#murtagh x nasuada fanfic

[primasveraas-writing]

a night full of you

Murtagh has long been a weapon, a killer. With Nasuada, this all falls away.

Word count: 1027

Warnings: sexual content

_____

“I want this,” she reminded him, and who was Murtagh to deny her this or any wish?

Already, they had stripped their outer garments. Murtagh stood in only his breeches; Nasuada in a delicate chamise. His tunic and her dressing gown had been cast to the floor, long forgotten.

She kissed him again and the fire burned hotter inside his belly. Careful hands placed themselves on her hips;  her fingers tangled in his hair. She guided him, stepping back until they reached his bed. Nasuada lay with him, and once they were settled, he began to press kisses along her slender neck. 

But she parted from him a moment later. Looking him in the eye, she pulled the chamise over her head, leaving her body entirely bare before him. She did not drop her gaze, and Murtagh held her sight for a long second before allowing himself to look.

She was beautiful. Delicate, sloping curves of flesh, deep brown skin, angled and perfect; a magnificent sight entrusted to him alone. Still, her chin was raised as she watched him examine her, ever proud and unashamed.

“You are,” he said lowly, “the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

In response, she reached forward and tugged at his breeches. He obeyed, shifting to discard them. Unlike Nasuada, Murtagh found himself unable to face her as boldly as she did him. He was hard, his body flushed with anticipation, and he hardly trusted himself to move or speak again. His eyes were downcast; he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes.

She drew him closer, though, and laid down again. More kisses and exploring touches, skin against skin, lust and need and passion driving each motion. It was overwhelming. It was blissful. It wasn’t enough.

He looked at her, need mounting higher and higher, and she nodded. Murtagh could easily recognize the hunger in her eyes; it burned through his every nerve. Together, they moved, readying themselves.

Then, he trembled, bracing himself above her on his elbows. The space of a few inches was the only barrier between them now. Murtagh sucked in a breath, eyes flickering from a spot on the headboard, then to Nasuada’s eyes and back again.

But Nasuada was wordless as she reached between them, grasping him with a steady hand. The touch was white-hot against his skin, and he suppressed a moan. She guided him to her body and began enveloping him in a velvety heat.

This was better than before, but still not enough. It was a need to continue, to press deeper into her, but Murtagh remembered himself. Slower was better, for her pleasure and comfort alike. He dipped in and out again, shallow, delicate thrusts that went only a fraction of an inch further each time.

Nasuada made an impatient noise. “Please,” she said, trying to pivot her hips against him. Murtagh stilled.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, and Nasuada answered him with a small smile before kissing him deeply, rolling her hips against his. He sank further into her and his mouth fell open.

“Ah,” he said. “Nasuada.” 

The name was as sacred as a prayer. He touched her again, fingers ghosting over her hips, her breasts. Each motion was painstakingly careful.

Those were words he’d never thought would describe himself- tender, soft, gentle- yet he resolves that was all he’d be with Nasuada. Reverent came to mind. He’d worship her, their bond, their trust, their connection. How many times had they professed their affection and trust to one another? How many times had they shown it? The instances were too many to count, but this shed their last vulnerabilities. This was an ultimate devotion to one another, after all they had endured at their own hands and from crueler outside forces.

They continued until he was fully sheathed inside her. He shook still, overwhelmed by the sensation, by the desire that sang through every part of him.

And then, together, they began to move.

Their bodies came together, flesh rolling against flesh, only sweat between them. It was jarringly different than bodies colliding on the battlefield; yes, it was primal and raw, sweaty, hungry, consuming- but this was not fear or hatred- these movements were all passion and love. 

Hands, which were callused and worn and drenched with blood, rubbed against her tender skin, coarse fingers circling her core, making her gasp with delight. Nerves and shame fell away; Murtagh lost himself in the scent of her, of them, of their pleasure and joining, in repetitive motions and endless kisses; to the feeling of lips on his neck and collarbone, skin against his skin, fingers pressing into his back and tugging on his hair. Nasuada cupped his face, her eyes meeting his. She smiled, a soft gentle thing. Murtagh echoed the expression, kissing the soft skin of her wrist just below her palm.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and turned them so that his back was now pressed against the mattress, sighing as she settled atop him. When he thrust up against her, she bit her lip and tilted her head back. He gripped her thigh, going deeper, and she cried out, again a noise of pure pleasure and joy. A sound, a circumstance, so different from long ago in the Hall of Soothsayer brought forth because of and for him.

His vision blurred, hot tears stinging his eyes. He gasped with the next ministration and the tears spilled over. Nasuada slowed, but Murtagh forced his eyes open, plastering a smile on his face once more. She softened upon meeting his gaze, understanding and compassion flowing between them.

“This is good,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss him. “Murtagh.”

“Thank you,” he managed, and meant it. Thank you for forgiving me. For trusting me. For allowing this connection, this intimacy. 

She shook her head. “I want this. The same way you do.”

And that was all that mattered. When they came apart later, holding each other and shuddering through it, all he could think of was her. Nasuada- he was drowning in her, in all this gentle conjoining, and he could not want for anything else.

#happy holidays yall i am still around and kicking!!! #got sidetracked by a vaguely cursed fandom but uhhhhhh I'm here still #murtagh #murtagh x nasuada #murtagh fanfic #murtagh morzansson #inheritance cycle #inheritance cycle fanfic #murtagh x nasuada fanfic #nasuada #murtagh x nasuada smut

[yureisfanficstuff]

Hope

Fandom: Inheritance cycle

Pairing: Murtagh x God!OC

Prompt: "The possibility to choose who I want to be has been taken from me long ago." from the Fanfic Library discord server

Warnings/theme: mention of a past character death, hurt/comfort

Lenght: 720 words

More of a drabble than a oneshot

"The possibility to choose who I want to be has been taken from me a long time ago," Iara said, his voice filled with bitterness.

Murtagh shook his head. "That's not true. You can change who you are, and you can change how others see you. You need to move on from what happened."

Iara gave him a sad smile as he listened. He was certain that nothing that Murtagh said could change his mind on this, though he appreciated the effort that the man was putting into cheering him up.

"That is impossible for me," he began to answer. "Unlike with mortals, my memories never fade. The wounds on my body will heal without leaving a scar, no matter how bad they are, but the wounds on my soul stay with me forever. The grief, the rage, the hatred that I feel are still as fresh as the day they killed him. I can only do my best to try and not think of it, and the only reason why I do not go berserk whenever I am reminded of it is that I am well aware that his murderers have already passed centuries ago. I still can not forgive them for taking him away from me, and I still do not feel guilty about the ones that I killed before Goean stepped in and shielded them from me. Moving on will always be impossible for me."

Murtagh frowned, he refused to accept that. He himself had once thought the same way, he had thought that he was alone in this world, that he always would be, and that all he could do was fight for his own survival.

If only he had known then how wrong he had been with that idea, maybe he wouldn't have been drowning in despair for such a long time. Now, the memory seemed almost like a bad dream to him.

No longer was he alone, no longer was he forced to fight just to survive. Now, he had thorn. Now, he had his half brother Eragon. Now, he had his friendship with Nasuada. He was happy now, and he chose to fight to protect that happiness and the people that couldn't protect themselves.

He was so entirely different from who he had been that he sometimes wondered if he had lost himself, until thorn reminded him that that was a good thing.

He couldn't even fathom how Iara had stayed sane when he had been suffering in his own darkness for millennia, having lost the one he had loved the most in such a pointless and despicable way along with his best friend that had betrayed him when he exacted his revenge and the love of the people that had turned into fear.

He refused to accept that Iara could not heal from it and was cursed to spend his eternal, forever unending existence suffering from this. He wouldn't - he couldn't let that happen, especially not when no one else seemed to be trying to help him escape his darkness.

"Maybe you should try living amongst mortals again. I know that many of us aren't worthy of your help, especially a lot of us humans. Many of us are greedy, selfish, cowardly and without empathy. But nobody is entirely bad. Nobody chooses to be bad unless they have an alternative. In good times, you can see help and support everywhere from everyone, it's just that times of war - times like these - bring out both, the best and the worst in people. And I think that once you learn to see that, maybe you will be able to forgive the ones that killed him, and more importantly, understand why he didn't defend himself against them, why he asked you to forgive them even as he was dying. And i think that, once you see the same light in them as he did, even you might be able to move on."

Iara listened to Murtaghs words closely, his admiration towards him ever growing. He could not believe in a brighter future himself, but strangely enough, he could believe in Murtaghs hope for him.

Maybe, after all this time alone, Murtagh would be the one to break his curse and help him heal, help him hope, help him see the good in this world again.

#fanfic #murtagh #inheritance cycle #god #oc x canon #gay #mlm #hope #loss #grief #revenge #hurt/comfort #comfort #Iara

[murtagh-thorn]

Kinda wanna a quick Nasuada x Murtagh thing, but idk how I would make them work and I don't really have enough confidence in myself to get Nasuada in character :/ it's been forever since I read the books.

#inheritance cycle #inheritance cycle fanfic #murtagh morzansson #murtagh #nasuada #murtagh x nasuada

[murtagh-thorn]

Safe & Warm

Pairing: Murtagh x Rider!Reader

Summary: Murtagh keeps the reader safe and warm on a stormy day.

A/N: D/N: dragon's name. I tried to keep the reader as nondescript and gender neutral as possible. Thank you for the read and comments/notes/reblogs are greatly appreciated. If you want to make a fic request or stay updated on my Inheritance Cycle fanfic writing, my inbox is always open. I also love talking about the Inheritance Cycle if you just wanna come say hey. You can also read this fic on AO3.

You hadn’t meant to stay out for as long as you did. You’d seen the rolling grey clouds in the distance, casting an eerie shadow over the training grounds that were part of Eragon’s Riders Academy. In spite of, or perhaps because of, the fact that you’d been an accomplished Rider for many years now, coming across a maneuver you just couldn’t pin bothered you to the point of obsession. You had been one of Eragon’s first students and were considered a senior Rider by the younglings at the Academy, as was your dragon, D/N. Many of the Riders and their dragons had retreated indoors. Eragon had called for you to do the same hours ago, but you just wanted to try it a couple more times. You almost had it. And since your dragon was just as determined as you and hadn’t been bothered by the prospect of getting a little wet, you had persevered.

You were now proud to say you had set out to attempt your goal. You hadn’t mastered the maneuver by any means, but you at least weren’t failing epically. But you were also more than a little wet. Drenched was more like it. As you’d ridden your dragon back into their cavern that connected to your quarters, D/N had given their cavern a thorough rinsing.

You slid off your dragon’s back with a sigh, ready to put on some warm, dry clothes—

 Shit!

What’s wrong? D/N asked.

 I was supposed to meet Murtagh in the library! Fly me over after I change and get a cloak?

D/N snorted. You’re on your own two-legged. I’ve gotten wet enough for the day. You dry off far more easily than I will.

 Pleeeaaaase?

No. D/N settled down into the small, cushioned indent on the floor that served as their bed. They laid their head down and closed their eyes in a clear statement that they wouldn’t be moving anytime soon.

You sighed and quickly changed, wrapping a thick cloak around you and checking your reflection in the mirror. Although you had known Murtagh for a few years before becoming romantically involved with him, you still wanted to look your best. Not that he hadn’t seen you in embarrassing situations before—but you didn’t want to place yourself in one if you didn’t absolutely have to be. Such as showing up to meet him looking like a wet rag. Satisfied, you pulled your hood over your hair and made your way towards the door leading outside.

Being one of Eragon’s older students—most arrived young, around ten or twelve years of age, while you were in your early twenties with your dragon reaching their fifth year—you had traveled with him on several occasions to the court of High Queen Nasuada. There, the two of you and your dragons had run into Murtagh and Thorn four years ago. Eragon had told stories of his brother, who was enslaved to Galbatorix along with his dragon. Although he didn’t sugarcoat Murtagh’s deeds, he made sure all his students knew how Murtagh and Thorn had helped them in the end and had never worked for the king willingly. While you, D/N, Eragon and Saphira had been in Ilirea, you’d become close with the outcast Rider and dragon as they did numerous quiet deeds to remedy their reputation. They weren’t a favorite of the people by any means and of course there were those who still hated the pair; but they were in much better standing than they had been.

Eventually, Eragon and Saphira had convinced them to return to the academy with you to help train other Riders and dragons. After much convincing—particularly on your part—they’d accepted. The two of you and your dragons had become fast friends and now, here you were.

You were pulled back to the present as you braved the weather outside. Not only was it still raining, but the wind blew the raindrops underneath your cloak to soak your clothes. Holding your cloak closed with your hands only gave the wind room to shove aside your hood and soak your hair. You might as well have stayed in your wet clothes from earlier. There’d certainly been no point to toweling your hair.

Finally you made it to the library. A few other Riders, elves and some visiting dwarves meandered about. Otherwise, the place was mostly empty. You did your best to dry your soaked shoes on the mat and hung your dripping cloak on one of the wall hooks to dry. However, your hair, shirt and pants were still soaked through. Maybe if D/N hadn’t been so stubborn and flown you over, you wouldn’t have been in the elements for so long.

You sighed and began weaving through the bookshelves, tables and chairs to your and Murtagh’s favorite spot in the library. Several small cubby holes had been built in the walls with circular windows gazing outside onto the training grounds. You and the Red Rider had quickly grown a love of the large one in the leftmost corner of the library. More than big enough for two, the two of you loved to cuddle while reading your favorite books. Murtagh had told you earlier he’d found a new one he thought you’d be interested in. Although you weren’t sure how much he would want to cuddle given your sodden state.

You rounded the corner and caught sight of him. His boots were in a pile on the floor and he lounged inside the spacious circle, one elbow resting on a knee and looking pensively out the window at the falling sheets of rain. He struck a handsome profile in the lamplight and you merely gazed admiringly, nearly melting at the sight. The book he’d mentioned before sat invitingly on the side table. He was dressed in a maroon tunic (one of your favorites), brown trousers and gently bounced his socked feet. His soft, dark hair was pushed back in the front and you could just see the slope of his nose in front of the picturesque scenery outside the window. He painted such a peaceful picture. So of course, you had to ruin the moment with a sneeze.

Murtagh’s eyes snapped over to you and his gentle smile quickly disappeared. His eyes went round at your clothes and hair. “I see you didn’t take Eragon’s advice and come inside before the storm hit.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Typical.”

You shivered as the chilly air inside the library seeped through your bones. You rubbed your arms and smiled proudly. “D/N and I can do the maneuver now though.”

He laughed. “Well, at least the cold you’ll probably catch will be worth it.” He stood and gestured to the cubby.

You climbed in, surprised when he didn’t join you. “Where are you going?”

He ran a gentle finger over your cheek and you melted into his hand. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Just wait here.” He threw one last smile at you before disappearing through the bookshelves.

You shuddered and watched the rain fall and trees sway outside the window. It was even cooler by the pane of glass. You missed the warmth Murtagh’s body usually provided and hoped he’d be back soon.

The gentle pat-pat of the rain blowing against the window had nearly lulled you to sleep when you heard a voice calling your name and a hand gently shaking your shoulder. You turned to see Murtagh carrying a tray containing two steaming mugs. A thick blanket was draped over his shoulder.

“What is that?” you asked, nodding towards the mugs.

“[Tea/coffee/cocoa],” he replied. He set the tray on the table and wiggled into the cubby beside you.

You quickly grabbed the blanket and pulled it up to your chin. Murtagh chuckled as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and kissed your still damp hair. He twisted to hand you your drink, grab his own and retrieve the book. The drink flooded you with warmth instantly and you snuggled closer to Murtagh’s chest as he opened the book to the first page.

#inheritance cycle #inheritance cycle fanfic #murtagh morzansson #murtagh x reader #murtagh imagine #murtagh morzansson imagine #baby murtagh protection squad #it's pouring here #and curling up with murtagh and reading a book sounds divine