#it hurts seeing others live your dream | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hawksblooded · 17 days ago

Note

❛ patch . help my muse patch up a wound . ❛ chaste . chastely kiss my muse . ❛ go down . go down on my muse .❛ mark . leave a mark on my muse’s body [ her inner thigh :3 ] .

↣ LOUD & DEAFENING SILENCE.

IT WAS LESS OF a house, and more of a shed, scarcely sturdy enough to shield one from the elements. Walls perspired with the remnants of rain, and the smell of wet soil rose through the moldy floorboards, filling the room with heady, choking petrichor. There was no tavern here, as no travelers came this far up the Shrieking Coast, not since the storms had begun, and those who did were quickly dissuaged by the villagers’ flighty gazes, their judging stares. Strangers weren’t welcome here. Neither were they, that much was clear.

There had been little choice. It had been a brief scrap, quickly over. She couldn’t have called it a fight. Three drowned men by the river’s crossing, just before the shoddy hamlet. They had seen fire and steel, and met their final death. But Alizebeth had been careless. With one last surge of will, rotten teeth had clasped around her ankle, crushing through the leather with a strength that may have shattered bone if the blade of her sword had not split its dead-eyed skull in twain. Bloody revenants. You never knew when they were truly dead. She had cursed herself as she limped back to her horse, dutifully stood by the disrepaired bridge that would take them to the village yonder. Behind her, the smell of charred flesh as Soot set the bodies alight.

It was only bribery that had afforded the travelers a way in. Bribery, and the hastily chopped ears offered as decaying proof of the eliminated threats. Still, unease and distrust filled the gate-keeper’s black eyes as Soot introduced himself. They didn’t ask for no payment, he’d said - just somewhere to rest. His companion had been wounded in the short battle. Alizebeth had balked at his words. She’d walked off worse. No reason to make such a fuss over a bite. Regardless, despite the watchman’s reluctance, the gate to the hamlet had creaked open. It was bad luck, to deny refuge to those who called themselves fishermen.

The hunter sat on the edge of what could barely be called a bed, in the village elder’s spare room. It had been his son’s, before the boy was taken by the waters. If fate was kind, they had just put him to rest. But thankfulness had not softened his tongue when he had taken them to their room. Three nights, he had said, and then they would make themselves scarce. If they needed food, they’d pay for it. “ Lovely place, ” Soot said as he took off his rain-soaked hat. A fat mouse scurried beneath the door that had been slammed shut behind them. “ Feels just like home, don’t it? ” he snickered derisively. Alizebeth twisted her boot off with a grimace. “ Let me have a look. ” She shook her head in vain. She knew by then that determined tone that he took - he wasn’t asking. She wasted her words anyway: “ It’s nothing. I’ll wrap it tight. Walk just fine tomorrow. ” “ Liz, ” Soot glanced at her over his shoulder as he removed his bloodied overcoat. It fell with a heavy thud on the rickety floor. She’d lost this battle, too, from the start. She knew this. With a mere mention of her name he had secured this victory. The hunter weaselled out of her leather trousers with a groan.

His prize was a nasty wound, already blackened at the edges. The dead man’s teeth had gouged through her flesh with that strength that only dead men have. Countless holes oozed dark, half-coagulated blood. He gave it a quick look, grabbed for her travel pack to pick out through her medical supplies. “ Needs a cleaning real bad, it does. You won’t be able to put yer full weight on this anytime soon. Better for us t’hunker down here a night or two, ” he assessed as he knelt before her, pouring from his waterskin onto a strip of cloth. The hunter’s brow furrowed. “ I can do it myself. ” He only sighed. “ ‘Course, you can. Doesn’t mean you should. Yer stitches are trash, anyways. This’ll hurt, most like, ” he warned her as he began to wash dried blood and mud off the skin around the mark. Her calf grew taut under his hand.

He was tender in his duty, stormy eyes focused. She imagined them focused, as she could not see them, his blonde hair falling over his face as he toiled. First to clean the wound, and then with the stitching. Her hawkish eyes were fixed on his delicate, soot-stained fingers as the coarse thread twisted around them, around the needle he hastily burned sterile on their lone candle. She felt the heat of the flame beneath her leg, propped on his raised knee. Or maybe it was the heat of his breath, shallow and steady, against her dark and bloodied skin. It seeped into her from every gouged hole, into her pounding veins, up long legs and into her heart. The latter beat too fast in her chest. She inhaled sharply as the needle bit her skin.

Soot worked slowly, precisely. One loop after another the edges of skin met, cleanly, her flesh closing like the slow shutting of eyes. But the hunter did not close her eyes. She watched his fine hands work, those blackened miracle-makers, as they pricked and sewed and pricked again, pausing only for the occasional bout of coughing. Beneath the sharp bridge of his nose she saw the pink tip of a tongue lick his lips in concentration. It made her shudder.

Soon he had applied the herbal ointment to her wound, torn with his teeth a strip of linen as he prepared to wrap her ankle. “ Breathe in, ” he told her, glancing up with a sorry grin. By instinct, she grabbed at the blonde head between her knees, fingers digging into his scalp as he tightened the cloth around the fresh stitching, biting her lip to muffle the groan of pain that escaped her. The fisherman’s own grunt quickly turned into a hollow chuckle, hot on her skin. When he looked up at her his thin lips were parted as if to speak. There was a sparkle of amusement in his blue-grey eyes as he gently placed a kiss to her calf, right above the bandage, over a scar that had grown to pale lilac with time. She hoped, her grip on his hair loosening - oh, she prayed - that he would not see the flush that overtook her face, then, the skin of her cheeks burning ochre red. But he saw it, and in the dim light of their shared room his smile flashed white, and a hum rose in his throat. “ Ain’t sorry for that. ” His face softened slightly. “ ‘Sorry you got injured, though. Should’ve been faster. Should’ve warned ya, or-” “ It wasn’t your fault. I was careless, ” Alizebeth interrupted him, fingers still entwined in his hair. He closed his eyes, pressed his cheek to her leg with another tender kiss. “ ‘f you say so. ” And he stayed there, his expression almost mournful, his fine face against the soft skin of her calf, knelt steady before her like a penitent man before an idol.

Soot’s blackened fingertips ran across the scar he had just blessed. He felt the hunter shudder beneath his touch - not with pain, this time. She had suffered enough today, whether by her carelessness or by the work of his hands. She suffered always, he thought. It weighed on him, that she had been dragged into his world of rotten nightmares and watery graves, that she had been bitten and scratched and torn for the sake of his mission. For his sake. It was the least he could do, then, to relieve her of the horrors, to help her forget - just for moments, brief moments when they could afford to be close, to feel safe. Something was kindled, hot in his gut, when he looked up to her amber eyes and found them sharp as a blade, bright as the sun. It always cut into him so readily, her gaze, and now it was as if it tried to peel him open, bare him to the candle’s light.

He didn’t turn away from her as he rose to his knees, thin hands roaming in her lap. The fisherman hooked one of her legs around his shoulder, kissed the tender skin under her bruised knee with a small hum. “ Soot, ” she half-whispered, “ I don’t think-” “ Hush. Said I’d take care of ya, didn’t I? ” he spoke against the taut muscle of her thigh, nipping at the dark flesh. “ What’re you so worried about, hmm? The old man won’t hear ya, ” he hummed, two fingers slipping beneath the hem of her underwear. “ And besides, ” he punctuated with kisses on her thigh, “ it’s Sam, not Soot. Not anymore, ” his breath hitched as he looked up from between her rough-hewn legs, stormy eyes half-lidded. His teeth brushed her skin as he smiled. “ Call me Soot again and I might bite ya. Now lay down. ”

She didn’t think to disobey. It was that same tone he had used earlier, though his voice had grown husky, the same determination in those grey eyes now whirlpooled with lust. She admired it, his iron will, his drive to see things through, even as it brought him to his knees before her like in dutiful worship. And his mouth did just that, laying trails of kisses up her inner thighs, over the gnarled scar that was nestled at the dip of her waist, even as his thin hands pulled down her underwear. With a surprise that bordered on pride he noticed the wet spot left by her arousal. It fed into his own as naturally as day gave way to night, and with a satisfied hum his hand rode up her chiseled stomach to push her down on the flimsy bed. She caught herself on her elbows, her black hair like curtains about her face, and he watched her chest begin to heave with anticipation. It was all he could do not to lick his lips in delight. He did so love to see her, his stoic hunter, his quiet companion, unmade beneath those hands she loved so much. And though she was ever silent, the eager wetness of her told him she relished in her unmaking, too.

He didn’t bother with his fingers, stained with mud, soot and blood. Instead, Soot buried his nose readily in the dark nest of her mound, his tongue slowly stroking the length of her cunt. He felt her strong legs tighten in his grip already, toothy smile against her warm lips, and busied himself with teasing her clit. He would work his tongue into her very depths if that was what it took to relieve her, to leave her spent and shuddering, having forgotten all of her pain and her toils. He would do it over and over, if she asked it of him., if she but spoke his name. All the while, his stormy eyes bore into hers like arrowheads.

And she did speak his name, through panting breaths, as he toiled ever-dutiful between her legs. “ Soot, you- ” He bit her, then, hard and merciless, into the tender flesh of her inner thigh, enough to leave a mark, to teach a lesson. “Fuck!” she yelped, catching a handful of his hair to tear him away from her bruising skin, blooming deep red and purple. A disapproving hum rose between her clamped legs. “Samuel,” he corrected smugly, licking at his lower lip with a smirk. The salt of her skin and her arousal on his tongue had set him fully aflame, veins burning hot with the need of her. “I want to hear you say it.” He saw Alizebeth’s lips part as if to speak, but set himself to sucking on her clit with renewed zeal, and the noise that escaped her was a low moan that her hand couldn’t muffle quickly enough. Her black brows were furrowed, her jaw hard-set, grinding her teeth to hold back the sounds he teased out of her with every flick of his tongue. Soot laughed when he heard her mutter something about the Gods, sending a shiver like a cold wind up her spine. “Go on. Say my name,” he urged her, lapping at her soaked cunt. Her fingers curled in his thick hair as she pressed him further into her in a half-hearted attempt to silence him with that task his pretty mouth was so well suited for. She wasn’t going to let him have this one easily. So be it.

Samuel stood up, pinning her long leg to the hunter’s chest as he took a deep, rattling breath. His attentions were paused only long enough for him to unbuckle his belt and free himself from the confines of tight trousers. She relaxed in his grip for just a moment, her cheeks flushing red when she watched him wipe his mouth and lick the sweet drippings off his bloodied digits. He could taste her, everything of her, on long fingers that he greedily lapped at. The fisherman crawled over her on the bed, kissed the spot between her collarbones before his teeth met her throat. She moaned under him, beneath his frail frame, the kisses of his tangy lips on hers and that of his length against her hungry cunt, all too brief as he returned to his lecherous work. Even if it took all night, he would hear her say his name, his real name. He would hear it on her lips, even if it took his every ragged breath, his every ounce of strength. Even if his jaw ached and he longed to bury himself in her with every groan his tongue exhumed from her broad chest.

And she would say it with such love as to set his heart to bursting.

Alizebeth’s body rolled wavelike beneath the thin arms that wrapped around her waist, hips swaying needily in his grasp. He watched with amazement her mouth gape as her breaths grew short, her breasts heave beneath her tunic, the muscles of her stomach tensing with every buck of her hips against his mouth. Her legs around his shoulders in turn parted further, then flexed and closed in on him again, redoubling his vigor with every butterfly-wing beat. Soot felt every muscle of her finely hewn body beneath his hands and found that he loved each and every one of them, all trained to the sole purpose of killing, filled with a power he knew she would never turn against him. Such a beautiful sight she was that he could not bear to tear his eyes from her, though her own threatened to bore a burning hole into his skull.

He tasted her elation before she could even realize she had come. It flooded sweet and acidic at once, and he drank it in in great laps of his tongue. “Ah- Ah! Sam- Samuel, I’m-” she grunted as his grip around her waist grew tighter, locking them in lewd embrace. Not for anything in the world would he have let go as she rode out her orgasm against his fine mouth, his lolling tongue. Her thighs squeezed shut on his neck like a snare around a rabbit’s, and his brow furrowed with the numb need for air. But he would be patient. He would have her spent, fully, and drink deep of every drop of her until she was left gasping and trembling. She curled into herself with the overwhelming pleasure. The edges of his vision blurred with the pressure, and he hummed with satisfaction against his hunter’s quivering pussy as her low groaning turned high-pitched whines, her hands buried in his blonde hair, her whole body tense and taut around him, for him. She screamed his name again as the last throes of pleasure wracked her shivering body.

The hunter fell fully on the mattress as she finally let go, and Soot found he too was gasping and begging for air. He took a moment to inhale before chuckling, breathless. “ See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Good girl.” “You’re mad,” she answered him through panting breaths, wide and shaking hands taking hold of his pretty face. Her thumb wiped at the dripping come on his chin, dragging him onto the shoddy bed with her. It creaked despite his light weight as Alizebeth pulled him into a harsh kiss. Her body shuddered against his, and he tasted so thoroughly of her cunt it was as though she kissed herself. Still, she bit at his lips, at his tired tongue, in that wolfish and loving way that was thoroughly hers and that he knew so well. “You’re a mad man, Samuel Whist.” “Maybe,” he grinned against her mouth, a hand caressing the soft hair at the nape of her neck. “Maybe I am. But you love me.” Her expression changed, then, and she pulled away to look at his gaunt face, his lips still glistening with saliva and come. Beneath dark eyelashes her eyes thinned in a subtle smile.

“I do.”

#drabble ➽; SHUT UP WHILE I TELL A STORY.#did i go absolutely insane writing this? yes #is this ungodly drabble too long? yes #do i have regrets? maybe #it hurts to see other people live your dream etc etc #nsft ➽; WE'RE ANIMALS AFTER ALL.

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