huff, curling your lip and drawing your brows.

Billy throws a glance over his shoulder as if he expects a bear to come up from the depths of the boat, ignoring your question. “You need to go, baby.”

When he turns back to you, his eyes avoid yours. Could his sentiments have changed so quickly that he can hardly look at you? It's oil on the fire in your belly. "You could have at least told me to my face if you didn't want this anymore!"

You watch as horror plays across Billy's face. His eyes, the deepest cerulean, a color you'd found endless comfort in, are buggy and wide as they fall on yours, his nostrils flaring, you guess to fight off the growing shine of those eyes. He shakes his head adamantly, hands roaming upward, one to your shoulder, the other to the back of your head, finger's carded in your wet hair. "I'll want you forever. You won't get it, baby, that's fine, but even when you ain't with me, you're with me. I love you more than anything in this world. Don't you doubt that."

There he goes. It's a bucket of ice water, dousing your anger, replacing it with a shiver. You wrap your arms around yourself, discovering that dripping hair and wet skin didn't bode well against the cold night's wind. You think Billy might kiss you, might press his lips to yours in the flurry aftermath of his confession, but he only stares. After a moment he pulls away from you, to your dismay, shrugging off the maroon cardigan over his button-up. Tenderly, with a lingering brush of fingers against your shoulders, he pulls the warm fabric around you. You murmur a soft thanks, he only nods.

"If you love me," Billy nods once again, taking the chance to wrap his arms around you, your tail wetting the calf of his trousers, "then why haven't you come to see me? I thought.. I thought you didn't like me anymore. Or that you'd been hurt." You whisper, your cheek finding a home on his shoulder.

Billy's strong palm rubs up and down your back over the cardigan, his other hand pulling your hair out of the neck and combing his hands through the tresses. Oh, how you missed those hands. You watch his Adams apple bob as he swallows hard, his voice gruff, "I just... I don't wanna put you in danger, sugar."

"Danger?" You snake your own arms around his back, feeling the firm expanse of him. Finding comfort in it.

"I..." Billy hesitates a moment before he goes on, his resolve melting away in your presence. "I saw somethin'. The other day. N'.. It was terrible." A soft breath is sighed into your hair. Your hand drifts to his arm, squeezing him in what you hope is a comforting gesture. "I can't stop thinkin' 'bout it." Billy admits in a whisper.

You push your cheek closer to his neck, his stubble scratching your forehead, a familiar and warm sensation. "What'd you see?"

The air is silent as the night is navy. Billy holds you just a bit closer to his chest, his hand cradling the back of your head. You were strong, you could handle the truth of the image stained behind Billy's eyelids. But an overwhelming need to keep you safe from the world surges in him, a duty to trim all thorns that could prick you. In fact, he knows he'd let you use his own chest as a shield, take a bullet, an arrow, a cannonball, it truly didn't matter to him; if it was for you, he would swallow them all.

He simply can't choke out the words. You'd want nothing to do with him after they broke the threshold of his lips. He can bear it on his own, he tells himself. "You don't wanna know."

A frown creases your face. You pull away from his chest, it feels like tugging at two magnets. "If it's about me, then I need to know." You murmur, shaking your head. Your hands roam over his shoulders aimlessly until they find themselves cupping his face. Billy's gaze falls, avoiding yours. Absently he draws his cardigan closer around your frame, thought tightening his expression. "What'd you see, Billy?"

Your thumb rubbing over the stubble on his cheek crumbles his resolve as if it had been made of nothing. Nothing at all, in the face of your gentle soul. "They caught a mermaid." Billy's eyes search yours for a sign that you might show him mercy, let his voice die in his throat. You don't, and so he goes on. "N' killed her. Slit her throat and they.. Cut 'er at the hip. Jesse's finding a buyer for the tail."

You feel, suddenly, like you swallowed an anchor. Your face goes lax, but the rest of you tense. Billy nods, whispers lowly and draws you back into his arms, "I know, I know, baby." He nestles a kiss into your hair. "I know."

It put a feeling under your skin that you couldn't scrub away; you had a price tag. Men'd kill you and sell you like an animal, like you hadn't a heart to feel, eyes to see, a mind to wonder. How could it be? Billy held you like a bird, a hollow-boned and delicate little thing, yet what he told you confirmed your mother's warnings. Men were vicious creatures, money clouding their sense. In a sea of dirt and pollution, your Billy was a sapphire.

You hadn't realized just how rare of a thing you possessed until now.

"Is that why.. You stopped coming?" You whisper against the fabric of his button-up, his musk filling your nostrils soothingly. Billy grunts in confirmation. Another kiss is dropped to your scalp.

"S' safer for you, sweet girl." Billy mumbles, though you hear the reluctance. "M' bad news."

"Is it wrong to say I don't care?" You fist your hands in his shirt, the material soft under your grip. He sighs your name, you can sense the impending conversation, so you rush to cut him off. "I don't want to be without you. I don't care what the risks are."

"I care," Billy huffs, but he only holds you tighter. "I don't want to ever, ever see you in a net. I'd-- I'd kill myself before I let that happen."

You lift your head from his chest. His aquiline nose bumps yours as he looks down at you, his brows drawn taut. "Then we'll be careful."

"Baby-"

"No. I'm not letting this go. Not letting you go." You shake your head hurriedly. Your voice is firmer than you thought it could possibly be. Billy's eyes dart twixt yours, his lips pressing together.

"You know what you're riskin'." He murmurs, his calloused fingers brushing a wild strand of hair behind your ear. You nod. "And you still wanna be with me? You'd still choose me?" Billy huffs, eyebrows lifted and a faint, almost self-deprecating smile playing at his lips.

You allow a smile to grow on your cheeks. Because it's true, true from the deepest crevice of your heart, true from the furthest reaches of your soul. Of all the things you've found on the Earth, of all the flowers, of all the birds, of the sun, moon and the constellations, this is the most precious thing. This was something worth dying for, you thought with a rosy lightness as you press a kiss to Billy’s lips.

Every time, the kiss said. Put a million beautiful things at my feet, and I will choose you, every time.

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