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lokischocolatefountain · 10 months ago

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Warning || Men Like Me

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girth age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), gratuitous descriptions of Joel Miller's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, breaking and entering, playboy magazine, objectification, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 6.2k Summary: Joel's warnings about what men like him would do to girls like you only makes you want him more. A/N: Back in the depths of hell again, you guys. Now this isn't the most depraved thing I've written by any means but it's up there. Come say hi in my chat or inbox, I'd love to talk. Keep a look out for follow up parts and pleeeeease give me comments. I am very very desperate.

Joel Miller was a bad man. That much he knew.

Even as he fixed taps and renovated houses that were falling apart, he could see the blood on his hands. The very hands that packed lunches for Ellie snapped necks, pistol whipped men, stole from a starving child so he could feed his grown brother. But there were lows even he didn’t stoop down to.

Not that he didn’t have the opportunity. Men always did. And in this world, opportunities had only tripled. Even the Boston QZ, as strict as it was, had an underground brothel. He knew Tess to frequent it and never asked questions. Sometimes she needed to bury her face between a good pair of thighs and wrap her lips around a pretty pussy, and this wasn’t something he could give her. There was a lot he couldn’t give her.

Being in Jackson should’ve civilized him. It did in many ways. He’d reverted to the southern gentleman with table manners. ‘Yes, Ma’am’ spilled out of his lips effortlessly when he spoke to women. He held the door for anyone walking in after him. He even went to Church– sorry, the multifaith house of worship–to help renovate.

That was where his troubles began.

There was no point in him going where people prayed. Being back in civilization did not erase his decades of disbelief in a cruel God who would take his baby and keep him on this accursed Earth. But he did because he was back to being a contractor and Tommy asked him to go fix up the pews instead of him. He didn’t have much time, being a new dad and all.

He was on his knees checking out the rotting wood and evaluating how much wood he’d need for building new ones when he was confronted by a pair of legs and a sweet voice. Yours.

“Lemonade, Mister Miller?”

He looked up, his eyes traveling up your legs, bare until he got to your knees where the hem of your flowery skirt sat. Pure, unblemished knees, never taken a fall, didn’t fucking creak, and never knelt before anyone but God. You looked down sweetly, eyes wide and innocent like a newborn cow. Everyone had a kind of darkness about them in this world. Everyone except the kids who didn’t know a world outside the insular walls of Jackson. And you, it turned out, even though you weren’t a kid.

He wiped his sweat off with the greasy rag he carried and looked up at you once again. You had a pitcher and an empty glass in your hands. A sweet smile on your lips and hair falling down your shoulders and reaching your breasts. A yellow ribbon sat in a bow where your neckline dipped between your breasts, adding to the innocence of your look.

“Yes please, Ma’am. Thank you,” he said, giving you a nod. Your pretty plush lips curled up, a giggle escaping them as you poured him a glass of lemonade.

His hand brushed against yours as he accepted the glass, his hand too large to curl around it without making contact with you. You giggled again before retracting your hand and occupying it with adjusting your hair.

“I’m younger than you, you know? Don’t have to call me Ma’am.”

“Just being polite. Ma’am.” He took the glass to his lips, mindful to take only a small sip instead of downing it in desperation. Another adjustment to make when food was no longer a scarcity. Sweet, sour, and salty danced on his tongue before it glided down his throat. Just a sip refreshed him. And the sight of a nice girl didn’t hurt the cause either.

It’d been so long since he had a nice refreshing glass of lemonade. Summers meant worse infestations of infected, not the barbecues, lemonades, and swimming of past. When surviving each hour was under threat, small luxuries like this became out of reach of even one’s dreams.

“Well, guess I should call you Sir then,” you said, leaning against the wall. You held the pitcher up to your chest and the tails of the ribbon on your chest dipped into it, the soft shiny yellow turning dark, tainted.

His mouth watered and fucking hell, it wasn’t the lemonade you just gave him. He took a sip of the drink and licked his lips, imagining how you’d taste if he wrapped his large hand around your neck and pressed his chapped lips to your plush ones. Better yet, if he held your legs apart and devoured you other pair of lips until you were leaking down his mouth. Would you call him Sir then? His cock twitched in his jeans as he pictured you bent over one of these pews, your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair as he slid his cock in your hole.

Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Made the lemonade yourself?” He asked, groaning as he managed to get himself back up on his feet. His knees creaked like the floorboards of the houses he renovated, but ultimately supported him as he stood. He towered over you, making you appear smaller, more fragile.

“Depends. Do you like it?”

“It’s wonderful, of course. Hot summer day like this…I really needed it,” he said, raising the glass up a little before taking another sip.

“Well then yes, I did make it.”

He chuckled, feeling himself pulled in by your easy charisma. It was nice to have normal conversations like this once again. No agenda, no need for establishing himself as someone who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone up if even mildly threatened. It was just…normal.

“It’s very sweet, Ma’am. Like you I assume,” he added, mentally dusting off the part of his brain where he stored skills for conversing with pretty girls.

You laughed, holding your free hand up to your mouth to cover your lips that widened and revealed your teeth.

“Is that the southern charm that I hear our townspeople talk about?”

“They talk about my charm? I didn’t hear.”

“Oh yes, they do… Joel Miller, charming pants off of everyone in town.”

“Pants? Well that’s disappointing. I was hoping I’d charmed some pretty skirts off.”

“Lots of experience with that, Mister Miller?” you asked, sliding your hand over the soft fabric of the skirt of your dress. Such delicate fabric. He could fist the hem and give it one tug and it’d rip right off.

“More ‘n what you got for sure,” he said, loath to hint at how infrequent his encounters had become in the recent past. Tess died, he did a cross country hike with an annoying kid, he needed to maintain a good reputation in his new town. One buried after the other. Enough to leave a man with nothing but his fist and his imagination. He would kill for a fucking Playboy magazine. Literally. He’d killed for less.

“What do you know about how experienced I am?”

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.”

“Oh well. Nothing I can’t learn.”

He laughed nervously and stuck his hand in his jeans pocket. Surely you couldn’t be flirting… Why would a young thing like this flirt with him? He was in his late fifties looking like mid sixties and you were… He didn’t know. Young.

“If you could teach me, Mister Miller. Give a girl some experience?”

“I’m sure you can find someone else.”

“Oh. Not your type, am I?” you asked, and he deluded himself thinking you sounded disappointed. No chance.

He didn’t have a type. Long time since he thought of frivolous shit like that. But you shouldn’t be his type.

“There’s much more eligible men in town is what I’m saying,” he said, suddenly hesitant to lie. Lying had never been an issue for him. The right thing was to lie, say you weren’t his type so he wouldn’t cross lines. It’d been a long time since he did the right thing.

“I’ll be the decider of that,” you said with a shrug of your shoulder before taking the empty glass from him. “Have a good rest of the work day, Mister Miller.”

Later that night, he wrapped his fist around his cock in the privacy of his room. His mind flooded with images of you spread out for him, sweet lips and a sweeter pussy milking him. He couldn’t even recall the last time he was with a woman. It was Tess, of course. Sometime before she got thrown in FEDRA jail for the last time. Too fucking long ago.

Surely it was only because it’d been a long time since he got his dick wet. He’d never, in his entire life, pictured a woman so much younger spreading her legs for him. Sucking his cock. Crying out his name. How old was she even? Not past mid twenties for sure.

It was wrong, he knew, as white hot spend spurted out of his cock and covered his hand. A sour tang took over his mouth as the fog of unadulterated lust cleared up to reveal the ugliness in his head. He shuddered, feeling like something had crawled under his flesh. He hadn’t felt guilt like this in so long.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

You weren’t even as old as his kid would be had she been alive.

He’d known men like that back in the day. Grays in their hair and skin like old leather, but pretty young things old enough to be their daughter hanging off their arm. It was obvious that none of them kept these girls around for love or for their personality. It was always sex and the feeling of self-importance when a sweet young thing paid attention to balding heads, beer bellies and limp dicks that needed a blue pill to get up.

Fucking disgusting.

He began avoiding you whenever you happened to be in the same space. At the house of worship, the town clinic where you interned, trading days when people exchanged what they had for what they wanted. His eyes never met yours and he always quickly looked away when they stared too long at your uh…feminine features– pretty legs, cute ass, round tits. Where the fuck did you get sundresses anyway? Who kept that shit around in this world?

He didn’t know that when he avoided you, you took note of him. When he took glances of your features, you memorized his for later in the night when you buried your head in your pillow and pushed your fingers inside your pussy to simulate what it must be like to be with a man.

He was older. That much you knew from his grey hair, sun-damaged skin, and gait that exuded bone-deep weariness. You knew Tommy had just turned fifty. Hard to miss occasions that meant a free slice of cake from the canteen. Joel had to be in his mid-fifties at the very least. At first glance, he wasn’t what you’d consider handsome. There were younger men in town. Fit and muscular. Didn’t groan and scrunch up their faces when they got up. Didn’t have lines on their foreheads. No bags under their eyes.

Yet there was something about Joel that was more entrancing.

After your first meeting when you offered him lemonade, you made sure to visit under the guise of worship. You didn’t know much about religion and were conflicted about embracing a god. The only faith you had rested in your medical instruments and the medicines the town’s chemist concocted. But it was a nice place to meet people, to check on healing patients.

The visits were worth it for a glimpse of Joel’s large hands wrapped around his carpentry tools. When the sun was the hottest, he sometimes stripped down to his tank top, giving you a show better than any film played in the community theater. His broad back looked masculine enough in his flannel shirts. But you didn’t know desire like the first time you saw him in a white tank, showing off his muscular arms as sweat dripped down his tan skin.

When you pleasured yourself in your room, it took time, imagination, your fingers, and a lot of effort to make slick pool in your pussy. That day, all it took was the sight of Joel Miller working. You sat with your thighs pressed together, rubbing them against each other in the most inconspicuous little movements.

Could it be blasphemy if the God who was supposedly orchestrating everything made this man take his shirt off in front of you?

It made no fucking sense. Joel was old. He looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed every goddamn day. He had been chewed up and spat out by whatever the fuck was outside Jackson these days. Hardened expressions, graying patchy beard, hands calloused from carpentry and decades of using weaponry. Features that only indicated a long life lived, not attractiveness.

You were supposed to be attracted to the soft, sweet ones like the guys in the worn out copies of romance stories that the previous inhabitant of your house stashed in the basement. Even his little brother would be a more reasonable target for your lust. Younger, taller, softer, head full of dark, silky hair with few grays. But you wanted Joel Miller with his rough graying beard that would prick your skin were you to cup his cheek like the women on the novel covers.

Something about him just screamed Man. Something that none of the other guys in town had. There was nothing wrong with any of the other Jackson men, but none of them made you want to take the plunge and lose your virginity. It wasn’t the lack of offers, per se. You’d gotten looks from many eligible Jackson bachelors. You had drinks with a few of them. Dinner with fewer and shared a kiss with more than one. Alright, two. But anything beyond that had you trembling in anxiety.

It wasn’t anything precious to you, virginity. But you’d waited so long. Focused so long only on survival and then helping to build this town and now training to become a doctor. Whatever passed for doctor these days. With all your life dedicated to everything but your love life, you simply had no experience. What if you messed up and they laughed? You knew anatomy, but that didn’t translate to practical stuff. What if you couldn’t make them feel good? You’d have to see the guy all the damn time in the small town. There would be no escaping the awkwardness.

Sure it was counterintuitive to keep pushing away sexual encounters because you had no experience. But you didn’t know what else to do. You were too old already to not have done anything. But each day that passed with you rejecting perfectly nice men meant you were getting even older for your first time.

You didn’t know where Joel fit into your need for exploring your sexuality, but it didn’t hurt to stare. God knew everyone else in Jackson did.

So you stared. Work with his carpentry tools. Riding on horseback into Jackson after patrol. Helping with the fucking sheep. Walking around with Tommy. Carrying his nephew around town. It should be inappropriate to be fantasizing about a man when he was doing something as innocent as carrying a baby. But seeing his large hand cradling the baby’s little head made you want to scream into your pillow and kick your legs.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

Your heart fluttered and you let out a nervous laugh at being caught. You smoothed out the wrinkles on your clothes just to make it look like you were alright. Unfortunately you were wearing a pair of fucking jeans. You didn’t even want to know how awkward you looked.

“‘m alright, Mister Miller.”

“Joel’s fine,” he said, rocking his nephew in his arms.

Oh fuck, his fucking arms!

“Oh I don’t know,” you said, fidgeting with a belt loop on your jeans. “Wouldn’t want to be impolite addressing you by your first name like that.”

He smiled, recalling your conversation from the house of worship when you called him Sir and had him fucking himself in the shower to the memory. “Ah. ‘cause I’m an old man,” he said, more as a reminder to himself to fucking behave.

“You’re not that old…” you trailed, looking him over in a way that set fire to every inch of skin that you laid eyes on.

Behave, Miller. You’re out with your nephew.

“That so?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Mhmm. You don’t look a day over seventy.”

He snorted, making Miles stir in his arms just a little. That stung a little. It shouldn’t. Your estimation of his age, whether you were serious or not, was reminder enough that he was too old to be lusting after you.

“Thanks. I’m actually eighty-two.”

You giggled your pretty little giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground and looking back up only when it had turned into a wide grin. “How old are you actually?”

“Old. Fifty six.”

“Fifty-six isn’t that old…” you trailed as you brought a hand up to his bicep. Joel gulped, praying to the non-existent God that you would stop before praying to the same God that you would keep your hand right there. God answered his second prayer. You squeezed, licked your lips and looked up at him with your doe eyes.

“Checking if the hardware is still working, Doctor?”

“I’m not a doctor yet.”

“When do you become one then? Ain’t no Harvard handing out medical degrees in this town.”

“Howard?” you asked, squinting at him. Ah, of course you didn’t know. Harvard didn’t mean the same thing to you. Now it was just like every other building in Boston. Run over by infected. These ones were just the nerdy kind with glasses on.

“That was a thing, too. But I said Harvard. They were big universities back then.”

“Ah. Did you go there?” You asked, with no malice or bite. Oh, bless your heart. No one expected a dummy like him to have gone to university at all, much less Harvard. No one in his family had gone. Sarah was meant to be the first.

“Yeah. Traded some oxy and threw molotovs at clickers in the campus.”

You rewarded him with a giggle and that was incentive enough for him to keep going. “Guys like me didn’t get into Harvard. Or Howard. Didn’t even go to community college. I finished high school and got a job in construction.”

“You didn’t go to uh…construction college?” You asked, cocking your head and raising an eyebrow as though testing out the term.

“No such thing. Well, there were civil engineering programs, but I just learned on the job.”

“Like me.”

“Guess so. I see you reading from all those fat medical books. But there’s no need to study any books in construction. ‘cept if you wanna be an engineer or architect or something, which I’m not.”

“Maybe you should write one. We could all do with some knowledge from before. It’s important to document it, pass it on to Ellie and little Miles over there.”

“I ain’t writing books, sweetheart. Don’t think I even remember how to write much. I’ll just keep to fixing things up in this town. So, if you need some help with your place…I’m happy to help.” It was the least he could do. Maybe as some kind of penance for having impure thoughts about you. Or as a fucked up trade for starring in the mental images he conjured to jack off in the shower.

“There is something, actually. But I don’t have anything to trade for, so I’ll wait until I do,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying in place in an endearing manner.

“Nonsense. You patched me up just last week. You’ve done enough for the town’s health to not have to trade for anything ever again.”

“Well, no. That’s not how it should be… It’s people’s health. Can’t put a price on that.”

“Believe it or not, health had a steep price back in the day. Cost four thousand something just to give birth. Double that if they had to cut you open.” And that was just how much it cost when Sarah was born. He was sure it had only gone up by 2003. If he hadn’t worked his ass off, there was no way he could’ve escaped debt. It helped that his Ma and his then wife’s parents helped with childcare. Would’ve been even more expensive without that.

“Damn. I don’t know how much that is, since…y’know we don’t have money now. But that sounds like a big number. It shouldn’t cost anything just to be born.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, shaking his head. “But listen. Anything you want fixed, I’ll help out. You can give me something later if you’re worried. I know Ellie’s always on the look for new books to read and you seem to have a lot of them.”

“Nothing Ellie would like. Not like the special limited edition of Savage Starlight or anything. Just medical textbooks and romance novels.”

“We could trade for the lemonade from that afternoon,” he insisted, desperate to do something for you. Take care of you as you took care of everyone who walked into the clinic be it papercuts or a fucking knife in their abdomen.

“Alright. Trade for the lemonade it is then,” you said, giving in to his pressure.

“Now tell me. What d’ya need fixed?”

⌘⌘⌘

It had been a few days since Joel promised to fix your shower for you. Each time he came by and rang your doorbell, you hid somewhere away from your windows. When he caught sight of you in public, you quickly walked away or engaged in conversation with someone else. You didn’t need shit fixed. Everything in your house was perfectly alright. Tommy and his guys had given the place a complete makeover just a couple months before Joel and Ellie arrived.

You were no paragon of honesty, but you didn’t make lying a habit. There were a few white lies here and there and this was meant to be one of them. It just didn’t fucking hit you that if you lied to a contractor that your shower was broken, he would eventually come over to fucking fix it. All your desperate sex starved brain wanted that day was for Joel Miller to come use his tools in your room and flex those muscles while at it.

So invested were you in that particular fantasy that as you unwound after a long shift at the clinic, it was with Joel’s beefy arms in mind. You stood in front of your mirror, taking in your reflection. One of the magazines you’d found in a box under your bed laid open on the dressing table. Playboy. Entertainment for Men. Each had a scantily clad woman on the cover. And many more inside.

You made comparisons to yourself and the woman in the center page of the issue.

She stood in front of a dressing table too, but much different from how you stood. Her legs were on either side of her dressing table chair and her hands on the top of it. Between her arms were breasts, big and round and with smooth skin. They didn’t have any marks on them like yours. No moles, no stretch marks. Just plain. And she just stood there, soft brown hair down, tickling the top of her breasts and her lips parted as she gazed at you. No, at the men she was meant to entertain in this men’s entertainment magazine. All she had on was panties that went high up to her flat belly that connected to high transparent socks.

You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, wishing that you had something nicer like the woman on the cover of another one of the magazines. Bright red and showing off her breasts wonderfully, but pulled down to reveal almost everything. What was the point of a bra then if it didn’t cover or support anything? Entertainment, you decided. Men seemed to be very entertained by breasts.

Many a man had stared at yours even though you had them behind layers of fabric unlike the naked women of the magazines. Many had conversations with them instead of your face. Some brushed up against them ‘accidentally’. Joel thought he was being covert, but you felt his brown eyes rove all over them. You thought maybe that he too would brush up against it sometime, but he never did. Maybe entertainment stopped at just looking, as in the magazines.

You wondered if Joel sought out men’s entertainment magazines like this. He was from before everything went to shit, so it was very possible that he did. Did he like the women in these pages, sticking their asses out and looking through the pages at him? Would he be entertained if he saw you like this?

You didn’t know that if you turned your head to your bedroom door, you would have your answer. Joel’s cock strained against his already tight jeans as he stood awestruck by your figure. He swallowed as you held on to the top of the chair and lifted your knees, one after the other and placed them on the plush seat. You arched your back, a little too much at first before reducing the curve. Your ass stuck out enticingly and he didn’t know whether to grab, squeeze, slap, or spread your cheeks apart and fuck your ass.

He should leave.

It was stupid of him to walk into your house with a box of plumbing tools to fix your shower when you hadn’t yet given him a date or time for it. Plus you were avoiding him. Running away with your little friends and picking up stuff to hide your face from his view. He was plenty sure that when he’d rung your doorbell, you weren’t always away from home.

He should leave.

Fixing the shower could wait. He could confront you some other day.

But you were putting on such a pretty little show in nothing but your panties and he was only a man. A bad one.

His boots stayed put on your hardwood floors as you enjoyed yourself in front of the mirror. You spread your knees and let your fingers between your thighs, eyes closed, lips parted and low whines escaping your lips in just a few minutes. He palmed his growing erection over his jeans, consequences of being caught be damned. He was a foul beast already. What bad was another sin on the list? Besides, you were the one who’d left the fucking door open.

Your soft whimpers grew into moans as you brought yourself closer and he forced his feet to stay put despite their urge to walk up to you and give you something to really moan about.

“Fuu– mmm Joel, pleeease.”

He let out a gasp, all his restraint flying out the window as soon as he heard his name from your lips. You couldn’t actually be doing this… There had to be another Joel in town. Younger, better looking, smarter.

Your voice grew needy and the pitch higher as you kept at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gimme it, Sir.”

No, it couldn’t be anyone else.

Joel toed his boots off and took quiet steps towards you, emboldened by the filth that spilled from your lips. If this old man was what you wanted, he wouldn’t stop himself from reaping the benefits. He wasn’t a goddamn saint. Never was.

He stopped in front of you, surprised you still hadn’t sensed his presence. As though the universe heard his thoughts, it had you open your eyes. You gasped as soon as you saw him and buckled off the chair, but Joel caught you. You shuddered, unable to cope with the sudden touch.

“J-Joel?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, touching your cheek with the back of his hand. You whined, your body molding itself against his chest. You brought a hand to his arm, feeling the rock hard muscles underneath his sleeves and your other hand worked between your legs.

Your fingers no longer felt adequate as you felt his large fingers on your cheek. “Want you, please,” you whined, desperate to return to the edge where you had been right before you saw him.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me…” he spoke dangerously, soft brown eyes clouded with a kind of desire you had longed to see in him for weeks.

“Want you…want you to be with me,” you repeated stupidly, your desperation clouding your senses too much for you to say anything else. While in the past you only wanted to get rid of your virginity, your goals had become more specific with his arrival. You wanted him. You wanted his big hands and broad shoulders, to hold on to them as you rode him. To watch his grumpy expressions turn to ecstasy under you.

“Tell me not to touch you,” he said, his tone low and almost threatening. Any other threat from him, you would’ve heeded. But not this one.

“Touch me!”

It was as though something in him snapped at your words. While darkness only loomed over him before, it now completely took over.The hand that previously only caressed your cheek now wrapped itself around your neck. Before you could completely process the move, his other hand slapped yours away. He replaced two of your puny fingers with his middle finger, eliciting a strained moan from you.

“Touching yourself to a Playboy magazine, huh?”

You only nodded, unable to form words now that a fantasy of yours had finally come to life.

“Dirty little thing…Thought you were a nice girl and all. Helpin’ out at the clinic, head buried in books all the time. Turns out you actually got your head in dirty magazines.”

You whined, your pussy clenching and gushing around his finger at the way he was speaking to you. The same man who insisted on calling you Ma’am despite your protests was calling you a dirty girl now. The veil of respectability seemed to have floated away at the sight of you naked and pleasuring yourself. Had you known that this was all you needed to get Joel Miller to touch you, you would’ve done it much sooner.

He added another finger, the girth of him enough to stretch you more than you had done for yourself. You brought a hand up to his shoulder and fisted his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself to.

“You ever been taken by a man, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone too cool and casual for what he was doing to you. You shuddered, partly from his phrasing– taken, he said. Taken. Like you were a thing. Like the women in the magazines positioned so uncomfortably just so their breasts could look a certain way for the picture. Printed on the cover page with the words Entertainment for Men written on top. You shook your head, feeling small as you confessed it for the first time.

“Any man?”

“N-no,” you managed to breathe out, whimpering at the way the bulge beneath his jeans twitched at your simple answer. He took a step to position himself behind you, letting you lean your back against his chest. The angle at which he touched your pussy changed, opening your world up to a wonderful new kind of pleasure.

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me,” he whispered in your neck, making you shiver. His thumb roamed between your legs as far as they could reach, caressed you gently, his softness with you contradicting his warning about men like him. The hand around your neck slithered down your torso, cold air forcing you to face your new desire of having your breath kept hostage.

He took your left breast in hand, squeezing the flesh like someone starved would hold on to a piece of bread. It felt more like a punctuation to the warning he issued than a part of sex. Just then, his thumb between your legs stopped its search, stopping a little above the fingers inside you.

A moan you didn’t recognize as yours at first filled the room and you buckled forward. Blunt nails sunk into the flesh of your breast as he saved you before you could fall. He hauled you back up, making you collide against his chest.

You gasped and quickly grabbed the hand between your legs, the sensation too intense for you to know what to do with. His thumb kept on, rolling over something there that set your person on fire.

“Fuuuck! Joel– I– I– hnnng–”

“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned, keeping at whatever the hell he was doing to make you feel this way.

“Please… I don’t– what was that?”

You felt his chest rumble before you heard his laughter. Heat rose to your face and your throat felt strained though there was no hand around it anymore.

“Never touched your clit? Do you even know what that is?” He mocked, the cruelty somehow not repelling you from him. He forced you to look up at him. Your heart lurched at how close you were to his face. You could see every gray hair, every minute blemish and line.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man? You don’t know what you’re handing me on a silver platter. I ain’t like the other guys in town. I walked across the fucking country and lemme tell ya, there’s no pretty things like you out there. I’m starved.”

“Take me, then,” you begged, using his own words from earlier. “Please. Whatever you– a-aaah!”

He ramped up the pressure on that spot– your clit– and with it, took your ability to speak coherently. It was as though he’d done it on purpose. You hated it. To be so bereft of control. To be a puppet in someone’s hand. For someone to acquaint themselves with parts of you that you didn’t know of. But it was too much to fight, so you let go. Let him play with you. Take you. Like a thing.

You renounced control of your lips too, his name slipping out effortlessly like it did when he caught you. Then you renounced what was left of your dignity and began begging relentlessly. For what, you didn’t know. In his hand, you’d gone from woman to pupper, your strings pulled by a man, your voice now his. Sounds that would be indiscernible from that of a wounded animal emanated from somewhere deep within you.

Perhaps none of this was real. Why else did your own voice grow so distant from you? Why did your vision become blurry? Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Your eyes clenched shut, depriving you of your blurred vision. Your toes curled. You wanted to shrink into yourself, shrink away from all this goodness. You went higher and higher, soaring like a bird. Every nerve ending in your body felt electrified, awoken like one switch turned on every light on last winter’s Christmas tree.

You let out a loud cry, the soaring bird in you reaching its peak before beginning its fall to the ground. You could hear your breaths again, labored but doing everything to stabilize itself. Your thighs still shook. Your chest rose and fell. A hand caressed your hand. Behind you, something strong supported your back. Kept you from falling backward.

“Joel…”

“I know, I know…” he whispered into your head. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, surprised to see a softer visage. He picked you up off the chair like you’d seen him lift giant logs before. With ease. You didn’t protest as he carried you. Didn’t protest when he laid you out on your bed.

He bent down and picked something up. No questions, no instructions. He simply spread your leg away from the other. Cold air touched the gushing mess dripping out of you and you shivered, feeling a sudden need to cover yourself but unable to defy him. His hand was on your pussy again. His hardened, calloused fingers behind a soft fabric this time. He wiped upwards, collecting the mess he made out of you. When he lifted the fabric up, you realized it was your panties.

He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and then looked back at your face, the intensity of his gaze making you want to run. Problem was your weak legs wouldn’t take you anywhere. You didn’t screw your eyes shut. You didn’t pull your blanket to conceal yourself. You looked back at him, defiant. Like you were trying to prove something. I can handle a man like you.

“Be a good girl from now.”

That and a condescending pat on your pussy and he was gone.

⌘

Part 2

#joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller age gap #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #all that i've inflicted on the world

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konigsblog · 8 months ago

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as my favorite könig smut writer you’re the only one i trust to do dbf!neighbor!könig x early 20s!reader with the dirtiest, sloppiest, most toe curling age gap smut 💗💗

dbf!neighbour!könig?! sign me the fuck up, i could write a whole series for that filthy man!

synopsis; your father's best friend, könig, has been struggling to get himself into a stable, loyal relationship lately. luckily for him, you offer him some sort of release.

tw/cw; age gap/difference, early 20s! reader x late forties!könig, weed use, blowjob, mutual masturbation, PinV, tell me if i missed anything. MDNI 18+ 🍃

photo credits; @ave661

You've had the hots for your father's best friend for quite a while.

He doesn't live very far from you at all. In fact, he lives next door and visits your father pretty often to smoke together and talk about whatever is bothering him, which usually includes topics like König's failed relationships and inability to hold a woman for longer than a week.

Aside from wanting to rant about his horrible, fucked-up love life and to smoke weed with your old man, he wants to see you as well—maybe even more than speak with your father.

When your father is busy doing something else, like washing the dishes or cleaning his car outside, König will excuse himself to the bathroom and will sneak into your bedroom to admire the place. You have plans to move out soon, but currently, you stay with your father inside of your childhood home. König's hand "mysteriously" sneaks into your clothing hamper and begins looking for a pair of panties.

It's alright, you won't notice surely...

And you can't deny your attraction to him. The sound of his familiar, accented voice leaves your knees weak and your panties damp and soaked with the thoughts running through your dirty mind at the moment. You smile at König and talk to him about your plans for college, watching as his eyes flicker from your chest to your eyes, your nipples turning into little stiff buds at the cold breeze in the living room.

Today was like any other saturday; your father was away down the road for some beers with his other friends in the afternoon while König had just arrived home from another fucked-up date, ending like the rest of his dates have. He looks dishevelled and in dire need of some sort of release. He's visibly and clearly pent up and exhausted, rolling himself a joint to relax, leaning against his porch and closing his eyes tightly. He's deep in thought and doesn't realise that you've sneaked up on him, practically jumping out of his skin at your sudden presence.

“Shit, Mäusi— I didn’t see you there... What’s wrong, dear?” He smiles forcefully. He doesn't want to bother you with his shitty life since you're probably all worked up from college and stressed out, but you insist that he tells you what's bothering him. It doesn't take a lot of convincing since it's hard to deny you, especially when you say that you can help him if he explains.

He invites you inside and offers you a joint, in which you gratefully accept and seat yourself beside him, ready to act as a therapist for him.

“Another fucked date with another woman who seems interested in me, but actually isn’t. It seems like I can’t please any women.” He admits through gritted teeth. At the sight of his frustration, you place your hand on his thigh teasingly. “Do you think there is anything I can do to help?” You ask quietly with a mischievous and playful smile plastered on your face. Your voice is seductive and sultry, eyes half-lidded and lustful. God, You really are a tease, huh?

“And what are you hinting at, Liebling?”

König always thought he'd be the one to initiate, but right now, he was struggling to keep his composure and quickly found himself falling for your acts of seduction. You lowered yourself onto your knees and began to unzip his jeans, cocking your head to the side at the sight of his aching cock springing out in your face. You giggled while König pulled his large hands into fists, throwing his head back at the wet sensation of your lips wrapped around his swollen, weeping cock. He'd been dreaming of this moment for months, Liebe.

The things you do to König fucked-up head, Good Lord. He couldn't help the sounds of pleasure running through his lips, his dick painful at your tight grip and pleasure.

His sounds came out pained and guttural, pleased but so on edge and anxious of what your father would think about him after being so touchy-feely with his best friend's daughter. He curses himself out for agreeing to this, feeling like such a pervert despite yearning for more of your addictive, sweet touch. “Feel good?” You question him, knowing he'll get frustrated and will force your head down onto his leaking boner. He huffs and puffs, gripping your hair in a tight fist and pushes your head down with a loud moan leaving his mouth, choking on his groans and grunts.

You coat König's lengthy shaft in your spit to get him slick enough, before seating yourself onto his big lap, your hand stroking and fisting his dick. He slides his fingers into your hole with his eyes wide at the sensation and texture of your gummy walls. He chokes on his pleased sounds as you tease his tip by rolling your soft thumb over his uncut, creamy tip and feel as your folds are stuffed with his thick digits. He pumps them into your soaking cunt and admires the sticky mess left between your fingers, curling his fingers deep inside your gummy cunt.

“C’mere, Taube—Kiss me, please.” He grumbles out, getting obsessive with the pleasure you offer him. He places his lips against yours, making out with you messily and sloppy, the effects of the marijuana leaving him relaxed and at ease with all his concerns and worries forgotten about. His tongue rolls over your bottom lip while you squeeze his dick, whimpering into the sweet kiss. König's fingers begin to pump into you even faster, pulling away to beg you to sit on his cock. You're on edge and shaking pathetically, nearing your orgasm but not quite fully there.

“Sit on it, dear. Don’t be so shy, not now you can’t.” The smell of nicotine sticks to his skin, your thighs shaking as you begin to ease down onto his weeping, veiny dick. König doesn't hold back the sounds of his arousal and euphoria as it burns through his large body, bucking his broad and sturdy hips into your body while cursing you out for being such a dirty tease. You leave König totally obsessed after finally receiving some action after so long.

You bounce on his lap while he fucks his bulbous cock deep into your drooling slit. You gasp and roll your eyes to the back of your head at the ache andd pleasure between your thighs, unable to stop letting out the most perverted and pleased noises. You can feel as König hits your cervix with each thrust and his heavy balls slap against your rear as he drives his hips against your tight rear. Your eyes fill with tears at the pain and stretch, his girthy dick leaving you breathless as you admire the state he leaves your pussy in; raw and sensitive.

König can't hold himself back when you begin to lose control. Sweet, pearly droplets of your sweet arousal run down his boner and coat his length, allowing him to fuck you even harder and deeper with ease as he uses your sweet juices as lube.

“That’s it, little one—God, look how well you’re taking’ me, princess. You’re a mess, such an addictive mess, huh? You’re gonna be an obsession of mine, that’s for sure.” König grits his teeth as he bucks his hips into you even harder, his eyes shut tightly as your walls clamp down around him one last time, filled with ropes of his white creaminess. You pant and heave at the stomach bulge caused by his loads and ropes of his hot release. You grip his jaw to make out with him, your body sweaty and hot with König's cheeks flushed a rosy pink.

You have to sneak back home before your father comes back and asks what you were doing over at his best friend's house. König would be slaughtered if he found out the truth.

You just have to act all innocent, as if König's milky and potent load is oozing out of your hole and dampening your panties at the dinner table.

#also i'm honoured to be your favourite könig writer my dear 🥹🥹#means so much to me (glad we're all depraved for this man...)#könig x you #könig x reader #konig x reader #konig x female reader #konig x reader smut #konig x you #könig #könig call of duty #könig fanfiction #konig call of duty #cod konig #konig mw2 #konig #tw: age difference #tw: age gap #orla speaks

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demaparbat-hp · 3 months ago

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Hey, @geothewriter, was it necessary to break my heart?

A little thing for Vermillion Seas, Cardinal Skies, a truly magnificent fic that has left yours truly rolling on the ground more than once. I'll post the entire artwork once it's finished! For now, you get a little sneak peek.

Start reading the fic here. You can find Chapter 19 (from which this scene comes from) here!

#zutara #atla #zuko #avatar the last airbender #katara #atla fanart #prince zuko #atla art #zutara au #Vermillion Seas Cardinal Skies #katara x zuko #zuko x katara #atla zuko #katara fanart #atla katara #zuko art #zuko fanart #katara of the southern water tribe #zutara fanart #zutara fanfiction #zutara fic #zutara art #I have been wanting to work on this scene for ages—and now it's finally on the workshop!!!!#It truly is heartbreaking. A wonderful way to shatter my soul in meagre pieces and watch them drift away into the void.#They are so soft so wholesome such idiots in love #And it breaks me (and I love it)#Anyway I wanted to share a little something today and I thought this was perfect #There has been a lot of negativity going around the Fandom lately #So this is my attempt to cheer us all up #Go read the fic! Go obsess over these two idiots! VSCS is an absolute marvel to read and think about. I swear it will not disappoint you ❤️

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taashyvashedan · 19 days ago

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- Little Dancing Dragon -

I'm sure being a farm girl, Harding has simple interests to pass the time. One of those things being dancing. Given its something she enjoys, Taash would naturally want to give the gift of the 1-2-Step.

The only issue is their height.

Taash seeks help from Emmrich. Poor man.

Emmrich would be so pleased and invested in this date idea. Of course this is both Taash and Harding he's thinking about, so his fault for trying to be wholesome.

#dragon age veilguard #taash #dragon age #taashybanter #da:tv #dragon age the veilguard #party banter #fanfiction #headcanon #emmrich volkarin #da:tv emmrich #da: taash #itty bitty dragon taash #we all know lace is a kinky freak like that #let's be real harding is probably a top #da taash #taash the dragon hunter

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tervaneula · 23 days ago

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the heir and the ronin by katterv

A somewhat reclusive clan with an heir who everyone thinks is a crime lord or something equally unsavoury?

A wandering ronin with an ill reputation and looks to match?

Will they meet and test their mettle in a battle to the death?! Uh, wait what do you mean they just went out for tea and mochi cakes–

—

This is the premise. Is this also how the story begins? Not exactly, no… but it's close enough.

Here we goooo, the first chapter! I'm having a lot of fun writing this silly thing, hope y'all have fun reading it. And please leave a kudos if you enjoyed!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

#also they're all younger than 40 here BUT because they're yokai in this au their ages don't really matter #leoichi #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt au #future leonardo #rise leonardo #rottmnt fanart #rottmnt fanfiction #samurai rabbit #usagi chronicles #yuichi usagi #usagi yuichi #tervdraws #tervdrabbles #nqk adjacent #yet another nqk au au

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fuckmeyer · 1 year ago

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if smeyer wasn't a coward vamp!Bella would have immediately eaten her daughter Rensesmem whole-hog like Saturn Devouring His Son

#twilight #twilight renaissance #bella swan #the twilight saga #breaking dawn #smeyer wanted to model all her books off of classic literature: romeo & juliet - wuthering heights - pride & prejudice #AMATEUR HOUR #HEY SMEYER I GOT A FUCKIN STORY TO MODEL YOUR TWILIGHT FANFICTION AFTER #BREAKING DAWN BOOK ONE: Bella fucks Edward for his power & breaks his stone dick in the process - & lo! Ravioli is born in the carnage!#Bella becomes a vamp. she takes over the Cullen coven AND the Volturi bc honestly fuck everyone here only Bella is Cool and Right #oh and vamp hybrids are now legal so vamps start gettin it on. hybrids everywhere. humans who? welcome to the Golden Age baybeeee #BD BOOK 2: Alice comes to Queen Bella with a vision: 'lmao bestie the prophecy says ur getting ur shit smacked'#oh_fuck.avi #Bella begins DEVOURING ALL THE CULLENS INCLUDING RAVIOLI so they can't fulfill the prophecy #vampire fluid contains 11 secret herbs & spices so it's lip-smackin finger-lickin good #omg but ONE vampire was hidden away........ gasp #surprise bitch! it's Ravioli!#turns out Bella mistook Ravioli for LITERAL Ravioli (Chef Boyardee Beefaroni to be exact)#Raviolo comes back and makes Bella throw up! bleh! the Cullens (& Beefaroni) are freed!#together with Benjamin Ravioli now rules over the Cullens and the vamp world #Bella is imprisoned #FUCK Bella #FUCK this story #still a better one than BD tho #the end

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rookinthecrownest · 21 days ago

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Bedtime Stories For a Demon: The Day The World Disappeared, Part III (Lucanis x Rook Fanfic)

Rook is trapped in the Fade. Spite is determined to get her out.

Word Count: ~ 3.7 k

Part I

Part II

Spite Dellamorte is in the raw Fade once again.

He had followed the journal’s essence back to the ruins of her village the moment Lucanis finally fell asleep earlier that evening.

Lucanis had taken to planning the approach of Rook’s rescue with Emmrich and Bellara. They spent hours agonizing over the logistics of getting to Rook’s village in rural Tevinter. Whether they’d sail from Antiva with the Crows or travel inland with the Veil Jumpers. How many mages they’d need, how much Lyrium to bring, whether or not the plan with the Resonance Amplifiers would even work.

Spite didn’t have the patience for any of it. He wouldn’t wait until they were in Tevinter to get her out.

So, he comes to her corner of the Fade while Lucanis dreams, and stares at the void.

The prison that holds Rook captive floats in the ruins of her family home. Harsh waves of magical energy ripple out, causing distortions in the surrounding environment. It reminds him of the Ossuary that Lucanis had kept them both a prisoner of, even after their escape. A little pocket of the Fade, within the Fade. Inescapable – without the right key.

Reminds him of Rook, the key to every lock that was keeping them trapped.

He would not let her suffer the same fate. If he wasn’t going to get her out for his own sake – that he enjoyed Rook’s antics, then he would do it to keep Lucanis from being paralyzed again. Better yet, he would do it to spite the Dread Wolf, that he may wrench victory from the God’s grasp by freeing the lynch pin to his downfall. The thought made him positively giddy with excitement.

Spite feels the journal tugging him towards her, bringing him closer the black hole’s orbit. So dense, so powerful, he thinks he’ll be split apart if he enters its gravitational pull.

And yet he must. So, he will.

Spite hesitantly unfurls spectral black-and-purple wings to give him more stability against the force of the prison’s magic. The demon braces himself and takes a few hesitant steps towards the black hole. The strength of the pull is enough to tear him to pieces, even at this distance. It feels like being shred apart from the inside and the outside at the same time – pushed and pulled into infinite directions. This prison was not going to make it easy to enter.

It’s a good thing he is as stubborn as Rook.

The essence of the journal thrums loudly in his chest, resonating with the pull of the prison. It was calling to her, and she, knowingly or not, was calling back.

She. Wants. Out. Dread Wolf. Wants Her In.

And that was all the motivation he needed to take another step forward.

But the closer he got to the prison, the more difficult it became to even think straight. He was being crushed under the weight of raw power. It was bearing down on him from every direction. He holds a gloved hand out in front of him, and it distorts like it’s been put under water. The demon growls in frustration and inches closer.

He’s near enough to reach out and touch the void, but the air around it is so heavy he can barely lift his arm. It’s like moving through molasses. He clenches his teeth. With a beat of his wings, and a low snarl of frustration, Spite does manage to touch it. Spite’s hand distorts such that his fingers are stretched out like the … what was it called – spaghetti, that Lucanis is so fond of? Searing pain shoots up his arm, like something he’s never experienced before. He grits his teeth. The deep pit of black ripples at his touch but it doesn’t open.

Spite, not one to be bested by some strange magical thing he doesn’t quite understand, beats his wing and launches himself closer, attempting to put his whole hand through. The prison both pulls and repulses him, the pressure nearly buckling his legs.

When it doesn’t budge, Spite fights gravity to raise his free arm to his chest and instead, focuses on the journal.

He grips his chest, and pulls at its essence, drawing as much power from it as he can.

The familiar blue light erupts from his chest and mixes with the void, two magics entwining and repulsing like oil and water. The waves of energy are just powerful enough to create a small opening, tiny enough that he can see the Fade within the Fade. It looks like another replica of the current Arvanitum – but this one is not in ruins. It looks perfectly preserved, as if frozen in time.

Spite clenches his jaw and with no small effort, brings his other hand to try and pull the prison apart. His attempts falter as the prison continues to reject him, but through the small opening the demon spies Rook’s childhood home, standing on the hill with soft orange candlelight flickering through the windows.

The journal reacts more strongly now, acting like a tether between him and the girl inside. The tugging in his chest becomes more uncomfortable, almost painful. The opening gets marginally larger, but not enough for him to pass through.

Finally, he feels the weight of futility falling on his shoulders, as his strength gives out and the opening collapses before him. Spite retreats back several steps, until he’s out of range of the prison’s gravitational pull. The demon lets out a frustrated growl.

Mierda.

He doesn’t like failure. But if he’s learned anything from watching Rook, failure is a teacher.

And the failed attempt does give him an idea.

It’s not something he’s ever tried, but instinctually knows he should be able to do. After all, he chose this form – chose to look like his host. He should be able to choose something else. And they are in the raw Fade - it’s much easier for him to be what he is here.

He thinks with a smaller form, and more speed, he can use the journal to force his way into the prison.

Spite pictures his and Lucanis’ namesake.

A Crow. I will send. My regards.

The demon flutters his wings, imagines them smaller, more compact. Shrinks himself down to the size of a small bird. The process is painful and uncomfortable, like bones breaking and reforming. When the process is done, Spite takes a moment to consider his new form. The feathers, claws, and sharp beaks – he likes. But at this size, he was hardly menacing. Thankfully, he doesn’t need menacing for this particular job.

With a beat of his wings and launches into the air. Spite, although smaller, can still feel the journal’s essence pulsating behind a plume of black and purple feathers.

Drawing on the power of the journal, he circles the air above the prison.

He flies a little higher, folds his wings against his back, and dives towards the prison. As Spite draws closer to the gravitational pull, that familiar feeling of being crushed under the weight of unimaginable pressure starts building, but he won’t let it slow him down. He pushes through the pain and keeps falling.

Falling, falling, and falling.

And the magic keeps ripping, tearing, and crushing.

Just when he thinks he can’t take it anymore, that he’ll be torn to pieces, he manages to push through the walls of the prison.

Spite lands on the dirt ground in front of her family home. The lights are on, and he can see movement from one of the upstairs windows. A small, lone shadow, moving about. The journal flickers brightly, and there’s that familiar tugging sensation in his chest.

Rook.

~*~

Madeleina Mercar mills about her room while her father sleeps, and her mother tends to the shop downstairs. She has lavender-scented candles filling the room with their sweet, heady, aroma. It smells like mother, like home.

And she is so very happy to be home.

She hums an old lullaby her father used to play on the lyre when she was smaller. She’s outgrown lullabies, but not stories. Never stories. She wonders which one he’ll tell tonight. He regaled her with the story of the Sleeping Princess, her favourite, last night.

And the night before that.

Madeleina shakes her head.

There was a long time between now and story time. There were chores to be done, and after, she would go down and help her mother with the shop.

As she did the day before.

And the day before that.

Her mother had come in earlier and asked her to organize her books and clothes. Although her work is inherently messy, she despises mess. A contradiction the young Madeleina finds both endearing and frustrating in equal measure.

So, she shuffles back and forth, carting books into the small bookshelf in the corner, and haphazardly folded clothes into wooden drawers.

She’s about to start making her bed, when a rhythmic tapping noise gets her attention first. Madeleina, mid-step, turns towards the sound. She spies a small crow, one with unusual glowing purple eyes and brilliant black-and-violet plumage, sitting on her windowsill. Familiar purple eyes that turn her stomach.

She thinks it strange but decides to continue with her chores. She’s seeing things. It was just a trick of the light. Stop staying up so late, her mother’s phantom voice chides in the back of her mind.

The blanket is barely in her hands when the tapping, more aggressive now, resumes.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The crow fluffs its feathers and tilts its head innocently. Clearly not going anywhere. By now, she’s willing to consider the possibility she may not be seeing things.

“Rook”

The blanket drops from her hands. Her mouth hangs open stupidly.

The crow was speaking? To her?

“Let. Me. In” The crow demands, in a low, gravelly voice. Familiar. Like it’s eyes.

She doesn’t know what to do but stand there, still as a tree.

Animals don’t usually speak. Or have glowing purple eyes. It must be a demon of some sorts, come to possess her. Madeleina wants to run to her father’s bedroom, wake him and tell him to make it go away, but her feet stay planted in place. She wants to scream but only a soft breath escapes her lips. She wants her heart to start beating with fear and adrenaline.

But it doesn’t. It’s perfectly calm.

If this thing is a demon, then it’s one her body doesn’t feel uneasy around. And that frightens her.

“Let. Me. In.” The crow repeats and taps on the window again for good measure.

This was a terrible idea.

It’s going to possess me, it’s going to possess me. Madeleina repeats the sentence like a mantra as her feet carry her to the window. She wants to say they’re doing so against her will, but a small part of her knows that would be a lie.

The latch clicks as the window swings open, and the crow wastes no time flitting about her room in a daze of black and violet, before settling on the back of her chair. The young girl merely folds her hands in front of her and regards it wearily.

“Are you a demon?” She asks quietly, after a moment.

The bird nods. “I. Am. Spite.”

“Have you … have you come to possess me?”

It tilts his head, and almost looks offended at the question. “Come. To bring. You home. Rook.”

Madeleina mirrors the bird and tilts her head too. “I am home” She replies firmly.

“Not here. Not. Your home.” Spite says, “Come. With me. Rook.”

The young girl’s small fingers make fists at her side. What a stubborn little demon.

“You keep calling me Rook. Why? I don’t know that name”

“You. Are. Rook” The bird answers.

Madeleina shakes her head, and her thick ropey braid swings over her shoulder. “No, I’m not. I’m … I’m …”

I am … I’m … My name is …

It ruffles its feathers and looks like it’s about to peck her eyes out of her skull.

“You. Are. Rook.” The bird’s unnaturally deep voice says firmly, “Smell. Like Lavender and Rosewater. Chocolate and Cinnamon and Thunderstorms.”

It points a long, sharp beak towards the window.

“Lucanis. Waiting for you. And Your Stories”

Madeleina takes a few steps back and sits on the edge of her bed. She slowly ponders the name, turns it over in her mind like a stone she’s about to whip across a lake.

Lucanis.

Why is that name so familiar? The smell of chocolate and coffee fills her nostrils again. The warmth of a fire lingers on her skin. Then, the taste of something she’s never had on her tongue. It’s sweet, doughy, and powdered with cinnamon. She doesn’t have a name for it, but she knows it.

Madeleina closes her eyes and focuses on the new sensations – smell, touch, taste. All that is missing is sight. Why can’t she see, in her mind’s eye, what the crow is talking about? It was like trying to recall a dream right when you wake. A memory that slips through her fingers like trying to hold water.

“I …” She starts slowly, not quite sure what she wants to say. A sentence half-forms on her lips, then quickly unspools at the seams. Her lips press into a hard line, as she finds her confidence, “I don’t know that name. You must be mistaking me for someone else”

The bird flutters its tail feathers, irate at her rebuttal.

“You. Are. Rook” It repeats the same line with a surety that frightens her.

She doesn’t want there to be truth to it.

“You. Don’t remember.” The bird continues, “I. Will make. You remember.”

Madeleina wraps her arms around her knees, drawing in close to herself. She regards the crow carefully. “How do you even know me?”

“Freed us from. The Ossuary. Lucanis knows you. Lucanis and I. Are one. You made it so”

The Ossuary. That name should mean nothing to her. But the scent of brine and sulphur fill her nostrils, despite being hundreds of miles from the Nocen sea. The faint sensation of something horrible happening, in some place far, far, away.

“I’ve… done no such thing. And as I said before, I don’t know this ‘Lucanis’ you keep mentioning” Madeleina says, a touch more defensive. She points towards the window, “I think it’s time for you to leave, Mr. Crow – er, Spite”

The crow fluffs up and settles onto the chair. A round, black-and-purple ball of defiance. Frustratingly true to its name and nature.

“I will not.”Spite replies, “Not. Without you.”

Madeleina huffs. She has half a mind to pick the bird up and throw it out the window. It is only the sharp beak that keeps her from doing it. That, and she promised her mother she wouldn’t trouble animals any further. Although, she’s certain her mother would make allowances for demons who’ve overstayed their welcome.

“Fine, then I’m going to sleep. You can stay there all day and all night. I’m not leaving” With a dramatic flourish, she turns towards the wall, throws her blanket over her, and pretends to nap. She shuts her eyes tight and hugs her blanket close. The picture of petulant, childish resistance.

The bird clicks and grinds its beak but doesn’t speak any further. Nor does she hear the fluttering of wings flying out of her window, as she hoped to.

“Once. Upon a time. In a land far. Far away” Spite begins after a few minutes of silence, in that familiar-but-not-quite patterned and disjointed speech.

Madeleina’s eyes fly open, but she doesn’t move. Only listens.

“King and Queen. They wanted. A baby. Couldn’t have one!”

Her heart beats uncomfortably quick in her chest. She tries to keep her breathing even as he continues.

“Queen goes. To a Spirit. Demon in disguise. Uses blood magic to have the baby”

It’s not the content of the story that’s making her nervous, it’s the emotions and memories they’re stirring up. The Sleeping Princess was a popular enough tale that it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for even a demon to rehash the plot, albeit clumsily. But there’s something more to it – a missing piece of this very strange puzzle.

“Lucanis. Waits for what happens next. But you stop. And take a break” The crow continues, “You stop. And his heart. Beats faster. He waits for you. Only you.”

There’s the smell of chocolate and cinnamon again. The warmth of a fire. But now she has a faint memory of a fireplace, one very different from the modest mantle in her home. It’s larger, more ornate. Made of a different kind of stone, she thinks. Madeleina is sitting on a wooden chair across from someone who’s face she can’t quite make out. The form is shadowed, but clearly that of a man’s. She couldn’t discern his features properly. She takes a sip of something warm, and he does the same.

Madeleina feels like they’ve done this many times and never at all.

“You show him. Wonders in front. Of his eyes. Stories brought to life. With magic. He measures nights. By your tales. Days. Waiting for the next.”

Madeleina covers her ears and curls up into a ball.

No, no, no.

This isn’t right. These memories are not hers. She doesn’t know this demon. The Ossuary means nothing to her. Nor does a man named Lucanis.

She is … She is a girl who lives in Arvanitum, with her parents. The baker and the bard and their daughter. Madeleina plays in the forest and learns the lyre and lute, she reads books and listens to her father’s stories every night. She’s learning to bake tartes from her mother, but always ends up burning them.

She is not what this demon says.

She is not Rook.

“Come. With me. Come. Ho- “

Spite squawks in surprise as her bedroom door flies open. The demonic crow escapes through the open window not even a moment later, as her mother enters her room.

Eurydice spies her daughter curled up on the bed, covering her ears.

“Darling, are you alright? I heard voices – “

Madeleina shoots up quickly and hugs her mother tightly the moment she’s within arm’s reach. A surprised ‘Oompf’ escapes her mother’s lips, but she circles her arms around the girl a moment later.

There’s another memory, different from the ones the crow’s story evoked. This one gave her an even stranger sense of deja-vu. An argument between them that happened on a day just like this. Something minor or silly, she thinks. Madeleina spent the rest of the day hiding out by the edge of the forest, drawing doodles in the dirt with a stick until it was dark. Orpheus had come to collect her on his way back from work, and she was still scowling the entire way home.

So much time wasted.

She hugs her mother closer, and tears are falling before any words even leave her mouth.

“I’m s-sorry” Madeleina whimpers.

Her mother is eerily silent as she starts brushing her fingers through Madeleina’s braided hair, and keeps an arm wrapped tightly around her.

A little too tightly.

~ *~

Lucanis Dellamorte awakes from slumber with a violent jolt.

Spite had come crashing back into him without warning, sending every fiber of his being on high alert.

He makes a strangled, gasping noise and shoots upright from his spot on Rook’s couch, with his heart pounding in his chest. He’s once again bathed in the familiar blue-green light of the panoramic ocean view in her room. Every time he wakes up here, there’s a small pang of fear that he’s back in the Ossuary. It quickly settles when he’s able to touch the velveteen fabric of the couch and hear the familiar clicking of her magical device in the corner. Little reminders that this was a place of comfort, of safety, and not the seat of his worst memories.

As Lucanis is busy gathering his thoughts, Spite wastes no time manifesting in front of him. The demon looks more irate than usual. He’s pacing back and forth, with gloved fingers curled into fists at his side.

Lucanis takes a deep breath, steadies himself and speaks.

“What happened, Spite?”

The demon stops his frantic pacing and scowls at its host.

“Rook. Is. A. Child.” He spits out. “Doesn’t. Listen to me! No one. Listens. To Spite!”

Lucanis’ face drops, and he’s on his feet a moment later.

“You saw her? In the Fade?” If the demon had a body, Lucanis would have a death grip on his shoulders.

Spite throws a hand in the air, “Tried. To get her. To come home. She won’t. Listen.”

Lucanis frowns. He’s so impatient he wants to leap out of his own skin.

“What did you see, Spite? I need to know” He doesn’t bother hiding the desperation in his voice. He doesn’t need to hide anything with Spite anymore.

“Dread Wolf’s prison. Made her small. A child again. Doesn’t remember us.”

His heart sinks into the pit of his stomach. The prison was making her forget Spite? Forget him? The situation was worse than he could have imagined. Fear and anxiety and horror clawed their way into his chest, putting down deep roots like he hadn’t experienced since his time in the Ossuary. This couldn’t be happening. He can’t lose her like this.

Spite touches the left side of his chest, where a heart would be if he was human.

“The journal. A little weaker.”

Lucanis runs a shaking hand through his hair and exhales nervously.

“She smells like blood and sulphur and iron. Dread Wolf’s blood magic. Using her memories. To keep her trapped.” Spite continues, before putting a spectral hand on Lucanis’ shoulder.

“Running. Out of time. Need to get. Rook out. Now.”

So, Solas used blood magic to go through her memories so as to keep her locked away. Lucanis can’t say he’s surprised the conniving Fen’Harel would pull a stunt like that. It does little to settle his temper, though. White hot rage bubbles under his skin, crackling like lightning. Spite feels it too, as he merges back with his host. Eyes burning bright violet as their spectral wings unfurled.

Lucanis doesn’t know how they were going to get her out.

But he does know that his target list went from two gods, to three.

--------------------------

A huge shoutout to @teawithshakespeare for helping me out with this chapter, it honestly wouldn't have happened without ur help. Srsly thank you so much for letting me ramble in your DM's about these two!!

Thanks again to everyone for reading, I appreciate you all!!

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pandorainmymind · 2 years ago

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giving you an orgasm : atwow headcanon

[jake, neytiri, tonowari, ronal, neteyam, lo’ak, kiri, tsireya, ao’nung] x fem!reader

smut … obviously

tag list: @gurlypopsstuff @lizziesfirstwife @nijirozzz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @areislol @philiasoul and also tagging @netesully

jake:

⊹˖⁺ he wants you cumming around his dick. it's just so much more intimate and erotic to make you cum from his strategic hip thrusts.

⊹˖⁺ like he would stay in your pussy all day if he could. you just take him so well every time. just goes absolutely feral feeling you spasm around him, calling out his name, all of it

⊹˖⁺ coos you through your high, "that's it babygirl, give it all to me" and "you sound so pretty crying for me"

⊹˖⁺ likes to fuck down into you, while seeing every one of your expressions... so missionary is where he's at (don't get him wrong he loves spicing it up too)

⊹˖⁺ he's gonna let out the most guttural moans and grunts - omg and he knows it makes you crazy, clenching around him after every sound from him.

⊹˖⁺ it may make him just a litttttle cocky. "you're so dirty baby, i love it"

⊹˖⁺ likes to press the rough pad of his thumb straight onto your sensitive bud, making small circles as his thrusting slows slightly. just waiting for you to whine out for more

⊹˖⁺ i'm just saying - when he sees you shaking from pure pleasure when you do reach your high .. he's gonna wanna bust right there in you. ... AHHH breeding kink breeding kinkkkkkkkk

his hips snapped expertly straight into your sopping cunt as you frantically threw your arms around his neck. desperately tugging him closer to your face as pleading moans spilt past your lips. "j-jake" squeezing tight around his thick cock, he chuckles feeling the fluttering of your walls accompanied by your babbling cries.

"what is it baby? my cocks too much hmm?" he teases, a low grunt rumbling in his throat as your eyes roll back and your head bobbles to the side. unable to give him a response as he drops his large hand down to fondle your flushed clit.

“i know you love it though y/n, love having me fill you up mmh?”

neytiri:

⊹˖⁺ she wants to rip an orgasm out of you by her fingers

⊹˖⁺ the warmth of your wet heat actually makes her own pussy drip with arousal. it turns her on so much just absolutely abusing the spongy bundle of nerves of your g-spot.

⊹˖⁺ loves to shove her fingers into either her mouth or yours - after you cum, to taste your release (or she'll suck on her fingers, then shove them in your mouth to taste her)

⊹˖⁺ while she fingers you with such diligence, she's gonna take your nipples between her lips at least once, just absolutely making the pleasure heighten. suckling your hard nipples, lapping her tongue over the tip to tease you

⊹˖⁺ she definitely moans against the wet skin of your body as she falters her suckling AHHH

⊹˖⁺ and after she's done abusing your pussy, and the quivering from your orgasm dies down- neytiri is gonna lean down and press a soft kiss to your throbbing and soaked heat.

⊹˖⁺ thennnnnnn she's back up to kiss your lips, "you okay pretty girl?"

⊹˖⁺ she just gets so soft for you - she needs to ask if you're okay after the two of you finish having any form of sex

"you're practically sucking my fingers in baby." she purrs softly, a satisfied smile engraved across her cheeks. and you're quick to nod your head with eager, bringing your hand down to touch your throbbing clit. immediately resulting in neytiri slapping it away with her free hand, "ah - nope, you can't touch"

mewling out desperately from her working hand you give her a small frown - despite the glassed over eyes of pleasure you have. "this pussy belongs to me"

her words earn a staggered response of a nod and moan from you alongside a wiggle of your hips. "mmmh - yours..” you confirm without any hesitation. and neytiri gives you a proud gleam as she towers over your convulsing body. falling deeper in lust(love) with you at the sight and response of your obedience.

“that’s right my y/n”

tonowari:

⊹˖⁺ he wants to be straight between your thighs and eating you out and when you close your thighs around his head - he is going to let out the most MELODIC MOAN.!.! pleaseeee

⊹˖⁺ the man loves eating pussy, just absolutely making out with your heat ughhhh - lapping at all your juices, pressing his tongue flat against your folds, sucking your clit... omfg

⊹˖⁺ likes to rut into the bed/ground(or whatever he can)

⊹˖⁺ he's whipped - and gets so insanely hard from just pleasing you. he likes the pain of not receiving pleasure straight away ... loves being edged by you.. even when it's not on purpose

⊹˖⁺ switch... sub leaning - you cant change my mind. (or he's a service top ...)

⊹˖⁺ likes slipping his tongue in your warm entrance, with his nose pressed right on your clit AHHHHHH. "just can't get enough of you, this pussy... oh baby"

⊹˖⁺ please reach your hands down and pull his HAIRRRR... please please pleaseeeee his hips will literally rut up in response.. SO NEEDY

tightly shutting your eyes, you throw your head back with a lewd cry and a pronounced arch of your back. the sound of tonowari’s tongue slapping against the wetness of your core fills your ears and the blush only dusted across your cheeks, turns vibrant.

“w-wari, please” you whine out, fisting the hair of the large man settled down in between your legs. which leads into a vibrating sensation to wash over your heat as he moans from your tugging.

parting just for a couple seconds to speak, tonowari gulps down the remnants of your slick and looks up at you with hooded eyes.

“i’ll give you whatever you want y/n, just don’t quit pulling my hair” his words almost slur together as he felt in a daze, his raging cock grinding down into the matted flooring of your shared marui pod.

as he dives back to work, your hands embedded in his thick curly hair tug just slightly more as you pull him closer into your heat, his nose pressing up against your sensitive clit.

“oh-! tonowari.. ngh, don’t stop!”

ronal:

⊹˖⁺ she's gonna use whatever she can to fuck one out of you (strappppp onnnnnn)

⊹˖⁺ please, she loves a power dynamic with you... likes being a bitch .. only because she knows you love it

⊹˖⁺ likes to put you on her lap, so you can sink down on her. she's gonna STAREEEEE.!..!.!!!! just seeing her 'dick' disappear inside your pretty pussy makes her mind BUZZ

⊹˖⁺ the coolness of the sea glass strapon always makes your hips jolt at first in such a surprised sensation. and every time she'll just scoff at you and bite her lip

⊹˖⁺ slightly aggressive with her fondling.. she likes squeezing your boobs together and watching your eyebrows knit together

⊹˖⁺ loves when you're vocal with her, and talk dirty back. saying "your cocks t'so good" - or like, "you're stretching me out" with your little moans

⊹˖⁺ she'll literally melt but get so horny!! loves when you're comfortable enough to actually tease back at her.

⊹˖⁺ "my needy little girl, hmm?" a seductive laugh coming from her throat.

ronal smiles deviously below you as she gives a forceful thrust of her hips up into yours. the thick and curved stature of the strapon she keeps inserted inside your sopping cunt kisses your cervix as you cry out against the side of her face.

“oh fuck- so good” you pant out, the heat of your breath fanning down across the skin of her neck. your weak voice makes her hum out in approval as her hips swivel up into yours in a new rhythm and a strong grip of her large hands on your bouncing ass.

desperately rutting your hips down with a feverish effort, ronal’s eyes trail down the backside of your body, watching how your supple flesh squishes underside her hold. “is my cock making you feel good baby? mmh?”

turning your face to press a kiss to her jaw, you moan out loudly and give her a nod. “i’m so close, please don’t stop …”

neteyam:

⊹˖⁺ he wants to slurp up every last drop of your release, loves nibbling on your clit

⊹˖⁺ mighty warrior baby boy, physically drools when he becomes face to face with your pussy. no matter how many times he's gone down on you

⊹˖⁺ doesn't want to scare you off, but if you'd let him, he'd be between your thighs all day long... tasting you is a need for him, he gets so turned on having you on his tongue.

⊹˖⁺ the two of you both make so many whines and whimpers, you - being in such euphoria and neteyam - literally being pleasured by your juices.

⊹˖⁺ he's a biter. for sure. he loves to tease you before he even presses a soft kiss to your heat.

⊹˖⁺ gives you love bites all along your inner thighs, the smoothness of your body is so tempting to cover with his markings.

⊹˖⁺ and if you ever look past his erotic look sucking on your clit, you will ALWAYS see his tail almost wagging as it moves with satisfaction

the digging grip to your thighs and suction to your clit has had your back arched and neck practically snapping for the past moments of neteyam’s pleasuring abuse. his head dove between your legs, his tongue lapping desperately against the folds and the bud of your clit, his moans melting into your heat as he never ceases.

“my nete- OH!” you cry out feeling his teeth graze over your sensitive bundle of nerves, his tongue continually licking and twisting, not leaving any spot untouched.

your hips buck into his mouth and then pull back, causing neteyam to part, “baby…i can't get enough of you,” he says with a whiny tone as his grip to your thighs tightens with a little tug, pulling you back and even closer to his face. “just because you’ve came for me twice already doesn’t mean you’re allowed to leave yet” he huffs out watching your chest rise and fall “i'm not done.”

and finishing telling you how it is, he’s immediately down and eating you out again.

lo'ak:

⊹˖⁺ he's addicted to seeing his fingers gather all your slick, and feeling you clench around him

⊹˖⁺ it lowkey edges him, just from him imagining his fingers as his cock

⊹˖⁺ he's a horny boy, just one look from you with your eyes practically crossed and your mouth hung open in silent and airy cries has him holding his breath and shifting his hips. his cock pulsing with every sound and facial expression from you

⊹˖⁺ likes to put you between his legs with your back against his chest so he can play with your pussy like you would. snaking his arm across your chest a pinching at your perky nipples

⊹˖⁺ and in that position, his cock will THROB against your back as he tries to buck up for friction

⊹˖⁺ ultimately making you more turned on, and he can tell from the way you tighten around his digits

⊹˖⁺ takes after jake and coos you through your high, “you’re doing so well for me love” and, “do you feel how hard you make me baby?”

“fuck y/n” lo’ak grunts lowly into your ear from behind you.

pressed against his strong hot chest, your legs spread out for him, lo’ak’s large fingers dipped into the heat of your pussy pump in and out of you repeatedly at an addicting pace causing a ripple effect of needy sounds to fall from your lips

“your pretty moans are making me go crazy baby,” he lows out, his free hand switching from rubbing and pressing into your lower stomach, “can you feel how much you turn me on?”

his dirty question makes your head fall back against his shoulder, clenching around his digits as the pressure he puts on your lower abdomen creates a newfound pleasure. your eyes flutter shut welcoming the feeling, and truly recognizing lo’ak’s cock pressed hard against the base of your tail as his own arousal leaks from his tip and onto your back

nodding dumbly, you whimper out as your thighs start to tremble.

“you’re so h-hard… it’s so hot”

kiri:

⊹˖⁺ she also loves diving her hand down to fondle your pretty parts. feeling how wet you are makes her horny

⊹˖⁺ kiri loVES mutual masturbation... like yes she's going to pump her nimble fingers into your heat and pleasure you ... but she'll also crumble when you reciprocate her actions and tease her pussy back

⊹˖⁺ but when she's just focusing on you, kiri is gonna lay you out in front of her and just go to town

⊹˖⁺ likes to tease you and give you feathery touches around your pussy, and likes to squeeze your thighs as she gives your wet heat a cool blow of air

⊹˖⁺ she can’t help but let out a sweet and loving chuckle watching you cum around her fingers

⊹˖⁺ she’s just so in love with you and she’d give you the world if you asked

⊹˖⁺ kiri is incredibly dedicated to knowing how to pleasure your body, like every hitch of your breath and moan you let out from a different angle she hits at will automatically register and she’ll adapt immediately. #bestloverthings

the soft pads of kiri’s fingers trail down between your breasts, the feeling causes chills to roll throughout your system and your nipples to harden. the small gasp escaping from your mouth and wide eyes send kiri in a deep trance of your beauty.

“can i make you feel good, my y/n?” she asks with sincerity, her eyes blowing over with lust - and she already has you wiggling your hips in need of attention and friction. the slick of your arousal spreading to the inside of your thighs in a frantic anticipation of her touch

“please… kiri, i need you in me” you mumble out, as you bring up a hand to your mouth to nibble on the skin of your finger. and your brows knit together when she complies with your confirmation with her digits making their way to tease your inner thigh

her thumb rubbing circles against the soft skin, spreading the sticky wetness of your juices around. her other hand fully going down to lightly rub your throbbing clit.

the action erupts a throaty whine from you and a buck of your hips up into her touch

“you’re so pretty, i can’t wait to see you cumming for me”

tsireya:

⊹˖⁺ she takes after her dad, absolutely lured by the heat between your thighs. likes to mix your slick with her spit.. she gets a little messy

⊹˖⁺ her sweet voice whispers up to you with the most lewd sayings. (she wants to see your sweet face flush)

⊹˖⁺ "you know i always thought about eating you out before, when we were just friends... but being able to actually do it now is the most intoxicating thing i've ever experienced"

⊹˖⁺ please please rut up into her mouth so she has an excuse to give you a little slap to your outer thighs... before she completely pins them down.

⊹˖⁺ "come on pretty girl, i know you can take another"

⊹˖⁺ likes to make you cum at least two times before you pry her away from your pussy - but if you squirt around her …. don’t expect to get a break for a long while.

⊹˖⁺ she lOVES MAKING A MESSSSS PLEASE.. idc that she has a shy demeanor, she’s such a tease and sooooo dirty minded

“stop pulling away my love” tsireya chuckles out with a smile plastered across her dimpled cheeks, wrapping her hands around each of your ankles. “i’m still craving your taste”

clasping your shaking thighs together. the throbbing sensation of your pussy from the previous orgasm drives your heart rate up. and taking deep breaths, you mewl out feeling tsireya slide her hands from your ankles up to your knees.

hearing your sultry sound she pauses, humming out soothingly, “can you take another one?” she asks, making sure it’s okay for her to really continue her play time with your pussy

lifting your head up slightly to give her a knowing look, you sigh out with a playful roll of your eyes and a horribly hidden smile. slowly spreading your thighs apart once again, giving her a visual welcome to your heat - and when her eyes drop to take in the sight of your pussy again, you feel yourself clench around nothing in need.

“mmmh, yes… but i don’t think i’ll be able to talk by morning” you say with a tired laugh

ao’nung:

⊹˖⁺ he's gonna make you cum over his cock, it drives him insane just knowing he can pleasure you with just bouncing you on top of him

⊹˖⁺ he’ll give you all the sly smirks and low grunts as he watches you spasm over him in your straddling position with rutting hips.

⊹˖⁺ likes to guide you with a strong grip on your ass, spanking you slightly just to hear the small gasps escape your mouth.

⊹˖⁺ tbh i think he really just wants to let you do all the work as he sits back and enjoys the show - but at the same time he wants to pound into from below, and have you topple over him and let out your moans right in the crook of his neck.

⊹˖⁺ “fuck, y/n you cant even think straight enough to bounce on my cock by yourself” he groans out, creating slapping noises with the repetitive and forceful thrusts into your wet cunt.

⊹˖⁺ he might pull out of you just so you can beg for him to put it back in … he likes it when you beg AHHH , he’s into the slight power play as well

⊹˖⁺ and he’ll go either way with it too - be an absolute douche to you - or be your bitch to use to your advantage… he’s hard for it either way

your thighs burn with the constant bouncing of your ass onto the thick cock of your mate.

moaning out over and over, your volume slowly raises as you feel your insides spasm with pleasure. “shhhh”, ao’nung hushes you quietly with a grab of your jaw, his hand covering your panting mouth. smirking up at you, ao’nung brings his bottom lip in between his teeth with a low grunt from his throat. “baby- i know i make you feel so good, but you’ve got to keep quiet”

nodding your head the best you can in the hold of his large hand over your mouth, your eyes roll back with a muffled whimper when he gives a thrust up into your pussy.

hitting the hidden spongey nerves inside your velvety walls, your legs tremble with pleasure and your knees buckle. causing you to fall forward into ao’nung’s neck as his hold on your face falters. “harder… please, please-“ you chant hushed like, your lips pressed against his skin, your whole body shaking as his hips then begin to continuously rut up into you

“my helpless little girl”

#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar smut #jake smut #neytiri smut #tonowari smut #ronal smut #neteyam smut #lo’ak smut #kiri smut #tsireya smut #ao’nung smut #atwow #avatar fanfiction #atwow headcanons #avatar headcanons #neteyam lo’ak kiri tsireya and ao’nung are all aged up!!

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farshootergotme · 3 months ago

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For anyone who plans on writing a de-aged Robin fic, please please please let him say "Holy...!". It's a classic, it's iconic and it never gets old.

#plus imagine all the reactions he'd get out of it #and all the teasing that would come afterwards #c'mon even wally makes fun of it (lightheartedly) in the comics #it's amazing #and batman would feel so nostalgic #dick grayson #nightwing #robin #de aged dick grayson #dc comics #dc #dc fanfiction #batman

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lokischocolatefountain · 1 year ago

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Comfort || Taken Care of

Based on this request

Series Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: 18+. Like extremely 18+. I’d make it 20+ if that was a thing. Serious filth.

Warnings: Chonky age gap (Joel: early 50s and Reader: early 20s), extremely naïve reader, praise kink, innocence kink, non con, face-fucking, oral sex (make receiving), name calling, daddy kink, slapping, mentions of past abuse, mentions of FEDRA school abuse, dacryphilia, moneyshot, dbf!Joel (as friendly as that grump can be). Joel is a lying liar and the creepiest creep. Proceed with extreme caution.

Word count: 1.8k words

Summary: You are as sheltered as can be in a world that has fallen apart. Realizing the errors of his ways, your father has his friend Joel take you outside the QZ to teach you how to survive in the real world. Unfortunately for you, Joel is interested in teaching you more than basic survival skills.

A/N: I finally understand all the AO3 writers who are like ‘sorry for the late upload. My husband died, I gave birth, I was called upon by the US army to stop an alien invasion, my roommate stole all my things and I’m homeless. But here’s chapter 43 of my fic’ cause I am really really going through it rn. I submitted my thesis, I am defending it in a couple hours, I have to move my things to a new place immediately, I have to go to work and yet I wrote this. Who knew writing the absolute filthiest porn could make a girl feel slightly better while being in a dumpster fire…

“It’s okay, it’s okay…” he comforts you, his large hand cupping your face as he uses his thumb to wipe your tears. Shame he had to wipe them ‘cause they made you look so much prettier, got his cock so much harder.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he cooed as he unzipped his jeans. Life on the road was hard, especially for a sheltered girl like you. Your dad did everything he could to give you the best he could within the tall walls of the QZ. You knew no pain, no suffering, and definitely knew nothing of the outside world. So here he was, on your dad’s request, taking you out into the real world. The QZ could collapse anytime as QZs often did. So when it eventually did, your dad wanted to prepare you for a harder life.

Thankfully, Joel was a kind man. He held you at night when you were feeling cold, taught you how to hunt and carried your pack for you when you were feeling tired. He also comforted you when you felt lonely.

“Daddy…” you whined, too embarrassed to ask. Calling him Daddy always did the job too. You used to call him Joel, but it changed from when he started comforting you. He told you to call him Daddy, said it was more respectful, so you obeyed.

He never made you feel ashamed for wanting comfort, but something about it made you shy.

“Yes, pretty girl. What do you need?”

You put your hand on his lap and stroked him through his jeans though he was already unzipped and ready to give you the comfort you craved.

It started just a couple kilometers from the QZ. He found you sniffling in the corner of the abandoned building you’d both found shelter in for the night. He was so sweet about it too, asking you multiple times if it was okay for him to comfort you this way. He said your dad wouldn’t like it and that was true— your dad had coddled you too much and now he’d begun overcompensating for it. He yelled at you for crying, made you take up the worst shifts in the QZ and sent you off with his friend Joel— a man feared by all of the QZ— to go out and learn the world.

So you begged him to not tell your dad and put your mouth around his cock. From then, it was the only way you could find comfort.

“I need you to say it, darlin’… What do you want?”

“Please take care of me, daddy.”

“I’m taking care of ya already, aren’t I? Make you food, give you blankets, make sure the infected don’t get to ya… What do you want now?”

“Your cock. Please.”

He nodded and took himself out for you. He sat back on the rickety chair and placed a hand on your head, guiding you down to his cock. You took his tip first and sucked on it. He hissed, so maybe it hurt. But let you keep going. You opened your mouth wider and took him in, inch by inch. It hurt sometimes, but he reassured you that you will get better. You wanted to get better.

The taste was also strange. It needed getting used to. But now that you’d had his cock a few times, you were beginning to like it, to get used to it. It was salty from his sweat and it also tasted just like the skin on your arm. But there was something distinctly Joel about it.

“Just like that, darlin’. Good girl, aren’t you? Look so damn pretty like this,” he said, pushing you gently to take more of him. You gagged a little, but went on anyway. You looked up at him, wanting to smile at his compliment but too full of him to do so. More tears rolled down your cheeks at the compliment. He hummed at the sight and twitched inside you.

“Don’t forget to use your tongue,” he reminded and you felt embarrassed for forgetting already. You wanted to be good, wanted to learn everything he taught you quickly so you didn’t trouble him with the same thing twice. But here you were, having forgotten one of the important lessons already.

You did as you were told and moved your tongue along his cock, feeling his veins and ridges. He was hard, so hard but he was also smooth. He moaned as you did, making you shiver. It felt good to hear him moan, made you feel you were doing something right even though none of this was for his own benefit.

He did it just so he could make you feel better, feel less lonely. Sometimes you weren’t even crying when you got a craving for comfort again. You asked him on random nights to fall asleep with his cock in your mouth. It was becoming a kind of an addiction, like how your dad bought those pills from Joel to keep his nightmares out and now he couldn’t go without them.

You weren’t any help with other things either, even though you’d become a better shot and were more alert when it was your turn to keep watch. Suddenly, you were reminded of the time you missed a shot at a deer and made it run off, leaving both you and Joel hungry for days. You sobbed at the reminder, feeling the sharp sting on your cheek when he slapped you.

“Useless fucking whore!” He’d called you right after slapping you. You’d cried then and you cried again at the reminder, forcing yourself to take in the last of his length to prove to yourself that you would do better. He groaned and tightened his grip on your hair before pushing himself inside your mouth forcefully.

“Look so pretty like this, darlin’. Ain’t seen a prettier sight than my whore crying on my cock.” He said, pulling back before pushing into your mouth again. He hit the back of your throat and it hurt, god it hurt so bad. But he kept a firm grip on you, kept you in your place so you didn’t make mistakes again.

“Sorry, darlin’. Daddy’s gotta do this. ‘s too much,” he said, before grabbing your head in both hands. He hammered into you repeatedly, handling your face like it was something he hated. You didn’t know why, but that didn’t make you feel bad. It did the opposite.

You felt good. Like you weren’t a ‘useless fucking whore’ like he had said you were a few times. You were learning like he expected you to. The first time he did this, you forced him to stop and crouched over a bush and threw up the little food you’d eaten. It still hurt to be this way, but you were getting better. You didn’t have to throw up anymore.

He grunted and groaned, let out a few expletives that would’ve made you embarrassed if you were still back in the QZ. They were words you weren’t allowed to use back there. You’d come back from FEDRA school one day, using a bad word and it set him off. He slapped you, much like Joel would slap you later for missing the shot. When you did it again a couple of months later, he slapped you more times.

It was Joel then who came to your rescue. Promising your dad that you would behave better from now, he carried you off to his apartment and tended to your wounds.

“Ohh, of fuck. F-fuuuck… Mmm, such a pretty hole. Such a good hole for me,” he praised before pulling out of you. You inched closer to him, but he pulled you back by your hair, putting you back in place. You gasped softly when something warm hit your face. You tried to move away from it, away from him. It was wrong. How ungrateful did you have to be to jerk away from him like that when he was taking care of you.

“Fuckin’— fuck. Fuckin’ take it, bitch. Take my cum,” he struggled between pants as he continued doing— doing that. The warm sticky thing came out of his cock. You didn’t know what it was, didn’t know if he was okay. It had never happened before. You panicked and held on to his legs, afraid you did something wrong to cause this.

His jaw was clenched and his eyes were screwed shut. He grunted and moaned like he was in pain.

“Daddy…” you called for him gently. When he didn’t respond, you touched his thigh and began caressing it. Slowly, gently like he sometimes did to comfort you.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, afraid of what you’d done to him. He leaned back on his chair, his hand still in your hair. His breathing slowed down and his fingers massaged your scalp, making you feel good.

“Why’re you apologizing, pretty girl?” He asked, making you sigh in relief.

“I— I don’t— this,” you said, pointing to your face that held the white thing that came out of him. “And you looked like you were in pain.”

He chuckled and looked down at you, before cupping the cheek that didn’t have any of the white thing on it. “You really are so dumb.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you blurted out, not even knowing what you’d done this time.

“I wasn’t in pain. I was feeling good.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm… I know your dad did a lot for ya; you’re his whole world. So it only matters to you when you feel good. But sometimes I need to feel good, too.”

“What makes you feel good?” You asked, desperate to learn, desperate to do for him what he did for you.

“It really helps to have a pretty girl. And you’re a pretty girl, ain’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good, good. ‘s long as ya know. Pretty girls like you, you have three holes. It’ll make a man feel good. Just like when I put my cock in your face hole to make you feel good.”

“M-my mouth?” You asked, looking up at him with curiosity. You’ve never heard of it being called that… It felt strange, but you weren’t going to protest. He knew best. Just as your dad told you before sending you out. Joel knows best. Do what he says, no objections.

“Yeah. This pretty mouth,” he said, brushing his thumb over your lips. “When I make you feel good with my cock, I feel good too. But only if you’re a good girl. Only if you do as I say. You did good today, darlin’. You thought of me too instead of being the selfish bitch you always are.”

You surged at the praise, happy that you’d finally learned. Finally did something good for him instead of taking and taking and taking like a selfish bitch.

“And I know you wanna learn. So keep being good like this, okay?”

You nodded.

“Keep being good and I’ll teach you about your other holes.”

“Thank you, Daddy…”

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agerefandomstuff · 4 months ago

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Hey, i rq'ed the cg sam hcs, and i loved them!!!! I was wondering if you could do some more cg sam hcs, but for a babyspace little! Have a fantastic day <3

I had writers block for a while so I’m very sorry for getting to this so terribly late. As an apology here’s an entire no-beta Baby!Reader Cg!Sam fic;

Word count: 2248

Title: Finding Comfort in your Role

(I don’t know I might change that title)

The boys come back to the hotel and find you regressed.

Although you’d been regressing around Sam for a while now, it was always in short bursts and he personally had yet to start prepping you beforehand or help you out of anything after. You’d always done that part on your own since this was all brand new to him and it made you both more comfortable if you handled changing into different clothes and diapers until a bit later in his soft launch caregiver trial.

However when the boys came back from their hunt today, you were sat on the motel floor, half undressed, chewing on the remote with that innocent fuzzy look in your eyes Sam was beginning to find familiar. He knew you'd talked about unintentionally regressing before but he still assumed it wasn't like a… demon possession or something. It didn't just suddenly happen, catching you off guard, did it? Surely you always felt it coming on..?

While he had a ton of his own questions rattling around in his head–along with all of Dean’s mildly rude ones–he didn't have any good immediate answers. But researching couldn't be his number one priority. That was you. And also getting that nasty remote out of your mouth. Even though no one other than his brother had touched it since they’d been here, they didn't exactly have a reputation of checking into the cleanest of places. But even if they did, who knew what was on Dean’s hands?

“Hey baby…” Sam dropped his bag of equipment on the floor and rushed over to you, gently tugging the remote from your hands and out of your mouth while you were luckily distracted by the excitement of seeing him come back. Tossing it up on the bed and away from your eager little hands, he uses his strength to his advantage by scooping you up under the armpits and setting you on his hip with a continued coo. “Oooh up.. there you go…Hi, baby.. Hi.. What happened?” He asks in a deceptively light and playful tone, not wanting to potentially scare you by talking in the same overly gruff tone Dean did when he was confused with concern. You didn't respond in any real words, only giggles and confusing garbled babbles.

Dean finally follows Sam inside, locking the door behind him and setting their weapon bags away in the closet where you wouldn't be able to get to them as easily if you suddenly decided Sam’s appearance was no longer interesting and fun to make noises at.

“Hm? Can you tell me what happened, pumpkin?” Sam asks again, hoping maybe since you had responded–as childish and incomprehensible was it was–that perhaps you might miraculously get a real word out of your lips to give him a hint of what caused you to regress. That plan is quickly given up on along with his attempts to put your jacket back on.

While briefly glancing around for your missing sock he finds his duffle bag of clothes strewn about the floor. no doubt something you had gotten into.“Oh… that's…I see you found.. my clothes.. instead of your own…” he tugs your jacket off your arm and lays it beside the wet remote while he calls out to his brother who was already making his way over, “Um.. Dean? Could you grab–”

“On it.” Dean answered, knowing his little brother well enough to already be looking for your bag, having the same thought that you must have been looking for something earlier.

As he searched you’d began to play with Sam’s hair, tugging on it slightly then giggling when he would try to gently pry your hand away with quiet complaints of pain.

Finding your bag slipped down between the wall and the side of the bed, Sam comes over to search for the supplies he assumed you had been searching for with a rapidly regressing mind. He was hoping there would be something inside you could occupy your busy little hands or mouth with that might save his poor scalp from more pain as you continued to tug on his hair.

“So are you going to answer any of my questions about what's going on or at least give me an idea of what I might be looking for?” Dean asked, helping pull things out from the bag since Sam was struggling to do so while holding you and trying to fight your surprisingly persistent hands. Now Dean has no issue going through someone else's belongings if it's necessary… (or if it’s fun), but he really wasn't sure what he was supposed to be getting out of your bag. He could guess it was something you owned that would relate to whatever… relationship you and his little brother had but…he had been purposely trying to keep himself a bit in the dark on that one so he needed a little direction for his search.

“Um..” Sam started out, unsure himself of what exactly it was that you might bring or if you had even brought anything at all. “A… pacifier? Or maybe those… key– the plastic key things? The chewing things?”

“Teethers?” Dean asked while he attempted to decipher his brother’s inexperience while tugging out more clothes and a whole lot of nothing else and–teethers? Pacifiers? What? Sure he made the guess, it was his first thought! And it made sense with the context clues and the way you had been chewing on the remote and how your fingers are now in your mouth—! Man. He doesn't get this. But whatever, that doesn't matter. He's just gotta help Sammy because boy does he look like a fish out of water.

“Yeah! Teethers! They keep dirty remotes out of mouths and little baby fingers away from adult teeth. Don't they, baby?” Still trying to keep his voice light and gentle and half talking to you more than Dean, Sam begins tugging your fingers away from your mouth. Shushing your whines as said fingers catch on teeth that just didn't seem to understand that they could fix the issue by simply opening up your mouth a bit wider—

“There isn't anything in here for that. Are you sure you packed it?”

“Packed it? I only packed my bag!”

“Why wouldn't you pack a baby’s bag, idiot?”

“It was an adult’s bag at the time, not a baby’s, so I wasn't asked to, asshole!” Sam argues back, starting to rock and bounce you in an effort to distract you from your hand and their bickering. “So no I didn't pack any teethers or stuffed animals or diapers or—”

Dean’s head whipped up and his stomach dropped to the floor as they both seemed to come to the same realization. Frozen in place they had to pry their gazes away from each other’s to you as if expecting to find that you’d had an accident that very moment. Their eyes slowly, in comedic sibling tandem, drag down your frame resting on his hip.

You didn't.. look.. wet…? At least… not this moment you didn’t.

“Are…they.. necessary..?” Dean asks slow and hesitant, unsure if he was even allowed to ask or know about that kind of information about you. After all, he wanted to stay in the dark about some things! Out of respect! And because he really didn't need to know everything about his brother’s relationship– the same way Sammy didn't need to know everything about his!

“Uh..” Sam clears his throat, trying to remember if you'd ever used them around him before or perhaps mentioned whether you had a history with it or not… but all he knew is you wore them sometimes. That was a part of your before and after prep that he didn't have a hand in yet. He hadn't been given the rundown! No tutorial! But also.. he hadn't ever really asked about it. He was going to… eventually… It's just.. there were so many things he was getting used to with this and he was getting a bit overwhelmed with researching it—because who knew there were so many subgenres and conflicting information– and h-he just hadn't gotten to it all yet…

He looked back up at Dean, visibly tense and uncomfortable. “I dont… know…”

Eventually, after some bickering, Sam sent Dean to the store to pick up diapers. And whatever other supplies he would inevitably decide were “ultimately necessary for a baby’s survival.” Regardless of whether they actually were or if he was just grabbing stuff. But he couldn't complain too much since out of the two of them Dean did unarguably have more experience with kids. From raising his younger brother, to briefly having a family, and even the shapeshifter baby, his knowledge was one Sam was going to have to just appreciate and learn from. When he wasn't able to get direct understandable feedback from you anyway—the actual baby in question. Little coos and babbles didn't exactly help let him know if he should let you sit on his brother’s bed or his while he waited for Dean to come back with padding.

Leaning on the side of caution, he chose to lay you down on a towel he laid over Dean’s bed, something he's sure he’ll get an earful about later if you do pee.. but it would be better than if it was his bed. In the few moments he left you alone on the bed to grab one of his shirts off the floor, you’d mysteriously managed to make your second sock disappear into the wind and you’d tugged your current shirt over your head in an attempt to… suffocate yourself or something? He could only guess the reason. As he helped take off your shirt restraint he couldn't help but keep thinking; How were you doing that? You were so quick with it, it's like he couldn't take his eyes off you without another clothing issue arising.

Hopefully that would change after he changed your clothes. After folding your shirt and tucking it away in your bag he fights your squirming legs and ferocious little feet to get your pants off so he can check for any potential damage. Once you were down to your luckily dry underwear he helped you sit up, only to struggle getting your arms into the sleeves of his shirt. Considering you weren’t doing a whole lot of actual fighting against him, this task was surprisingly difficult for Sam.

With great effort he finally managed to slip his shirt over your head and down your torso. You flopped back on the bed, attempting to take a foot with you and whining when you couldn't bring it all the way to your mouth. The action made him laugh and lightened his mood since while you seemed to not be very aware of everything at the moment, not taking in how stressful everything was with the boys’ bickering, not having any supplies available, him not knowing specific and kind of necessary details, he was. He was taking in it all.

You weren't in the headspace to worry about any of that. You were too little. He was the one who had to worry about it and take care of it. He got to handle it. He was taking on the issues that… honestly? Really weren't even that big of a deal. A missing sock and getting your hair pulled by a baby were just things parents dealt with... and.. that's… what he was there for. Wasn't it..? It’s what you needed from him. To worry about things you were too small for and take care of them until you were able to again. And really.. no one’s lives were at stake right now. This wasn't a life or death or a monster hunt. It was just caring for you. Baby you.

Smiling down softly at you, you dropped your foot as you seemed to feel how he was looking at you differently. It was less worry and unease. He wasn't still deciding if he was uncomfortable with the situation or like he was afraid he might not be following the rules of a game right. He was simply content… content with enjoying your contentment. Even if you weren't in the headspace to soak in that information with as much acknowledgement as you would a different time, you could still feel the atmosphere change which left a growing smile on your face. Sam huffed out another small laugh seeing such a cute little look coming from you and couldn't resist leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

It had finally clicked in his mind what kind of caregiver he was.

“Little angel..” he whispers softly, petting a big hand over your belly then combing your hair with his fingers to be a little less messy. “I got you. We’ll get you padded up and play a bit then we’ll set you up to take a nap. Since.. daddy can only guess the last time you slept well.”

He was yours.

He was your parent when you needed it.

He was there to take care of you and handle the little issues he could. Missing socks included.

The next few minutes waiting for Dean to come back were mostly quiet, only soft giggles combined with Sam’s little sweet words as he cooed at you as you played with anything he would let you. Which ended up being mainly his fingers and shirt sleeves… but he also let you play with his hair as long as you didn't tug too much.

#sfw age regression #sfw agere #🧸mines🍼#age regression #agere fandom #requests🧸✨#sam winchester #agere supernatural #supernatural #cg!sam winchester #little!reader #baby!reader #sfw babyre #babyre #fics #supernatural fanfiction #fandom agere #agere fanfic #all add more tags later when I have the brain power for it

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ceruleanvermillion · 2 years ago

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Jedi culture is so fascinating... I'd love a post-war everything is okay AU where we get a taste of Jedi culture. Not the clone wars-era jedi culture that we know of...but actual jedi culture. Like the one obi-wan grew up with, something ahsoka and even anakin never got to experience because of the war. Like the ones we see in the books about obi-wans padawan years, of course, combining canon and legends in a way that makes sense- maybe we can have the younger ones of the disaster lineage learn a bit about Tahl, more Tahl is always a good idea. Maybe we can delve into Mace and Qui-gon's years of padawanship and being initiates- or maybe even old jedi culture, the one Yoda is familiar with.

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theoraekenslover · 2 months ago

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I, once again, lost a fic that I really loved and I need help finding it.

So it’s a Joel Miller fic where he’s traveling with Ellie and reader (possibly a fem oc but I’m pretty sure it was reader) and at one point they have sex and Joel’s like really rough, not knowing it’s her first time, and once he finds out like the next day when she’s in pain in the morning and he’s like “why did you tell me? I wouldn’t’ have just stuck it in there if I had known” and it’s multiple parts, three I think but maybe more, possibly 2 but I’m almost certain it was 3.

#joel miller fluff #joel miller #sorry for all the tags i just want people to see this so i can find it 😭#the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #ellie williams #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #age gap joel miller #joel miller age gap #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #lost fic #lost post #lost writing

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an-established-butt-dent · 1 year ago

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“Solas?“

“Yes, Vhenan."

“What are you drawing?“

He still has his eyes on the piece of parchment in front of him, but slows down the repetetive movements of his hand tracing the shapes on paper, as if that might offer him more time to find his answer. "Oh, just some practice. It helps me sort my thoughts," he says with the casual air of somebody trying to evade a question.

“Can I see, then?“

He glances up briefly and notices she has stopped reading her book on the early history of Neromanian magic. She has one elbow propped up on the table and rests her chin on her hand. She is looking at him expectantly, her book clearly forgotten.

He pauses the scratchy movements of his pencil and says rather hesitantly.

"It's not finished."

She leans forward a bit more, trying to catch a glimpse at his paper. He subtly angles it away from her. She might have barely noticed, had she not noted his newfound secrecy regarding his recent drawings. She has become increasingly curious over the past few weeks, and his forced casual demeanor after her question only fills her with more anticipation.

It makes her think of the first time he showed her his artwork. …

The first time she had walked into the rotunda in Skyhold and found Solas high up on the scaffolding with a paint brush in his hands and a concentrated look on his face, she was surprised to learn of his motivation.

"History needs to be documented," he had said when she asked him what he was working on.

After climbing down the scaffolding and taking a step back to admire the process of his work, he continued, "Not by the words of diplomats, but through the eyes of those skilled in artistry. Words will be forgotten, but images? Those will hold significance across time."

She had been moved then. By the bold lines in the fresco and the fierce look in his eyes as he regarded her as he spoke. Like she was someone worthy of admiration. Like he truly saw her. It reminded her of his words before their first kiss.

'You change everything.' He had said.

She didn't really believe him then. She didn't want to be put on a pedestal, far removed from the world and the simple and nomadic lifestyle of her clan that she was accustomed to. She missed roaming mountains and hills, not fighting blighted Templars and navigating treacherous games of power with nobles. That life had seemed like such a long time ago, even though it had barely been a year.

But perhaps she didn't need to suffer though all of this alone. She had her friends. Dorian with his jokes. Varric with his stories. Cassandra with her quiet support and camaderie. Iron Bull helping her with her fighting stances and teaching her new drinking games with Cullen. Even Cole, though he was still figuring out what the word friend even meant. She would help him with that, she had decided then. Friends; they made the aching pull of homesickness more bearable.

But Solas.

Who was he to her? She could call him her friend the supposed. She had the feeling they were becoming closer and yet there was an undeniable distance. Always leaving space for interpretation and mystery while never backing away from any of her questions. So much knowledge he shared, and still she had the feeling she barely knew him at all. He had slowly and unknowingly developed a talent for surprising her with new insights and he did so later again that same evening.

The next hour passed quickly while they were still talking about art and the different depictions of elven lore. He had stared at her intently for a moment, considering her.

"I want to show you something." he had said.

She never passed up an opportunity to learn more so she had indulged him, following him to a plain-looking crate to the side of the room. He removed the protective wards with a wave of his hand. He then uncovered some, by the looks of it, handbound books. He observed them one by one carefully, with a nod of acceptance when he seemingly found what he was looking for and handed her one of the books.

As she opened the first few pages she discovered they were sketchbooks filled with rough outlines in preparation for the next installment of the mural.

Excitedly he pointed to notes in the margin and spoke of where he learned the techniques for collecting and grinding his own pigments. There was a red ocre in the Western Approach that he had recently discovered on one of their missions which was apparently incredibly well suited for his purpose. At her encouragement he had shown her more of of his other drawings too. First of symbolism and color studies, but then more personal ones: of the views of the mountains from Skyhold, running Halla, drying herbs and even of some of the members of the inquisition she recognized.

In turn she told him about how she used to carve wood, especially when winters were rough and her clan was stuck in the same place for long waiting out the biting cold and punishing snow. To keep her fingers from freezing and her mind from wandering to dark places, she had started to carve.

"I haven't had the time since, well you know, this whole mess." she waved the fingers of her marked hand which flashed a sliver of green. Solas had looked thoughtful after her comment, almost like there was a tinge of regret behind his eyes.

The conversation steered in a different direction afterwards, like the seriousness of their predicament weighted more heavily on their shoulders than before. The mysterious books disappeared back into the chest and not long after she had excused herself and called it a night. Somehow she couldn't shake the feeling she had overstepped.

A few days later she returned from a short scouting mission. She climbed the steps to her sleeping quarters, exhausted. She hardly noticed there was an odd-shaped package leaning against her bedroom door until she almost stumbled over it. Her tiredness trading itself for curiosity, she moved to pick it up.

There was no note attached but once she unwrapped the bundle she discovered a beautiful and distinctive elven carving knife and a solid piece of oak wood.

She couldn't help the warm feeling that spread though her body, feeling the comforting weight of the wood and the cool metal of the knife in her hands.

….

She shakes her head as she's brought back to the present. That same rotunda they have since spend so much of their time together. Researching, reading and talking. There had been barely an evening where she didn't end up in the rotunda with Solas. At least when she wasn't away from Skyhold, trying to save the world on missions throughout Thedas.

She looks at Solas from her spot at the table with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

It takes a lot of effort to hide her smile.

Whith an amused tilt to the corner of her lips she says, "You know, Dorian told me he found some sketchbooks laying around, depicting a rather familiar elf. Anything you would know about that?"

Is he… Is he blushing?

"Um, Well you see." he cleares his throat trying to school his expression. "Those were private… And hidden for a reason."

She can't contain a smile. Solas flustered, that's a rare sight.

"You've seen them?" he askes quietly. She notices he has started fumbling with the edges of the paper. She didn't believe his ears could turn a brighter shade of pink.

"Maybe," she says while averting her eyes to the ceiling. She glances back to him out of the corner of her eyes.

Solas looks at her like she has grown an extra pair of ears.

She leans back in her chair and stretches out her legs comfortably under the table. Knowing she has him she doesn't want to push more and decides to spare him some of her teasing. She turns to look at him and softens her expression.

"I rather liked them."

Knowing that is probably not enough to explain why she had looked at his private belongings without permission and seeing the dumbfounded expression on his face slowly making space for embarrassment she decides to tell the whole story.

"I know shouldn't have overstepped, but Dorian said he had something urgent to discuss and before I was even halfway up the stairs he assaulted me with flying books, shouting about discovering my secret admirer. Either I would have stumbled to death or caught them. And, well… Once I started looking I couldn't look away… " she trails off with a slight tinge of shame in her voice.

"You liked them?“

She lookes at him, surprised by the hopefulness in his voice.

A wave of understanding washes over her.

He hid the drawings from her, not because he didn't want her to see them but because he was afraid of her rejection. Even though they had spent the last few months becoming more and more tangled up with each other, stealing fleeting glances and sometimes passionate kisses, they still hadn't really taken a moment to talk about what there was between them.

When she saw the drawings he made of her she had finally understood his interest in her was genuine and went beyond anything resembling a casual dalliance - something she can now confess to have been rather afraid of, because she had developed deeper feelings for him from the moment he started sharing detailed stories dreamt in the fade and his perspective on magic intertwined with life. And then there had been that first kiss… Wel let's just say she's in way too deep to turn back now.

And for all the effort he put into keeping emotional distance between them, he had apparently failed from the moment he had started putting her likeless on paper. For she could see the passion and emotion in the lines, soft shadows and hidden meanings. It made them stand out from all the other drawings she had seen by his hand.

What he couldn't yet put into words, he had found a different way of showing.

"Yes I-" suddenly feeling unsure she pauses for a moment and crosses her arms looking for the right words. "The drawings, they reminded me of who I could be." She takes a deep breath finds her courage and continues. "Someone who people will tell stories about. Not stories about Divine intervention, but of an elven woman's fight for justice. For a kinder world. Somehow I never really managed to see myself that way when I look in the mirror. But those drawings… I guess it's easier to understand who I've become by seeing myself through your eyes. To see the change I'm part of, but most of all to remind myself of where I came from."

She had uncrossed her arms and angled her body towards him over the table. A determined expression rests on her face. He hadn't taken his eyes of her from the moment she started talking.

He looks at her thoughtfully for a moment, considering his reply.

"Very well" he says while some of the tension visibly drains away from his body. She raises her eyebrows in question. "Then it's only time you started showing me your carvings in return. Some good blocks of wood have gone missing. I overheard Blackwall complaining about recently." He shares the accusations with a bemused smile on his lips.

Now it was her turn to blush.

"I was planning on showing you, but first I wanted to practice… " she trailed off her sentence, knowing she doesn't actually have a valid excuse for hiding it from him. And it was not like she hadn't backed him into a corner first.

Feeling relieved he wasn't pulling away at her recent discovery she changes her mind with newfound courage and stands up abruptly while extending her hand in invitation. The purpose of their late night reading session forgotten.

"You're right. And I'm willing to offer you a tour of my recent carving exploits, but only if you can refrain from commenting over the woodchips carpeting the floor." He starts to move as if to get up but she makes him pause as she isn't done yet. "But in turn I will pose for your next drawing." Solas looks at her confused for a moment, as if considering her question.

She pauzes for a moment and adds without hesitation.

"Naked."

"What?"

"That's right."

From a balcony upstairs they could hear some muffled movement followed by a familiar voice echoing down "You know Solas, if you're looking for nude models you only need to ask!"

"Dorian!" they say in unison, horrified.

Solas quickly tucks the sketches under his arm and stands up to grasp her hand, surprising her by pulling her close so fast she has to steady herself with her other hand landing on his chest.

Only a breath away from her ear he says softly so only she can hear.

"It seems like you found yourself a deal, ma Vhenan."

She squeezes his hand in response and when she looks at him there isn't a hint of his previous embarrassment. Instead there is a look of hunger and challenge in his eyes. It's so easy then, to lean over and kiss him, her lips a promise and Dorian's earlier interuption temporarily forgotten. Before she can get lost in the soft press of his lips she pulls back and feels a delighted thrill in the way he slightly chases them as she takes a step back. With a teasing smile on her lips she tugs on his hand bringing him back to reality and encouraging him to follow. As they make their way quietly towards the door she throws a judgemental look over her shoulder towards where she imagines Dorian to be hiding.

She is just able to make out a muffled conversation on the first floor "… These lovesick fools seem to keep forgetting this is a public space, if they don't want an audience they should find a room!"

Not sure if she should be terribly embarrassed or slightly thankful for Dorians intervention she doesn't manage to hide her smile.

"Let's get out of here then." she says as they start to make their way through Skyhold.

He squeezes her hand.

"Gladly."

#solavellan #solavellan hell #solas x female lavellan #solavellen hell #solavellen fanfiction #dragon age inquisition #No one can convince me otherwise that this scene hasnt happened #bioware robbed us from this being a real cutscene in the game #I mean dont you just love the idea of Solas sharing his passion for art and history with lavellan?#and all this time at skyhold #for sure she has run into him a few times covered in paint #and i just love the headcannon that solas ans lavellan forget they have an audiance of Leliana #Dorian and Fiona sharing popcorn and betting on who will make the first move #and you just know the frustration Dorian has felt #seeing the fools in love while they barely make a move at each other aside from fleeting glances #he had to get involved somehow #imagine dorian spending weeks on tearing down the magical wards on that chest #just to findout it filled with portraits of lavellan #LOL #dragon age inquisition fanfic #the dread egg #solas #solasmance #inquisitor lavellan #writing and artwork by me #acrylic ink and finelines on bamboo paper

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