#considering the fact that they never interacted in canon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

comfortless · 5 months

Text

All That You Don’t Want

PAIRING: witch!fem!reader x apprentice!König

CONTENT: 18+! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. oneshot. obvious au— so not canon-compliant!, questionable morality, mutual pining, animal death (it’s still alive! but not!), minor character death, power imbalance? technically teacher/student, forced proximity, smut; unprotected piv, creampie, cunnilingus, cockwarming.

NOTES: title from this song! (i will never stop titling my König fics after The Twilight Sad lyrics sorry) i have never written smut in my life i apologize if this is rough!! cover: Robert Bresson, 1951 wc: 7.7k

You never wanted an apprentice, never had the need for some bright-eyed whelp shadowing you for their own benefit. The kingdom had enough competition as far as your craft went— green magic, potion brewing and enchantments, why in the world would you risk teaching someone your secrets only for them to outdo you at every turn? Those with the propensity for magic weren’t treated human, anyway. You saw the looks, uneasy and disgusted, unless of course they had need of you.

The Guild keeps your protected, scrawl your praises in every fresh sheet of parchment passed about, brings in new clients for you to keep yourself afloat without you ever having to leave your little cottage in the forest just beyond the towering walls of the kingdom. So, when you receive the damned letter, how can you refuse?

Green magic couldn’t protect you from the King’s headsman, nor could it keep you hidden away from the constant threat of bandits and other malevolent forces, but the lines in the small letter detailing your new apprentice’s abilities are enough to make you swallow back some of that displeasure.

“… proficient in offensive magics…” and “… formerly in service to the King as a worthy candidate for knighting…” even “… a skilled huntsman…” all tell you that whoever this enigmatic pup is, he would have no qualms hissing at and chasing off a few rogues if they dared step too close to your territory. You picture some ruggedly handsome and charming gentleman arriving at your door with a sword of the finest steel hanging from his side and you loathe the way that your heart seems to flutter with excitement at the prospect.

A fortnight after the letter arrived at your doorstep, you realize that fantasy is often far sweeter than the reality.

You’re busying yourself sorting out a towering shelf with haphazardly placed vials, some labeled and others… well, if you had to guess based on the color of the fluid inside, you should probably toss lest you accidentally poison the next poor woman that comes by simply wanting something to charm the cute farmhand while her piece of shit husband, far too old for her, is off on another brothel visit. You may not be equipped to defend yourself in battle, but you know very well how to make nightshade and wolf’s bane taste like milk and honey.

It’s when you turn with your arms burdened by a heap of unlabeled, possibly poisonous concoctions that you see a figure just outside your window— tall, face shrouded with a blackened veil with only two holes cut out for his moonstone eyes. You curse the way the sight makes you nearly jump out of your skin, dropping everything you were holding onto the wooden floor, brightly colored fluid and glass shards staining a nearby rug you had spent an entire month painstakingly hooking yourself. The specter just tilts his head at you before inviting himself inside. Why bother pretending to be civilized when you look like that, anyhow?

You crouch to collect the shards of glass and wipe away the mixture of maybe-poisons as he enters, not sparing him a glance even as his footfalls lead him to stand uncomfortably close. Perhaps if the entire ordeal hadn’t pissed you off you would have the sense to be afraid, consider the fact that this titan of a man could have been a thief, but something tells you that this is the bright-eyed whelp you had anticipated. The man doesn’t even bother to greet you, let alone kick his muddy boots off at the door, he just hovers over you with his face tilted downward as you scrub up the mess you tell yourself he had caused.

“Leave it to The Guild to send me a dolt,” you mutter below your breath, barely audible as you move to deposit bits of broken glass into a wastebasket at the corner of the room.

“Ja?” The man huffs amusedly.

“Ja?” You question.

“Yes.”

You give him a look, one that suggests you’re in no mood for whatever this is and he seems to stiffen. Any mirth in those haunted eyes of his is quickly snuffed out, replaced with his gaze darting from perusing your backside to the corner of the room, then back up to your face.

He introduces himself as ‘König’. No surname, no title. Though, you supposed in his language, his name was a title in itself. Perhaps your disappointment is more notable than you realize, because the man seems almost nervous around you as you introduce yourself in turn. His fingers curl into his palms in repetition at his sides, and it’s impossible to tell by the small glimpse of his face whether or not he wants to strangle you or bury himself instead.

You rise to your feet, feeling acutely defeated as you lead him around the home, showing him to each room before stopping at the door to his own and crossing your arms over your chest.

“You’ll stay here,” you say quietly, avoiding his eyes as he lowers himself to look at you, thanking you graciously as his hand lingers a bit too long on your shoulder. You gently reach to pry it off, only to feel him grip at your fingers running his thumb over each knuckle before finally drawing away.

You watch from the doorway as he inspects the room. A bed a size two small for a man such as himself sits in the middle, a desk cluttered with spare vials of ink and a few quills made of swan feather, and a towering bookshelf filled with books on simple magic that you haven’t bothered to touch since you were a girl. He seems pleased, despite how very little effort was made for him. As much as you wish otherwise, you almost feel the sting of guilt when you watch him seat himself on the small bed and his eyes light up as he looks to you.

It didn’t take much perception to see the world hadn’t treated this brute too kindly.

He hunts your dinner, bringing home several rabbits that he took his time to skin and prepare for cooking in the yard. Even more, he roasts them over a fire he stoked up for you in a display of gratitude. You watch him from the fogged window as he seats himself by the fluttering flames, watching the meat with a focus that speaks volumes about his own discipline.

“Have you lived on the land for long, König?,” you ask him when the two of you are seated at the table, wiping away the remnants of your meal from your lips with a small handkerchief.

He’s only rucked up his hood enough to eat, the scars lining his jaw run deep, the skin pasty there. He looked far too pale to even be a living thing at all, but his thin lips pull into a grin at your question. “You can tell?” He asks with a slight tilt of his head, the tone of his voice suggesting sarcasm. “Perceptive little witch.”

You furrow your brow at him, surprised by his sudden arrogance. You would have sooner expected the man to tear a hole through you than meet your little question with a cocky response if his twitchy behavior was anything to go by. But… his voice sends a shiver down your spine, the amused lilt mixed with his accent, some natural charm that makes areas of you ache that haven’t been touched in years.

“A man must know to feed himself, ja?”

“Well, I don’t hunt.”

He huffs out a laugh at that, raising a hand to readjust his hood, pulling it back down over his face. König is not pretty, far from it from what you could see, but you almost find yourself downtrodden that he’s hiding himself again when you were only just starting to find yourself curious.

“I will teach you,” he suggests as he clears your table, depositing both your dishes and his own into the washbasin at the far corner of the kitchen. He’s helping, and your eyes merely track him dumbfounded.

“You don’t have to, König— I, um. I’m supposed to be teaching you, remember?” You’re trying to sound authoritative, like a proper mentor but it’s fruitless, really. How long had it been since a man was this close to you, living out in the forest? You had clients, sure, but in your craft you came to know about their proclivities, their ailments, and any interest you may have had died with their innumerable requests.

The Guild had set you up, surely, you decide as your eyes wander over to the man washing your dishes, the man who had prepared your dinner, who had stared openly at your ass. The man who smelled of dew and timber and fire smoke. The man with the most beautiful, tired eyes you had ever met.

You can see the muscles of his back through his tunic, tightly bundled up from where he’s drawn his sleeves to his bicep to wash up the remnants of dinner, mind almost numbing from the sight alone. It felt like some divine torture, to be sent something you adamantly did not want only for that very same thing to make your pulse quicken and throat dry.

“I want to teach you,” he tries again.

You feel sinful for the place your mind goes then. Do the ladies in the kingdom often allow monsters to bed them? Is his size comparable to the stature?

“Okay.” Your voice was tight, barely a whisper.

He finishes up his cleaning and turns to look at you as he wrings his hands over the washbasin, his eyes narrowed and crinkled at the corners. Grinning again like a wolf knowing he’s got his claws in you.

— — —

You go over the standard protocol when dealing with customers seeking remedies with König as you hear the approaching horse whinnying out in the yard. Simple, standard. Most people had a wariness for those who were touched by magic, understandably so. It’s human nature to fear what isn’t fully understood. With König’s imposing height and the veil over his face, you needed him to be extra careful in these situations. He doesn’t seem to take offense at your fretting, merely smiles beneath the veil as you speak and all is settled and well by the time your client wraps lightly at the door.

You swing the door open with a polite smile, hands clasped at the lap of your dress. The smile is maintained even as you catch sight of his face, scars from a horrific burn covering over half of it, his right eye filmed over and sightless in its socket. He wasn’t here to charm a lady or conceal his face with glamours, only for a balm to alleviate the lingering, phantom pains that stretched from his scalp down to his neck. A decent man, and a damned good blacksmith from what you had heard. He was one of your favorites.

König observes from the corner of the room, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest without a word as you fetch the jar of balm for the client, accept his coin and send him back on his way.

“Oh.. I don’t know how he got that nasty burn but it’s hard to look at isn’t it?”

König gives you a look, something unsaid hinted at just beyond the surface of his icy eyes, and you realize it’s a little too late to pull your words back.

— — —

Days seem to pass by with an awkward tension in the air. It’s not because of his tutelage under you, either, because he’s doing surprisingly well with his studies. Potion crafting is a tricky, fickle sort of thing. One mistake and an entire batch is ruined and the gods only knew when you would stumble upon what was required whilst foraging again. König is careful, attentive as he follows your instruction. He studies diligently, spending his free time reading through his books, often out in the foyer and if not for how skilled he was, you would assume it was all for show. Wishful thinking, a vicious yearning settling in between your breasts that wants for him to try and impress you, to court you.

It’s tense because you’ve found you can’t keep the man out of your head. In the late hour when the house has fallen silent, you could often hear his desperate grunts through the thin slats of wood separating your own room from his. You’ve imagined the sight of him fisting his cock, biting down onto his scarred lip as he whines through his release more times than you would ever confess. The gods themselves couldn’t pry the admittance from your lips that you wait up sometimes to hear him with your own hand between your thighs.

And König had this look about him now, more confident as he walks about. His hands don’t twitch as much when the two of you speak.

It’s the seventh morning as you’re preparing tea for the both of you that he enters the cottage entirely nude (apart from the hood; he seems insistent about keeping it almost entirely on in your presence). His body drips with river water, looking more like the skillfully carved statues that took residence in the castle courtyard than any man at all. You can’t help your staring, and he seems unperturbed by it as he slips behind you to set some freshly plucked milkweed on the wooden countertop. So focused on the cords of tight muscle layering his body, the obscene thing swaying between his legs, you hadn’t even noticed he had bothered to collect an ingredient you so desperately needed.

A man such as he should be seated on a throne, worshipped by a harem of pretty ladies, all pawing at his lap. Yet— he merely had you, ogling him as openly as he seemed to do to you.

“For the elixir,” he hums, sounding amused as he tilts his head to look you over as he had a striking amount of times already.

“Yeah.” You try to subtly clear your throat, cursing yourself for the way your reaction prompts his eyes to dart to the swell of your breasts beneath your dress. “Thanks.”

“You look pretty today.” He’s making everything worse. Turning your quiet life around and filling you with some horrid feeling you’ve avoided for years out here in near-isolation. “You look pretty everyday,” he corrects himself before you can speak. The obscene pillar between his legs seems to grow at the sight of you, and if you were not certain before, you know assuredly now that something has cursed you.

A good, knowing witch would tell him that his compliments were inappropriate, unwarranted. She would tell him to not walk around with his cock on full display and send him off to practice mundane spells as punishment. You are not a good, knowing witch at all if the warmth on your face is anything to go by.

“How was the river?” You ask instead, graciously retrieving a towel from the cupboard to hand to him. Despite how orderly you tried to keep things here, it’s not the water he’s dripping all over the hardwood that has your mind spinning.

“Gut.” He says words in his native tongue, often, and you’ve already grown accustomed to deciphering them. They sound prettier on his tongue than your own. He accepts the towel and merely draping it over his broad shoulders. “Come with me next time,” he offers, all but innocently.

God damnit.

“I made tea.” You’re trying to avoid his undressing stare, busying yourself with the tea kettle. The scent of mint seems to calm you as you pour the tea into your own mug, careful not to spill it out onto the counter with your trembling hands.

“I like you.” Blunt as always, you wonder if he even has any sort of control on the things he says.

God damnit all.

“I like you too, König. You’re a good apprentice,” you respond, your nerves alight with something that you can’t quite place; a twig on the verge of snapping under its weight.

He laughs soft, and graciously gives you a reprieve from well… that as he steps out of the room to finally dress himself.

Later that evening as the elixir is fully prepared and the client arrives to pick it up, you realize that König is no where in sight. It’s not uncommon; the man certainly lacked his social graces, but he hadn’t seemed to mind the shopfront side of what you do before until you had spoken so carelessly. The client is a nervous little thing, a girl not yet a woman, anxious and shaky as she takes the vial from you with an abundance of thanks. It’s no wonder why she had requested such a thing meant to put a patch over her anxieties and communicate better now. You steal only a spoonful from the cauldron as you empty it, praying that it silences the buzzing of nerves and the fluttering in your heart as you bed down for the night.

— — —

You wake to a door slamming shut in the dead of night, followed by the quieted hiss of what you believe to be a curse in a language that is not your own. It immediately sends you on high alert, thinking back to the threat of bandits and enchanted wildlife or whatever else. Jolted from your bed by the kick of adrenaline, you tiptoe down the stairs to see that… nothing is out of place. The den is as homey as always, every vial and potion bottle in its place on the shelves. The only thing that appeared to be missing at all was a book on your shelf. You knew that book, too. It was a favorite of many of your customers, the ones with weathered skin or features that were not the golden standard of delicate, royal beauty. A book on glamours was not something that would be stolen away by any thief in the night, seeing as it wouldn’t be of much help at all without a dedicated practitioner.

It only really settles in for you that your apprentice snatched it away when you take a peek out of the window and your eyes settle on a darkened corner of the garden. Tall sprigs of lavender sprung up from the earth there, and an even taller man sat, legs crossed with your book in his lap beneath the milky glow of the moon.

König looks… agitated. Even from this distance, the glass and wall and several meters of organized plant life separating you, you can see his hands shaking as he ghosts his calloused fingertips over the pages. His shoulders tense and a fiery look in his eye. He reads the incantations aloud with proper annunciation, forced through his thick accent. Repeats them, several times over. Not a thing changes.

But you leave him be, return to bed, because despite him being your responsibility, his private matters are still his own. As much as you would like to snatch the book from his hands and confess through tears that he haunts your dreaming just as he is now, you can’t bring yourself to do so.

When the book is in its place the following morning with König still in his bed, you read over the pages heavily scented by lavender. The ones that tell you how he sees himself in truth without a single word from his own being. Too tall, too ugly, too ruined.

It’s not enough to say your heart breaks. You feel it shatter somewhere in your chest, little pieces crumbling down into the darkest pit of your middle. Perhaps he’s only doing this due to your careless words about your client the other day, perhaps he wants to be seen as something beautiful for once.

The day is spent with a heavy weariness in your eyes. König picks up some slack for you as you fester in a sadness that should not even be your own; prepares something meaty for you both to eat, incorrectly sweeps some dust from the wooden floors that you know you’ll have to properly clean later on, and even tends to the garden. He’s good with the plants, gentle as he plucks berries from their stems and cuts away only what was required with a sharp dagger.

While you’ve thrown yourself over a cushioned chair, König kneels before you to speak. He’s just finished telling you some gory tale about when he squired for Ser… something, a name you don’t even care to remember. It was a rare occurrence for him to open up, you’ve come to realize that. Maybe it was simply too soon for him, but then again, he seemed to have no qualms allowing you to hear his desperate howling at night or walk about after a bath with his cock fully erect in your line of sight. If words were too much then what the hell was all of that?

“How come you didn’t become a knight, König?” you ask him, your tone sounding a bit more dead than intended. It wasn’t that you weren’t interested in his stories, you were simply still coming to terms with one of his likely innumerable secrets. “The Guild said you were a good candidate, so why?”

You ask your questions, his eyes light up. He’s not used to this, it seems, and the fact that you want to know him at all makes him giddy. His fingers drum against his thighs, eyes creasing at the corners as he smiles beneath that veil and you wonder… wonder how the world could be cruel to someone like this at all when all that you want to do is bundle up with him beneath your thick quilts and kiss him in places only lovers would.

He doesn’t respond to your question, though. Another secret for some other time, you supposed. Instead, he asks his own, “Why are you so alone?”

König speaks freely, you knew that well enough but the words that escape his lips cause you to freeze all the same. His tone is neutral, not accusatory or mocking, but there’s something— something there you can’t properly uproot.

“I’m not lonely.” A little white lie couldn’t be too terrible, yet the thought of betraying your companion in even such a small way, hurting him like you assumed so many others had before is just unthinkable. “I am sometimes, but I like living here,” you correct.

“But you are alone,” he insists.

“I am not. You’re here.”

Your words are like a charm, really, and any rationale König may have had immediately dissipates when you speak them. He climbs over you, the chair creaking under your combined weight as he looks down at you with this hope-filled expression that tugs every one of your heartstrings at once. “Let me kiss you.”

His shallow breathing flutters his veil, the hunger in his eyes more than apparent, and you’ve the sense that a mere kiss would not suffice, turning into a long night with an impossible soreness between your thighs come morning.

You shake your head and he backs off immediately, returning to sit on the floor before you instead with a simple, “Okay.”

The room falls silent for a moment. You wanted to. You’ve been longing to. And yet the opportunity had gone and went; for any normal, sane person your rejection would have been enough. Weeks spent in his company should have taught you that König was a far cry from normal. The man treats you like you’re a doll, not a seasoned witch. Takes to hiding away from any company you may have and spends his nights outside in the dark wishing and failing to change what he was.

“If I tell you why I am not a knight will you kiss me?,” he tries again as you shift to sit upright in your seat.

“What? König, no… that’s not how—”

“I will court you,” he interjects quickly, rising to his feet to stare down at you. The man was practically buzzing with excitement, and you wonder if he intends to bolt out of the house right then to bring back ample gifts of flowers and fine silks just for a chance to mash his mouth against your own.

“You’re not here to court me,” you huff with a pinched brow. Stop making this harder! Why must you always make this harder?!

“I think about you at night.”

The giant professes his affections by telling you that he’s fucking his fist to the thought of you with all the simplicity of idle talk. Somehow, that seemed less alarming than the fact that you don’t even seem horrified. Words fail you when you desperately need them most, merely gaping up at him so dumbly you must have actually belayed interest, because he continues.

“In the river too.”

“König… that’s inappropriate,” you manage to find your voice then. You know that you’re a plaster saint, too, because the thought of bathing where he spreads his seed sends a swell of warmth from your tummy to the aching blossom between your legs.

“Ja, it is… why do you tease me? The way you look…” He trails off with a shake of his head, his blue eyes narrowing in confusion. He was trembling as though afraid, so violently you almost fear he’ll come crashing over you like an ocean wave. You would catch him, drown in salt water and foam, a curtain of sharp teeth and darkness.

He fidgets as he waits for an answer that never comes. What could you say? Admit that the way he feels is a mirror of yourself, that the two of you are only seconds from diving into a pool that you could never resurface from.

But just like before, König retreats up the shadowy staircase, up to his room. Another reprieve, another stone weighing heavy in the recesses of your mind.

— — —

Secrets are stupid, evil things you decide.

You’re staring into the glazed eyes of a dead buck as it stands before you on it’s hind legs. It’s head hangs limply from its broken neck, mouth gaping with each fragile intake of breath. It’s bloated belly leaks it’s own entrails as it takes a shaky step towards you, trying desperately to kick at you with the stiff limbs tucked against its chest.

“I don’t know how to make it go away,” König pants at your side, and despite his shallow, rapid breathing there’s this calm look in his eyes. This has happened before. This has happened before and to a far worse extent than a deer.

It makes sense, now, why something as trivial as casting a glamour simply didn’t work for König. The man was touched by something darker, something the King’s men would happily cut his head from his shoulders for. Necromancy was immoral and frankly, horrifying. Seeing it now, it was really no wonder why this sort of magic would send one directly to the headsman.

The deer huffs a breath, too long and ragged. It’s not used to breathing any more, after all. König steps between you two, his dagger raised. “Just… close your eyes.”

It’s over as quickly as it’s manifested and König does well at shielding you from the aftermath, your face pressed to his chest as he pulls you into his arms and walks you back home. What was meant to be a simple practicing session, resulted in chaos, and you’ve no words to give to fill the silence hanging over the two of you as he finally deposits you by the door.

You stand on shaking legs, a million questions swimming through your mind, but even as you part your lips to speak not a single sound comes out.

He looks exasperated when he finally remedies the quiet. “You’re afraid of me.” It’s not a question, only a resounding fact.

“No,” you lie immediately with a firm shake of your head.

“I will go.” König’s eyes are tired, always tired. He’s already slinking back towards the door when you reach for him, almost clawing at the length of his sleeve in your own desperation. If you were cursed this man was, tenfold, and you couldn��t bear the thought of sending him back out into a world that had hurt him so. One that would assuredly end his torment should this ever happen again. You don’t know whether you’re being merciful or selfish anymore; the definitions all a blur. You only know that the thought of König leaving your side feels like the ache of a thorn embedded in your heart.

“König, please— We can figure something out, we’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again,” you huff as you bury your face against his shoulder. He’s both tense and trembling beneath your warmth. “I just need time to think.”

He cocks his head, a resounding twinkle of mirth breaking through the listlessness in his eyes. “Why?”

König isn’t dull-witted. He knows the words you never have a chance to speak. No one’s ever held fast to his side like this; no one has ever truly wanted him.

You know that the second he pushes his veil up and presses his mouth to yours. It’s clumsy, the force he uses, as if he’s trying to headbutt you instead of give you his affection, but you reciprocate in turn. You breathe shakily against him when you finally bring yourself to part your lips and he immediately begins to languidly lap into your mouth, drawing his arms around you; one finding the base of your neck as the other settles on your lower back, his fingers digging into your velvet dress, bunching up the fabric enough to reveal the meat of your ass.

You both moan as though you’re already having sex, caught up in a tangle of limbs he tastes your mouth as though it were sweet wine; his tongue flicks against your own before pulling back, lapping at your lip, pushing back in in some steady repetition that makes your knees weaker. Your hands find the hem of his tunic, slipping beneath it to feel a wall of muscle layered over his abdomen and he groans into the kiss with such fervor you would think he’s already come. He tears the cloth off the second you thumb over his nipple and drops to his knees clutching at your thighs.

“I need to taste you.” He sounds so desperate, looks so pitiful as though he’ll cry if you don’t allow him to fuck you with his tongue. You’re too far gone to give him anything more than a nod, and he all-too-readily lifts the skirt of your dress, hooks his finger around the seat of your panties and buries his face between your thighs. The first sweeps of his tongue are almost punishing; he wastes no time plowing the muscle into your cunt, writhing and grinding it against your velvety walls. The sound is already obscene, but then he begins to moan.

He sounds even more desperate than those nights in his lonely room, somehow, as he paws at his own erection straining against his trousers and drives into your pussy at a feverish pace. When he finally moves to take your clit between his lips, you grasp at the top of his head to keep yourself upright, moaning so loudly you’re certain that the entire kingdom could hear. He hums, amused at this, places his hands on your ass and pushes your hips for you to grind against his tongue.

When he jerks your panties aside again to rub circles against your asshole, the tautly pulled coil inside of you finally snaps. You curl over him as you mewl, cradling his head as his tongue pushes against your labia and your slit to lap up every bit of your essence. He releases his grip on your ass as you tremble, strokes himself freely below you as he pants against your pulsing cunt. Graciously, he gives you a moment to recover before he’s rising to his feet, tearing off your ruined panties and lifting you in his arms just enough to rub his leaking tip against you, you give him a strangled cry of his name when his length brushes against your swollen clit.

“Let me fuck you,” he rasps, his eyes wide and pupils blown as you squirm in his arms. “Bitte. Please. Let me fuck you.”

“Yes— Please, please fuck me König,” you whine as your arms curl over his shoulders. He doesn’t hesitate when he lies you back against your rug and pushes your knees up to your chest. His fingers flex against your flesh at the sight of your pussy still twitching from aftershocks, soaked down to your ass and pleading to be filled by him. He drops a hand to spread your lips, groaning deeply from his chest as he watches in awe as the tip of his thick cock sinks into you.

You hadn’t realized just how dirty König was until you see that look in his eye, pulling his head out only to repeatedly push into you with a choked whine of sheer bliss. You hadn’t realized how filthy you were until you find yourself tucking your arms beneath your knees to keep yourself in position so he can grope at the flesh of your ass as he does it.

“So— fuck— so schön,” he mutters as he continues to tease you like this. It’s almost hell the way he still hadn’t filled you entirely when you ache to have that long, ugly pillar buried so far it’s bruising your very womb, and it’s almost heaven the way you squeeze against him with each shallow thrust, your pussy desperate to devour his weapon of flesh.

“König…” You’re breathing his name as though it were a prayer, and as though a gift from the heavens his calloused thumb begins to rub over your clit the moment he finally sinks himself into you. There’s resistance, your cunt wasn’t meant to take a cock so large, you’re certain, but he bottoms out after what feels like an eternity, parts your knees with one hand to see your face as he gasps. You take him all, enveloping him in a vise grip and he hissed something in his native tongue, a string of words you can only imagine are praise because the way he’s looking at you now is as if he’s found a goddess all for himself.

“I’m going to fill you,” he declares as he lowers himself atop you, his weight almost crushing. “I’m going to… feels so…” His words fall short as he begins to move, groping at one of your tits as his other hand remains over your mound, flicking your clit. König’s fingers trace against your nipple before pinching it just hard enough to draw a choked mewl from you as your back arches. “Ja, liebling… you need it..”

His pace picks up, thumb deftly rolling over your clit until you spasm around his cock. It’s savage, the fervor he puts into fucking into you, grinding the tip of his cock against your cervix until you cry out, only to draw back enough to bully against your g-spot until you shiver. Your orgasm hits you so unexpectedly and so hard your bite down on your lip enough to draw blood. König licks at your mouth as your sex pulses around him, groaning in tandem with your pretty cries.

He trails small kisses along your throat before biting down as his own climax hits. He alternates between spitting out words that sound like pure venom and moans that make him sound weak as he gives you one more thrust. His cock twitches so violently inside of you as he presses against your cervix your mind entirely blanks. You can’t tell if it’s his semen or your own slick spilling past his cock, painting your thighs when it all ends. You hang limply against him as he carries you over to the chair, keeping you plugged as he pulls you into his lap.

He fully unclothes you as he peppers your face and neck in sweet, open-mouthed kisses, pets you from the crown of your skull down to your back, brings a hand around your waist to pull you close as his other squeezes and squishes at your breasts. König’s gaze is adoring as your eyes meet his, he’s looking at you with a love you’ve never even known, the warmth of summer somehow still present in those eyes like glaciers.

“Will you stay?,” you force yourself to ask as if the answer isn’t already clear, his cock’s still buried in you and the man seemed utterly in love after merely having a sweaty, adrenaline addled session.

König presses his face into your hair, nuzzling at you as he kisses your temple. “You want me to stay?” He sounds bewildered, so fucking broken that he’s confused by the prospect anyone would even want him around, even if he just gave her the best fuck she’s ever had, even if she’s been staring at him adoringly since he found his way to her door.

“Of course I want you to stay!”

“Then… Ja, I will.”

It’s a declaration of love, in a sense.

König drops his hands to your hips as he kisses you again. The desperation has been strangled, buried someplace in your core. It’s sweet now when his kisses become sloppy and overwhelming. He shifts below you as he maneuvers your hips to grind against him, his length already hardening within you again. He noses at your jaw and pressed kisses to your cheeks when you take a moment to breathe. You curl your arms around him and bury your face into the crook of his neck as your ride him, the both of you moaning soft and panting against sweaty flesh. He finishes inside of you once more just as you lift his veil and kiss along his scars.

He bathed you in the river, carrying you down to the rocky shore as though you were a treasure, his hand stroking through your hair as the water laps over your bodies. It’s not enough to simply hold you, either, because one bath becomes two after he’s bent you over a stump and licked you to completion again before rutting into you like an animal.

Nights are no longer spent with a wall between, he takes to your bed without question, ensures you’re comfortable and warm as he holds you through the night. There’s a sort of desperation in you both, two outsiders that have finally found sanctuary in one another.

“I love you.” Followed by: “I love you.”

You’re not entirely sure who says it first.

— — —

“A deer?”

There’s a man in your home that you don’t recognize, looking you over as though you were well-bred cattle rather than a human being at all. Says he’s concerned about a potential necromancer after something foul slipped its way past the castle walls and paraded itself through an annual ball, sullying a few too-expensive and uncomfortably layered dresses and goring a man with its antlers.

König was seated in front of him, rigid with a forced calm you had never seen on him before, hands clasped and unmoving. You know he’s nervous anyway, his shallow breathing speaks volumes for what the veil keeps from you. You round the table to bring them both tea, trying your best to play the part of indifference as the two men speak.

König had said he didn’t know how to make it go away, and of course he didn’t, because how do you kill something that’s already died? Neither of you would have anticipated it finding its way there of all places, and in retrospect, you’re not even certain that the thought came to mind at all, you had lost yourselves in one another the moment you arrived home. Seeing as you both were the only magic-touched folks roving these woods, it was obvious why The Guild had sent this creep to question you.

“Yes. A large buck, it was,” the man continues, winking at you as he takes a sip of the warm liquid in the mug. You wished you had poisoned it, ridding the world of a man that made your skin crawl like this surely wouldn’t be too sinful. Looking to König, you realize that there’s no need for poisons, because the look in his eyes suggests that before this interrogation is over your rug will have a more stubborn stain than spilled potions and come.

“We use green magic,” you chime in flatly, giving König a moment to quiet his fury as the man turns his attention back to you. “Maybe a traveler slipped into the kingdom, it has nothing to do with König and myself. Why are you here?”

If he hadn’t already told you a thousand times earlier that morning when he took you in the garden, laid you down in a bed of blue and purple wildflowers, König would have told you he loved you right then. You were true, protecting him and risking your own head as well.

“That’s the thing,” the man begins with a laugh entirely devoid of amusement. “Your apprentice here was under similar scrutiny while he was in service to the king. A dead man brought back to life…” he waves his hand as he speaks, staring up at the ceiling as though he’s recounting poetry instead of listing the reasoning why he wanted to have your lover decapitated. “… killed ten good knights. We never suspected him at the time, but all of this…” He shrugs his shoulders and raises his brow, looking somehow even more insufferable than before.

You cross the room to gather the letter signed off by The Guild, detailing your apprentice’s arrival and thrust it into the man’s face. “He would have never passed any sort of eligibility exam if that were the case, and you sent him here.”

The man takes the letter with a click of his tongue before he laughs again. “We didn’t,” he says as he taps the signature at the bottom, hardly a signature at all, only a messy scrawl, the guild master’s name even spelled incorrectly.

König didn’t meet your gaze when you looked to him then.

You made a promise to him you would figure this all out, and you would. You just needed to buy some time, slip some wolfsbane into his tea—

“On behalf of The Guild, I do apologize for the trouble this monster has caused…”

There is no time.

“I’ll be sure that he and his rotting pets are disposed of prop—“

You’re clutching at the dagger König had left on the side table without even thinking it over, fingers curled so tightly around the grip, your knuckles felt alight. The man’s voice is silenced the moment he notices as he takes a wary step away from you. It’s not, really, that you could ever even see yourself taking a life, you never have, but the thought of losing König over a horrible chance in the stars that some uncaring god cursed him with makes bile crawl up the back of your throat and white hot fury course through your veins with all the subtlety of a stampede.

It wasn’t his fault.

König places himself between the two of you and curls his arm around you protectively. If lying for him hadn’t already resigned you to the same fate, drawing the dagger assuredly had. He gently pries the dagger from your hand and tucks your face against his chest, just as he had before when he tried to correct the accidental gift of life he had bestowed to the deer, only this time… you feel the pull of his muscles, you hear sounds of the dagger meeting it’s mark as he cuts through the interrogator’s tender flesh. It takes mere seconds for you to know his blade has struck true, the dying man eliciting a weak gurgling cry from his torn throat as König drops the dagger to the floor with a clatter and strokes your hair.

He makes you stand outside while he cleans up his mess.

A sane woman would run, she would count her losses and look back on her time spent with this unhinged man with criticism. You find that you are not a sane woman when you realize the tears falling freely down your cheeks are not of fear or anger at your own situation, but at the knowledge that he’s suffered being shunned on his own for so long; that he’s killed without remorse because this is what it takes for someone like him to survive at all.

When he finally returns from burying the body and scrubbing the blood from your floor, you readily embrace him and he nuzzles into your hair.

“Es tut mir leid,” he huffs out against you, pulling you so close to him you think, pray, he’ll never let go. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” It’s not and you both know it, but you reassure him with your words and soft kisses to his cheeks as he wipes away your tears. “We can not stay here.”

We. Us. Together.

Something breaks in him at your words, and he shuts his eyes tightly to fight back the tears like claws at his eyes.

“So, tell me where we’ll go.”

He tells you of a place he read about in a book, somewhere across the sea and past a stretch of hills where the accidents he may cause won’t have him looked upon like a monster, where you can love one another in comfort, a place he’s dreamed about since he was a boy and found out just what he was when he reanimated his mother’s beloved cat. He tells you of his father’s cruelty, that a cat’s claws aren’t the only thing that’s left him riddled with scar tissue.

He tells you everything as you pack your things and begin a long walk to a shoddy harbor by the sea, his hand in your own as your board the ship to a new home, a new beginning.

#könig #konig #konig x you #könig x you #könig x reader #konig x reader #konig fanfiction #cod fanfic #könig fanfiction #cod fanfiction

816 notes · View notes

petit-etoile · 5 months

Text

i need you when i'm falling apart

pairing . ⊱ astarion x tav wordcount . ⊱ 3,489 part one . ⊱ here . content warnings . ⊱ mentions of canon compliant temporary character death, spoilers for act iii endgame other tags . ⊱ canon compliant, character study, introspection, p.orn with plot, pwp, vignette, re-establishing relationship, blood drinking, m.issionary position, tav is gender neutral archiveofourown . ⊱ here .

taglist . ⊱ @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia, @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness, @queenofcarrotflowers-s, @kirahlene, @lavenderslemonade, @candyladycry, @chonkercatto, @foxxyhun, @nyxmainex, @angelmawss2, @godoffuckedupcats, @raviolixxx be added . ⊱ here .

summary . ⊱ You have learned to be good. It's time Astarion learns to be forgiven.

During the heart of spring, Astarion spends more time trying to avoid you than he does trying to catch up with you. You’re not even sure why he agreed to travel alongside you — but you do not ask. You press your lips together and push on anyway.

His eyes are cold, and red.

The first night when you set up camp in an abandoned temple, Astarion moves his tent to the other side of the sanctuary as if he cannot bear to be around you. Like you smell. You’ve never cared much for the thoughts or opinions of others, but an inkling of self-doubt creeps back into the depths of your mind. What is the cost of being good if no one treats you kindly?

Every interaction you have with him is like pulling teeth. You want to fight for the tieflings, and Astarion wants to leave them behind. You want to help Wyll find his father, and Astarion snorts. Any good deed you suggest, he finds the need to punish.

When the cambion Raphael reaches and touches your cheek with a promise of opulence and salubrity, you're reminded of a night two hundred years ago. You stumble out of the House of Hope as fast as you can.

You don’t stop walking until daybreak. One night, you explode on Astarion. Your feelings bubble up like bile in your throat.

‘I tried to look for you!’ you snap at him. ‘You can sit here, and you can be bitter, but if I had known, I would have looked for you! But I didn’t know — I didn’t know and it isn’t a crime!’

Astarion’s look of surprise is one thing. He furrows his eyebrows as if properly scandalized, and his frustrated scowl turns to ash when you throw his old cravat at him. You had kept it tied around your neck for two hundred years. You wouldn’t keep it a day longer.

It’s a horrifying mistake to go wandering off in the Underdark by yourself with nothing but a hunting knife at your side, but you never really gave much thought to how you would cope with the gravity of the situation. The fact that you knew Cazador only made matters worse. You stumble past the ruins of the Selûnite Outpost in hopes of running away from your past.

You don’t run into your past in the dark, but you do run into a Spectator.

You’re immediately thrown into darkness and narrowly avoid being petrified, but you have no idea what you’re going to do about this situation besides hide beyond some poor stoned soul. You might should have considered thinking it through. You might should have thought anything through but you didn’t, and that’s the only crime you’ve committed in quite some time. It isn’t a crime is something you’ve begun to repeat to yourself often.

You manage to defend yourself for quite a while in the darkness, but by the end, you’re nursing a nasty wound and bite from the Spectator that will take some time to heal. You’re tucked under some petrified Drow bastard when you hear Karlac’s battle cry and see Gale’s ice spell come from the cliffs. The one that catches you off-guard, the one that will always catch you off-guard, is Astarion flipping through the air with nothing but an elven bow like a prince from your dreams.

Defeating the Spectator is easier with allies, and even the Drow protecting it goes down without much of a fight. You nurse your wounds as best you can, sitting against the cliffs with a bleeding thigh, and try not to frown when Astarion approaches.

‘Give me that,’ he says quietly, snatching one of Halsin’s potions from your fingers. ‘Even after all these years, it seems like you still need protecting.’

You frown and pick at your torn breeches. ‘I know how much you hate that, your honor.’

Astarion looks at you for the first time in several tendays, eyes rimmed with red. ‘I never hated it,’ he says. He dresses your wound like it pains him to see it. ‘I don’t hate it even now.’ Astarion crashes into you full force the night you arrive at the Last Light Inn after you’ve talked to Jaheira but before you’ve talked to anyone else. You’re in your room, and the next thing you know, you’re not alone.

Two hundred years of loneliness are erased at that moment.

His teeth clack painfully against yours as he shoves you into the wall, too uncaring or too pent up to care about the force. He cradles the back of your head to keep you from cracking it on the wall, but other than that, Astarion doesn’t care about hiding the full force of his strength. He kisses you until your mouth is swollen and then he’s tearing your night shirt open with both hands like he can’t get enough.

‘Astarion — ’ you try to say, startled.

But you would be lying if you said you didn’t miss him too. You let Astarion push you around, until you’re both stripped of your clothes and he’s lying flat on his back on the hard wooden floor with you pulled into his lap, his cock pushed deep inside you, and his hands unable to stop wandering the planes of your body. Astarion all but sobs into your mouth as he fucks you. He holds your cheeks in his hands like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

When you’re both finished, no one moves from the wood floor despite there being a bed. You lie on your side next to him, memorizing the slope of his nose while you still shiver with little twinges of pleasure still racing up your spine and between your legs. Astarion’s eyes are closed. He’s pretending to sleep, or pretending to be dead so you don’t have to talk about what’s happened, but you’re curious anyway.

You reach across the distance and touch his chest. You know there’s no heartbeat beneath his ribs, but you like to pretend. You close your eyes and dream it has been nothing but two hundred years of happiness and bliss in Astarion’s home.

‘When I first saw you,’ you say quietly, ‘I thought you were a ghost come back to haunt me.’

‘Are you often haunted by ghosts?’ Astarion asks. He still doesn’t look.

‘I’ve been properly reformed while you were away,’ you tell him. You stare at his neck. ‘There was only one ghost I was running from.’

He smiles. ‘And now you’ve found him. What do you think about this haunting?’

‘I am happily haunted,’ you say honestly. He opens his eyes then and turns toward you, lips pressed into a firm line. ‘But you are not happily haunting.’

Astarion sits up then and you follow him, legs sticky and wet. You reach for his hands and pull them into your lap. You watch as he struggles to accept a kind touch. In a way, you understand that. You remember how kindly he treated you when you didn’t deserve it. You hold his hands even when he tries to run away.

‘I was ashamed for you to see me like this,’ Astarion explains. He looks away, hesitant. ‘My condition isn’t one that I’m proud of. It isn’t fair to say I was tricked, but — ’

‘Wanting to live doesn’t make you a bad person,’ you say.

‘Perhaps not,’ he says. ‘But I became what I often chastised you for. I am greedy. I am prone to lying and bouts of theatrics. I’ve killed. It was embarrassing to fall so low.’

‘And now you rescue orphans,’ you say, shrugging. ‘You helped the gnomes. You helped the tieflings. You’re going to help the gnomes and tieflings again. There’s still good in you, your honor, beneath all that vampiric avarice you despair over.’

Astarion laughs and turns away from you. He’s looking for his clothes, and your heart squeezes so tightly in your chest that you move before you can stop yourself. You drape yourself over Astarion’s back and pull his arms away from his smallclothes. You can tell by the musculature of his arms that you only succeed because he lets you.

‘Please don’t leave me alone again,’ you whisper against his shoulder. Your wet eyelashes tickle the nape of his neck. ‘I waited for you that night and… I don’t want to be alone anymore.’

Astarion stays that night.

He stays every night after that too. For what it’s worth, your third visit to Baldur’s Gate is hardly better than the first two.

Between fighting cultists, saving children, and trying to convince most of your party that they’re not going to become mindflayers, you’re beginning to run a little thin. You feel like you’re going to shrivel up and die. You feel like the world is spinning and falling apart. You’ve killed Gortash and you’ve killed Orin and you killed Ketheric ages ago, but now you’re trying to keep the Emperor from betraying you and sacrificing Orpheus, and Cazador’s invitation is sitting pretty in your hands, and —

Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? Cazador’s invitation is in your hands, and you don’t have the heart to show Astarion. You’re afraid of showing Astarion. You know that as soon as you show him the invitation, he’ll lose his mind. You’ve only just recovered him and you’re already worried about losing him again.

You bury the invitation in the garden behind the inn like you’re a dog with a bone. You shovel the dirt with your hands until they’re cracked and raw and bleeding and the invitation is buried six feet in the ground. It should scare you that Cazador knows who you are, but it doesn’t. You aren’t stupid enough to run headfirst into his trap. And Astarion isn’t stupid either, but he’s scared, and being scared makes you do stupid things. Astarion almost does a very stupid thing like you predicted he would.

The Rite of Ascension was right there in his hands, and he had almost consumed it. You aren’t sure what changed his mind at the last minute but you’re thankful. Astarion crawls into your arms that night and sobs for hours. ‘What are we going to do about tomorrow?’ Astarion asks you softly.

He’s been tracing patterns into your spine all evening. If he moves his hands now, you’d still feel his fingertips against your skin. You’re hiding your face in your arms so you don’t have to think about it. You can’t stop thinking about it.

‘We’re going to fight the Absolute,’ you say.

‘Like it’s that simple?’

‘I am going to look another god in the face,’ you say, ‘and I am going to tell it to fuck off back to Avernus.’

‘Do Netherbrains come from Avernus?’

You don’t know. You’re too worried to think too hard about the simplest details. So far, you’re every plan has been to go in, stab whoever is the loudest, and then leave before things get worse. It’s hard to keep your head above the waves as they keep crashing down on you.

You don’t want to talk about tomorrow. If things don’t go well, you’re all going to die anyway and all that planning will have been for nothing. You turn on your side and appraise Astarion’s expression. He’s looking at you with muted disbelief. You choose to ignore it.

‘What are we going to do after tomorrow?’ you ask.

Astarion opens his mouth to chastise you for changing the subject, but he closes it almost immediately. He doesn’t want to talk about it either. It’s a scary thing to walk into the end of the world with a sword and a dagger. At least Dame Aylin will be there. You hope she can just stomp the Netherbrain to death and then it’ll all be over.

‘I could always go back to being a magistrate,’ Astarion says conversationally.

He picks at a thread coming loose on his blanket.

‘If you go back to that, I’ll go back to being a criminal,’ you muse. ‘We can have nasty sex on your desk again. You always did look damn good in a cassock.’

Astarion laughs. He laughs like the sunlight that peeks through the window on a sunny morning. He laughs like the moonlight that splays on the cobblestone of Baldur’s Gate long after everyone else has already gone to bed. It’s hideous — it’s melodic and intoxicating, and you reach across the distance and touch his cheek without thinking.

You slide your finger across to his nose. You press your finger against the wrinkle between his brow, and Astarion starts laughing again so you do too. You kiss him while he laughs, and then he holds you and you both laugh together. He will never be a judge again. Your connections with the Zhentarim will die out.

Astarion brushes his fingers against your hip bone. He rolls out of bed like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do, and you miss him. Already without him, the bed is much colder. You dramatically crawl across to his side and press your nose into his pillowcase to smell the faint traces of whiskey that are left.

When he returns, he presents you with his old cravat which has been neatly restored almost to perfection. He had sewn it back together himself. You had worn it for two hundred years as a good luck charm against evil, and the wear and tear had nearly torn it to shreds. You’d never had the heart to try to tailor it yourself. Sewing wasn’t your strong suit, and you had never cried over Astarion’s death until the day you thought you had lost it.

Astarion neatly ties the cravat around your wrist like a promise. He kisses your skin and inhales as though in a dream, nose brushing against the fabric, like the touch of a ghost against your veins. Your throat tightens.

‘Wherever this takes us,’ Astarion says, eyes burning. ‘I want to be there with you in the end.’

You tuck inside your bed with Astarion that night and watch the moon disappear through the window. It’s barely daylight when you’re finally too exhausted to stay awake, and Astarion almost lets you both miss the final showdown. Lae’zel, however, doesn’t. ‘I don’t mind what we do,’ Astarion is saying, ‘once we get to the — ’

You watch with muted horror as Astarion’s skin begins to glimmer in the sunlight. The fire begins cracking under his skin, brimming against his cheekbones and nose and throat and hair much like Karlach when she overheats. You watch as the tips of his ears ignite, and then he’s searching for you frantically between all of your friends.

‘I have to go,’ he chokes out. ‘I have to — ’

There is a world where you let Astarion run alone, where you both get separated on the docks and never find one another again. He runs from the sun as he bursts with radiant energy and as stars pour from his skin, you forget what Wyll is saying, and you run after him.

Astarion finds sanctuary in melting shade beneath a set of boxes. He’s curled up into himself when you arrive, and you drop next to him, pulling your cloak over your heads. He looks up at you, bewildered.

But you have lived through losing Astarion once, and it has haunted you for two hundred years. You had known loneliness and fear and anger, and the thought of surviving it for even a day more makes your stomach roll. You press your forehead to Astarion’s and stand as tall as you can so the sun can’t touch him ever again.

‘Won’t your arms get tired?’ Astarion asks you faintly.

He watches you with a sense of wonder. His skin slowly returns to normal, no more flickering stardust and ash, and you grin. He slowly smiles too, nervous but you shake your head and keep your cloaked raised.

‘Never,’ you say. ‘Not when it’s you.’

‘My reform worked, then?’ he says.

‘I’ve learned about your stuck-up decorum,’ you say. ‘It’s true. I can confirm.’

‘A sense of propriety?’ Astarion asks, and if his voice goes any softer, you’ll melt too.

‘Let me carry the weight of your sins,’ you tell him sincerely, laughing a little. ‘And if we need to find another desk then we will. But I’ll be your knight in shining armor, your honor, and carry a parasol above your head as a proper chamberlain would.’

Astarion snorts. ‘That isn’t quite the job of a chamberlain.’

You hold the cloak up for two hours at least while Astarion recovers from the damage. You can’t help but notice that he looks happy and content even in the shadows. It must be because you’re there, although you’re hesitant to take credit for all his happiness. When you let down the cloak, the sun has set. When Astarion rises, he kisses your cheek sweetly. ‘The silence stretches on — I’m all alone,’ you muse, ‘Please, can I hold your hands, just for a while?’

Bernard’s arms wrap around you gently, and you wrap your arms around his steel ribs. You’ve taken up residence in the old Arcane Tower in the Underdark. You appreciate the permanent nighttime, and if you admitted you only did it because Astarion wanted to be close to his family, it wouldn’t be entirely true. With a bit of help from Gale, you’ve managed to turn the tower into a comfortable fortress. Sometimes Omeluum comes to visit you. Occasionally, there’s word from Shadowheart from the Selûnite Outpost. She’s hoping to restore it. She wants you to come visit.

‘Are you still playing with that dusty old thing, my love?’ Astarion hums from the doorway.

‘You be kind to Bernard,’ you warn him. ‘He’s my friend.’

‘Of course, of course,’ Astarion says, holding his hands up. ‘I’ll be kind to the scrap metal.’

You roll your eyes and step away, touching Bernard’s chest briefly. Astarion has just arrived back from a trip. There are spawn all over the Underdark now, and they treat Astarion as though he’s some sort of prince. They heed your word too, but none so much as his. Their eldest brother, their favorite. They tolerate you if it means getting to see Astarion.

You’re a jack-of-all-trades and master-of-none now. You leave your handiwork for the day or night or whatever it is to go down to your bedroom and recline in bed. Astarion lights each candle one by one until the room is illuminated. You smile and watch as he works.

‘Having responsibility suits you well,’ you say, resting your cheek on your palm. ‘Although it’s funny how our positions have changed somewhat.’

‘I’m the contracted killer,’ Astarion says with a laugh. ‘Are you a magistrate now?’

‘I have at least four hundred years of life left,’ you snort. ‘I, Magistrate Judge Stick-Up-My-Ass, sentence thee to fifty years of community service!’

Astarion rolls his eyes at you dramatically and throws himself into bed, kicking off his boots as he does so. He smells of fresh oils and mist. You bury your nose in his hair. You practically burrow yourself into him, wrapping your arms and legs around him like a mindflayer. You squeeze him tightly in your arms.

‘We have a sprawling manse and all you can think of to do all day is mock me for a position I have not occupied in two hundred years?’ Astarion pouts.

You kiss his hair. ‘What else should I do?’

‘Well,’ Astarion says, tone turning conspiratorial. ‘There are a certain amount of fuckable places here. Several desks, I’ve counted them all, and couches.’

You contemplate it, but after several tendays on the road and a wiggling visitor in your head, you think the bed is the best place. You pull Astarion up to kiss him, arms wrapping around his neck so he can’t leave you. You never want him to go again. You bump your nose against his and hide a smile in his coiffed hair when he melts against your chest.

You sigh prettily when Astarion takes you in your velvet sheets that you float as though in a dream. Your troubles are long over, and that person you thought you lost — your immortal soul — has returned to you as beautiful as the day you lost him. When you shudder, Astarion brushes hair out of your eyes adoringly and tastes your pulse at your jaw. You dig your fingers into the small of his back.

It’s like you’ve found a family. A very bitey, very competitive family. Still, you wouldn’t change any of it for the world. You hold Astarion’s face in your hands and see the man you knew and the man he’s become. Slowly, you pull his mouth towards your neck and feel your heartbeat jump in your chest.

He bites you for the first time that night.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x oc #astarion smut #bg3 smut #from ，carcosa .#my fic #YOU GUYS CAN STOP MANIFESTING SNAKES IN MY HOUSE NOW #I LAID DOWN TO SLEEP & ALL I COULD DREAM ABOUT WAS CRAVATS #honestly patch 5 inspired a lot too #learning about astarion becoming A Dad to a bunch of vampire spawn really like........................... fired up the brain

364 notes · View notes

proxima-writes · 11 months

Text

title: stranger than a stranger

pairing: pre-boston raider!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 4964

summary:

When Joel sees you searching for supplies in an old school, he removes your companion from the equation and convinces you that you need to join him for your survival.

author's note: a gift for @dreamingofdaddydin, fellow depraved slut, who sent in an ask that i completely changed. please heed the warnings on this one, as there are dark and potentially triggering elements. if you do decide to read and you enjoy, please consider reblogging or commenting!

content warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), undefined age gap, no use of y/n, post-outbreak/pre-boston QZ, dark!joel miller, perv!joel miller, survival as coercion/manipulation, dub/non-con somnophilia (the actions are not agreed upon before hand but reader is receptive once waking), sex as a thank you, voyeurism, masturbation, canon typical violence (mentions guns, knives, blood), handjobs, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, baby, honey), cum eating, huddling for warmth but manipulative, wet dreams, thigh fucking, fingering, unprotected p in v. please let me know if any are missing!

You never expected to live through an apocalypse. In fact, before the cordyceps outbreak, you and your boyfriend had watched Night of the Living Dead and you joked that if the time ever came, just throw you to the zombies or demons or whatever hell unleashed.

Yet here you are, ten years post-outbreak and the collapse of one QZ that you and your boyfriend had been living in, climbing through a destroyed school building, picking your way through rubble as you follow Liam in his search for more supplies.

“The stores around here are probably picked clean, but a lot of people don’t think about checking schools. They’ve got plenty of non-perishables in the cafeteria. Remember? We ate like shit growing up,” Liam explains. He shines a flashlight down a hall. “Well, I guess we ate better than we do now.”

“I miss chicken nuggets,” you lament. He chuckles.

“I could definitely use a cheeseburger,” Liam replies.

You continue moving quietly through the school, the cement and linoleum cracked by overgrowth and the abandoned classrooms of overturned desks making you feel like you’re in a whole different world and not just in an elementary school in Massachusetts.

“You got your knife and gun, right?” Liam asks quietly. You nod, pulling the gun from the waist of your jeans and showing it to him. “Good, keep it handy. You know those fuckers are always hiding around buildings like this.”

You and Liam had just started dating when the outbreak occurred, and you managed to stick together for the last ten years. He’s taught you a lot about survival - shooting a gun, starting a fire, and finding edible vegetation in the woods, among other skills. Despite your original desire to be spared from an apocalypse, you’ve somehow managed to persevere.

“Remember to aim for the head,” Liam says.

You roll your eyes. “No, I figured I’d aim for a foot. Of course I’m aiming for the head.”

“Alright, smart ass. You go down that hall and see what you can find.” He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m gonna look for the cafeteria. Meet me back here.”

With another nod, you part ways.

You both miss the figure lurking in the shadows.

________

Joel watches you disappear around a corner before his attention returns to your companion. The man walks quickly in the opposite direction, holding only a flashlight in his hands. Joel clocks a holster on his hip that must hold a gun or a knife. The man looks like the type to know how to fight, weapons or not.

Too bad Joel is the predator here.

He leaves the dark shadow he’d hidden himself in, following the man with quick, quiet steps. The other man seems alert, but not alert enough to notice Joel following him.

Good.

Joel watches the man draw a gun from the holster, holding it in front of him as he kicks open a set of double doors, sweeping his flashlight and gun into the darkness beyond. Joel slips through the door before it shuts, darkness surrounding him as he lets his eyes adjust.

It looks like a gymnasium, cracked hardwood basketball flooring with faded court lines illuminated in the small flashlight beam of the man, who continues across the court and out another set of double doors.

He follows him back out to a hallway, brightly lit thanks to a hole in the ceiling, crumbled plaster and cement littering the ground. He takes a few steps closer, stopping when he hears a clicking sound that sends a shiver down his spine.

The man freezes, too, eyes wide, hands tightening on his gun. Joel slowly brings the shotgun slung over his back around to his front, taking it up in his hands.

The clicking grows louder, more insistent. It echoes down the hallway and Joel knows that the creature is aware of their presence. No matter how quiet you are, those fuckers know how to find you.

He aims his gun, finger poised on the trigger. Heavy footsteps approach from the end of the hall, punctuated by the clicking noise that makes his hair stand on end. The creature enters the hall, overgrowth of cordyceps blocking its eyes and features. It pauses, head turning with jerky motions as it seeks out its prey. He watches the other man shift his stance, trying to widen his legs, but his foot catches a rock, sending it sliding across the floor.

The creature’s head snaps at the sound and it ambles closer, faster. Joel takes aim, pulling the trigger and blowing its head across the room. The man turns in surprise.

“Damn, man. Thanks,” he says, taking a deep breath and giving Joel a smile of gratitude. He reaches a hand out as he says, “I’m Li—“

He pulls the trigger and the man collapses to the ground face first, blood rapidly pooling beneath his body.

Joel approaches, crouching beside him. He opens the bag on his back, rifling through the contents for anything that might be of use. There’s a med kit, ammo for the handgun he’d been using, gloves, a jacket, and a hunting knife. He shoves all of it into his own bag before grabbing the gun beside the man’s body as he stands.

Joel slides the gun into his waistband before turning and heading back the way he came. He imagines the gunshots will have you rushing back to investigate.

Just like he wanted.

________

You hear two gunshots go off, freezing in your exploration of a classroom. You listen closely, ears straining for any sign of clicker activity due to the noise as you slowly draw your gun from your waistband. Hearing nothing in the aftermath of the gunshots, you race back towards the area where Liam had agreed to meet you, heart racing as your mind begs you to choose flight and not fight.

In your panic, you don’t notice the man in the hall until you’re colliding against him, his arms gripping your shoulders to steady you.

“Who the fuck are you?” You ask, scrambling out of his hold and pointing your gun at him. He’s tall with broad shoulders, a flannel beneath a faded denim jacket stretching over his frame. He has tan skin and dark hair with brown eyes that look at you with concern. “Back the fuck up,” you shout.

The man takes a step back, holding his hands up. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

“I heard gunshots. Where’s Liam?”

“I came up on a guy fightin’ a clicker. He was in bad shape,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a buzzing in your ears as your brain catches up to his words. You blink, eyes burning with tears that you fight back.

“H-he’s dead?” You whisper.

“‘Fraid so.”

You drop to your hands and knees with the realization, gasping for a breath that won’t reach your lungs. There’s movement from the corner of your eye, the strange man taking a step closer, and you raise your gun once more.

“Don’t,” you snap. “Come any closer and I’ll shoot.”

“Listen. I’m sorry about your friend. But if there’s one clicker, there’s bound to be more. You can come with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. I’ll be fine on my own.” You keep the gun trained on him as you slowly stand on shaky legs. “I’m leaving now. Don’t fucking follow me.”

You only make it a few steps before he’s calling out after you. “There’s worse things out there than the infected. Girl like you won’t last long.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“It means,” he says, the tone of his voice grating your nerves, “that there are bad fuckin’ people out there, ones that’ll take advantage of a girl headin’ out on her own. Some who won’t give a shit that a gun is bein’ pointed at their heads if it means they die tryin’ to bring you down with ‘em. Is that really somethin’ you wanna go through right now?”

Your resolve waivers. He’s probably right. In the ten years you’ve been struggling to survive, you’ve always had Liam at your back. Even in the QZ, before it collapsed, he kept you going. You could survive out there when it came to skill, but would you make it far on your own when clickers move in packs and raiders run rampant?

“I…I guess I’ll come with you,” you say, lowering your weapon. You flick the safety on and the man smiles.

“The name’s Joel.”

________

It’s been a week since joining Joel. The two of you keep a steady pace in your travels, though there’s no real destination in mind. He’s been on his own for a while, he tells you, having split from his brother who had gone to join the Fireflies in their fight.

“Fuckin’ stupid if you ask me,” he grumbled after telling you that little bit of information. “They ain’t gonna change shit.”

You just nod along, wrapped up in your own thoughts. You can’t pinpoint it, but something about Joel makes you wary of him. He’s been nice enough, sure, but there’s something off about the way he looks at you.

You’ll catch the older man staring at your ass when you’re walking ahead of him, or see the way his eyes go dark when you’re on your knees starting a fire. His hands will linger on your hips a little longer than necessary when he’s helping you jump down from something, or he’ll watch a little too intently as your lips wrap around the mouth of your water bottle.

What’s worse is how it makes you feel hot all over when you shouldn’t feel anything, least of all attraction when you’ve just lost your boyfriend.

It’s starting to get cold at night. The days are still tolerable, since you’re always on the move and the sun is shining, but once the sky goes dark, you struggle to stay warm. You layer your two jackets and even that’s still not enough as you lay shivering in your sleeping bag. You turn over until you’re facing where Joel has his bag set up, curling your legs closer to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut.

Past the sound of your teeth chattering, you hear the shift of fabric, the glide of skin on skin, a low groan. Your eyes snap open and as they adjust to the inky darkness, you can make out the vague shape of Joel on the ground. Another choked off moan rings in your ear, the sound of it making your blood go hot. You listen as his movements and breaths and sounds grow more frantic, the desperation they’re laced with making you rub your thighs together as subtly as you can.

“Fuck, fuck,” Joel pants quietly. The air goes still, the sound of his hand moving over his cock slowing to a stop. You wonder where he’s finished. In his hand? On his belly? Your brain conjures an image of you licking the spend from his skin, salty taste of him on your tongue as you look up into his eyes and he groans.

You have to bite your lip to keep your sounds to yourself. You wiggle a hand between your legs, clamping your thighs around it tightly and rocking slightly. It’s not nearly enough and it’s so frustrating you want to scream.

Eventually, as the adrenaline seeps from your body, sleep takes its place, your eyes fluttering shut as darkness consumes you.

You dream of bitten off groans and curses in a voice that belongs to a stranger with dark hair and brown eyes.

________

Two weeks after joining the two of you encounter your first band of raiders.

You’re in a small town picking through a convenience store. There’s a surprising amount of things left on the shelves, including cans of food that you’re tossing into your backpack when the sound of a gun being cocked makes you freeze.

“Hey, pretty girl. Why don’t you put some of that back for the rest of us, yeah?” An unfamiliar voice says. You glance over your shoulder, a large man with a thick beard smiling at you. You turn slowly, hands raised and mind racing with your options.

He’s blocking the exit. You could try to dart around him, but the gun trained at your head is a bit of a worry. Your own gun is in the waistband of your pants, pressing against your low back. Not much help to you like that. You should have been holding it the whole time.

“Hand over your fucking bag,” he says, the calm in his more alarming than if he were yelling at you. “Got me some food and a pretty little pet to keep, too.”

Your blood turns to ice and your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you swallow hard, bending down to grab your bag.

A shot rings out, glass shattering and you shout, dropping lower to the ground. You open your eyes slowly, you gaze landing on the body of the man lying on the ground in a rapidly expanding pool of blood. You look up, eyes finding Joel’s beyond the shattered window of the convenience store as he lowers his gun.

A shout has Joel whirling, gun drawn as three men appear from an alley. He shoots, one of the men dropping. Grabbing your bag, you rush to the front of the store as another shot rings out, shattering the glass of the door. You drop to the ground, pressing your back to the wall beside the window and peeking out.

Joel slings his gun over his back, landing a kick to a man that rushes him, the stranger landing on his back. A second man points a gun at Joel.

“On your fuckin’ knees!” He barks.

Panic courses through you, but you reach behind you, grabbing your gun. You switch the safety off, leaning from your hiding spot to take aim through the window at the man. Your hands shake as you take a breath in, like Liam taught you, pulling the trigger as you exhale.

The shot lands in the man’s abdomen, making him stumble and drop his weapon. Joel stands, rushing for the man as he pulls a large knife from his hip, plunging the blade into the man’s chest.

The man he kicked is getting to his hands and knees when Joel turns on him, knife held at his hip. A wicked grin spreads across his face before he plants his boot against the man’s ribs, knocking him onto his side. Joel shoves at him with his foot until the man is on his back and he stands over him, a foot on either side of his hips.

Joel raises the knife above his head before swinging it down into the man’s chest, holding it there for a moment before he twists it savagely and pulls it free. You stand there, equal parts horrified and something worse, eyes wide as you watch Joel wipe the blade against the man’s clothes to clean it.

“Get their guns, will ya?” Joel calls out. The sound of his voice makes you jump, your muscles finally spurring into action as you comply with his request.

Later, as you settle in for the night in your respective sleeping bags, you hear the tell-tale sound of shifting fabric and bitten off moans. You stare up at the dark sky, pinpricks of starlight winking back at you, as you gather your courage.

“Joel?” You murmur. The sounds stop abruptly, the only thing you can hear is his heavy breathing.

“Thought you were sleepin’,” he grunts.

You turn over on your side, facing him. You can barely make him out in the dark, only his silhouette, but your heart beats faster all the same as you say, “I could…help.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, so long that you’ve got an apology on the tip of your tongue when you hear the zip of his sleeping bag being opened.

“Come help, then.”

________

Joel tries to contain his enthusiasm. Nights of coming into his own palm while he knows you’re listening, imagining your hand around his cock instead of his, and now his patience has finally paid off.

You’re crawling across the grass to join him in his sleeping bag, your body pressed to his in the tight space. He takes a shuddering breath, the feel of your heat alone almost enough to make him come.

Your hand rests on his belly, tentatively sliding lower until your fingers brush against the hair at the base of his cock. He hisses as your cold hand grips him at the base, slowly sliding up to his leaking tip. Your thumb circles his slit, smearing a bead of precum around the sensitive head as he groans into the night.

“That’s it, baby,” Joel says. Your face is tucked against his neck, and he wishes you’d turn your face up, let him kiss you, but he has to be smart and only take what you’ll give so that one day you’ll offer more. “Tighter, just like that, fuck.”

Joel’s hips flex to chase your fist, the soft feel of your palm driving him wild. He moans, louder than he should be given the vulnerable position this puts you both in, but he doesn’t give a fuck. All he cares about is you.

“This a ‘thank you’, huh? For killin’ those guys?” Joel pants. Your head nods against his neck and the admission makes his head feel light and fuzzy. “Told ya you needed me, sweetheart. Needed someone to take care of you, right?”

You hum, squirming against him. Your lips graze his neck and that’s the final nail in his coffin, his cock pulsing in your hand as he comes harder than he has in years. He can’t help but whine a little when you let go, already missing the warmth and the softness of it.

“Clean it up for me, baby,” Joel says. You bring your hand up, nothing but a dark shape against darker air, and he hears you licking at the cum coating your fingers. “That taste good?”

“Mhm,” you hum. When you’re done, you roll away from him, crawling back over to your sleeping bag and zipping yourself inside.

With a sigh, Joel shimmies his jeans back up his thighs before turning on his side, letting the sounds of the night lull him to sleep.

________

You’ve been with Joel for a month when winter really starts to settle in and you’re forced to keep moving in your travels until you’ve found abandoned buildings to sleep in to stay out of the harsh winter air. While the snow might not reach you inside, the cold certainly does.

It’s one such night that Joel suggests sharing body heat.

“It’s the best thing we can do to keep warm,” he explains. “Can’t keep a fire goin’ inside. Too dangerous.”

You swallow nervously. He’s zipping together your sleeping bags so that you can fit beside each other, laying it on the ground of the old stockroom you’ve barricaded yourselves in for the night, a little camping lamp on a metal shelf providing a little light.

Joel kneels to untie his boots, removing one then the other and setting them aside. He stands, sliding his arms free of his jacket and setting it on the shelf. When he starts to unbutton his flannel, your blood rushes in your ears.

“W-what are you doing?” You ask. He pauses, hands on his buttons.

“Gettin’ undressed. Can’t share body heat with clothes in the way.”

You stand there frozen as he continues to strip, t-shirt and jeans and boxers all joining his growing pile of clothes until he’s naked in front of you and you’re struggling to keep your eyes on his face with so much muscle and skin on display. He slides into the sleeping bag, staring up at you expectantly.

“You gonna stand there all night?” He asks, lips tilted in a little smirk. “Come on. We’ve come a long way today and you gotta be tired.”

You’re exhausted, really, the kind of tired that settles into your bones and makes your limbs heavy. Slowly, you follow the same steps as he did to undress, starting with your shoes. It doesn’t escape your notice that he’s watching you with dark eyes the entire time, until you’re down to your underwear.

“Those, too,” Joel says.

“Why?”

“I don’t make the rules, sweetheart, I just follow ‘em. Skin to skin is the only way this’ll work.”

Reluctantly, you reach behind your back to unclip your bra, letting it fall to the floor. Your nipples are tight in the cold room and you grit your teeth against their chattering as you quickly tug your panties down your legs and add them to your pile of clothing.

You slip into the sleeping bag beside Joel, the heat of his body immediately making you feel warm all over. You zip up the sleeping bag, cocooning your bodies in the insulation. Joel turns on his side, sliding his muscular around your tummy and tugging you closer. The hard length of his cock presses to your thigh and you lie perfectly still, afraid to move.

“Go to sleep,” he grunts. You close your eyes, the tension slowly leaving your muscles as you listen to his deep breathing in the dark room.

Somewhere between the warmth of his body and the feel of his breath against your cheek, sleep finds you.

________

Sometime in the night, you’ve turned on your side, your ass pressed snugly against Joel’s hips with his cock slipped between your cheeks. He wakes to the feel of you grinding against his length and his arm tightens around your middle as he groans.

“Joel,” you murmur. He lifts his head to see if you’re awake, but your eyes are shut, brows pinched together. Your hips move against him again and he bites into his lower lip to keep his sounds contained, not wanting to wake you and ruin this.

You murmur his name again and his head drops back to the arm he’d been using as a pillow. He gives a little experimental thrust of his hips and you moan, the sound making his cock jump against you.

With careful movements, he lifts your top leg, laying it over his hip. He lets his hand drift lower, gliding over your tummy until he’s cupping your pussy gently. His fingers slide through your wetness, catching on your swollen clit and making your hips jerk.

Joel worries that you’re awake, but you’re not scrambling from his grip yet. He circles his fingers slowly, so slowly, your hips moving against him and your breathing coming more quickly. You let out little whimpers and whines that Joel wants to commit to memory, the sound of them sure to plague him any time he closes his eyes.

You’re growing wetter and Joel grows bolder, slipping his middle finger into your tight entrance, not able to hold back his moan of appreciation over how your cunt flutters around the digit as he slowly pumps it inside of you.

Another whimper of his name from your lips has his sanity fraying further, his hand moving faster against you, damn the consequences of you waking up to him playing with your pussy. Your muscles go tight against him with your release before going limp, your breath stuttering. He lifts his head once more to check if you’re asleep, surprised to find your face lax with bliss, eyes still closed as your breathing slows to normal.

Joel withdraws his hand, using it to grip his cock, sliding your juices over his length. He angles himself to where his cock is pressed up against your lips before gently lowering your leg. He’s surrounded by warmth, your pussy and thighs cradling him perfectly.

He thrusts his hips, his cock gliding through your wetness with ease. He loses himself to the slick glide, the tip of his cock catching against your swollen clit with each thrust. His fingers dig into the meat of your hip for leverage, pulling you back towards him as he groans against your shoulder.

Your muscles go stiff against him and he freezes as you whisper, “Joel?”

His name is a question this time and he knows he’s been caught.

“It can be another ‘thank you’, yeah? For keepin’ you warm?” He asks, dragging his nose across your bare shoulder. “Could feel so good for us both,” he whispers, thrusting against your clit and reveling in the shaky moan you give him in return.

“O-okay,” you stutter. Joel presses a kiss to your shoulder in gratitude as he returns to the rhythm he’d set before you woke. He slides an arm over your middle, hand finding your breast and gripping it forcefully as you moan.

“That feel good, baby?” He asks. You nod, whining and squirming against him now. “Know what would feel better?”

“W-what?”

He draws back, positioning the tip of his cock against your hole. Your breath catches as he slides inside the slightest amount. Just the tip.

“Would feel so good, right? Fillin’ you up, stretchin’ you,” he whispers. “You could keep me warm just like I’ve been keepin’ you warm all night.” You clench around him and he moans, hips flexing and sliding him deeper into you as you gasp. “So goddamn wet and tight.”

Joel slides the last bit deeper, until his hips are flush to your ass. You’re panting, cunt fluttering around him as you adjust, and he feels drunk on the feel of it, on the feel of you. He pulls out part way before sliding back in with a harsh thrust, the start of a punishing rhythm that has you chanting his name.

The slick slide of you over his cock feels like heaven, but he wants more, wants you cock drunk and earning your pleasure. You are supposed to be thanking him, after all.

He pulls out, lying on his back. “Get up here, sweetheart. It’s time to do your part.”

You turn until you’re facing him, and Joel gets impatient, grabbing at you until he can haul you into his lap, your slick, swollen pussy gliding over his cock. He groans, reaching between your bodies to hold himself steady, notching the thick head at your entrance.

“Take it, baby, come on,” he groans. You rock back until his cock is buried in your cunt, your knees pressing tight against his hips as you whine.

“S’deep,” you slur, rocking yourself over him.

“Feels good though, doesn’t it? So fuckin’ deep in you,” he growls. Your chest is pressed to his, your lips so close he takes his chance, slotting his mouth against yours.

You kiss him back, messy and desperate, moaning against his lips as you take his cock like you were made for it. And maybe you were. Why else would he have been in the right place at the right time, getting the chance to keep you all for himself?

You sit up further, hands planted on his chest as you ride him with fervor. Your blunt fingernails dig into his skin and make him groan, hips punching up into you as you rock back. When you moan desperately, he does it again, and again, until you’re letting out a choked little sob that makes his cock pulse inside of you.

“Come for me, honey, wanna feel this pretty pussy choke my cock,” Joel demands. He can feel your walls flutter around him, your noises growing desperate. He brings a hand to your clit, thumb circling the sensitive bundle of nerves until you tighten around him, squeezing his cock as you come undone with a shout.

You collapse forward and Joel wraps his arms around your low back, holding you steady as he plants his feet and pounds his cock into you with harsh thrusts, chasing his release. Your teeth dig into the sensitive skin of his neck and the sharp sting sends him over the edge. He pulls out at the last moment, his cum splashing between your bodies in thick spurts.

You lie on top of him, catching your breath. Sweat grows sticky on Joel’s skin as the cool air settles around them, your back erupting in goosebumps as you shiver. He maneuvers your bodies until you’re cradled against him again.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

When you nestle closer, body lax against his, he smiles in triumph.

_______

You wake before Joel the next morning, body sticky with the mess from the night. You cringe, wiggling away from Joel’s hold. You find your discarded shirt and water bottle, intending to soak the fabric to wipe yourself clean, only to find your bottle is empty.

You locate Joel’s backpack, knowing he keeps his water bottle in there. You dig through the contents, hand bumping against the familiar bulk of a handgun. Your brow furrows. You haven’t seen Joel use a handgun. He uses the shotgun on his back, the other weapons you’d collected from the raiders stored in your bag.

You pull the weapon free and inspect it. You know this gun. It’s the same gun you’d learn to shoot with, the first one Liam found in the aftermath of the outbreak. Your blood turns to ice.

Joel said he’d seen Liam get attacked by a clicker. If that’s the case, when did he get Liam’s gun?

The sound of Joel moving in the sleeping bag has you shoving the gun back into his bag and grabbing the water bottle you’d gone in search of in the first place.

You’ll have to worry about your discovery some other day.

Want more Joel Miller? Check out the masterlist

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #no use of y/n #joel tlou #joel x reader #dark joel miller #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fic request #joel miller masterlist #the last of us

908 notes · View notes

azrielgreen · 3 months

Text

The social side of a fandom can be really fun, especially at first, but please always remember that 99% of the interactions are completely hollow. People are giving 5-10% of their time per day in a way that requires very little effort or social construct. I say this because after a certain point, people start to take this stuff very seriously, even considering it a community.

The lack of accountability means, imo, that social fandom can never be a community. You can make friends, absolutely. You can meet the love of your life and make friends you'll never be without, that's completely real. But the vast majority of us don't know each other and we never will. The ability to create personas without moral tethering means that bullying becomes RAMPANT under the guise of "you like this thing in the wrong way, I like it the right way!" I've noticed that the easiest way for a group to start bullying without reproach is to take up the mantle of Purity Police, but it inevitably devolves into the root of the issue - insecurity. Not feeling secure in an online space, not feeling secure sharing what they like and engaging unless they're throwing someone else under the bus, almost like they have to justify why they like the thing in the first place and that's without even touching upon jealousy.

"I like it for the RIGHT reasons, canon reasons, proper reasons!"

It's all the same.

And it is, at least partially, due to the fact that fandom was never meant to be this visible or this widely connected. It takes a reasonable degree of self security to see someone with a completely contrary take about the things/characters you love... and walk on by. A lot of people aren't that secure and the ability to be anonymous, to drop something spiteful and immediately put the phone down is a dangerously addictive feeling. What repercussions are there for this? None. The level of disconnect between phone and reality is DANGEROUS.

But that disconnect dissolves when you're on the other end, the notification end. The damage done by online bullying in a space that once felt like a safe haven of self expression and creative engagement is untold. There are so few studies done on the fallout and the psychological harm it can do, but it's considerable.

Unfortunately, as lovely as social fandom can be, it can equally be a negative place to spend your time and energy.

I think often of that person who openly pretended to be my friend and then forgot to select ANON on a really mean ask. I know others this has happened to. We don't know enough about each other to be safe and we never will.

So please, protect yourself first. Don't give yourself fully to something built on sand. Have fun, share creations, make friends, enjoy and embrace and be kind and if you cannot be kind, block and scroll and please take BREAKS.

If someone else's headcanon feels like a personal attack on yours, take a break. If someone's fic is written different than what you like, don't read it. If you see art in a pairing you don't like, scroll the fuck on.

I promise, none of this shit is worth hurting yourself or others in the long run.

💜💜💜

#fanfiction #fandom #fanfic rambles

227 notes · View notes

quietmonologues · 25 days

Text

So. I hate shipping discourse and I try to keep it off my blog nowadays. I also don't consider myself a part of the fandom. But, I find discussions about this series particularly engaging and interesting, and Elucien do have me in a bit of a chokehold these days so I feel the need to get this off my chest and put this out into the world.

A common question I see is "why do people ship Elucien? They don't even like each other". And to that, I say this:

What about it? This is why shipping discourse in this fandom (and in general) is so ridiculous, because why is there confusion as to why people ship Elain and Lucien together? SJM literally wrote them as a potential pairing, that's why she made them mates. Pairing = shipping. It's not rocket science.

Two characters not liking each other is never gonna be a deterrent for them becoming canon or for people liking them as a ship. That's why enemies to lovers is such a popular trope. However way you define enemies (on opposite sides of a war like Zuko and Katara, or thinking ill of one another based on misunderstandings and assumptions like Darcy and Elizabeth), when it's done well, the story of two characters changing their opinion about each other, getting to know each other on a deeper level, and growing to love each other after their initial discomfort/hatred/loathing/indifference is a compelling story. It's about the journey, the development, and overcoming all the hurdles and bumps that are in their way.

Another reason for why the "they dislike each other" argument is so weak is because you literally have two other canon couples in this same series who had very rough starts. No matter how you feel about these two pairings, it's blatantly clear that Rhys and Cassian did put Feyre and Nesta in uncomfortable situations and have hurt them (physically/emotionally). But clearly, that was not a deterrent for them getting together in the end. So why the heck are Lucien and Elain different? Why is "Elain is so uncomfortable around Lucien" a continuous argument? It's so hypocritical given the fact that Lucien is the only guy that isn't forcing himself upon his mate.

Also, I'm sorry but some people (me...I'm some people) are tired of the "dark, battle-born, winged-warrior brother" and "previously human, traumatized archeron sister" pairing. Elain and Lucien are both associated with nature, they're both social and like interacting with people, they both experienced a deep love previously, they both abhor violence, they are both overlooked by others yet have the ability to see what others can't. They are a compatible pairing to me because they share many characteristics that are harmonious and complementary. They are the anti-thesis of Night Court aesthetics and thought, and if they ever have a book together then I can only hope it's the best one in the series.

And yes, the "Elain needs sunshine" and "Lucien is the heir to the Day Court" connection is important, my goodness. That's what symbolism is!

Sometimes it's that simple.

Okay, that's enough shipping discourse from me.

#acotar #elucien #pro elucien #anti elriel #i guess?#to all my mutuals...i'm sorry but back in the day this blog was a book blog so maybe i'm going back to my roots!#and yes this was spurred by that post i say in the tags where op was wondering why people ship elucien...which was promptly deleted!#bookworm

157 notes · View notes

aeternallis · 4 months

Text

It may be a bit of a hot take, but imo Kimchay has always been the most insidious of the three canon couples in KPTS, and I just love that for them.

It's deceptively easy at first glance to assume they're the healthiest/softest couple in the show, because at the onset of their relationship, they meet under the best of circumstances when compared to the other two. They don't have any questionable explicit scenes, and their storyline is almost cut off from the intertwining web of the other two couples' storylines.

But with the exception of their first meeting at the open house, every interaction thereafter—no matter how kind Kim acts, whatever feelings he begins to have for Chay, no matter how guilty he looks each time—takes place against the backdrop of Kim's hidden motives and the looming truth of who he is.

It's always been fascinating to me how KimChay stands out against the other two couples, because unlike Porsche and Pete who have the physical prowess to fight off Kinn and Vegas respectively and reinforce the boundaries they have when these hardheaded mafia men disrespects their autonomy, the only thing Chay has going for him in order to reinforce said boundaries is through mental fortitude. Being blunt with Kim about minding his own business, not answering his call, blocking his number...all these things shows the level of self-respect Chay has for himself when he's been wronged.

We the audience knows this, this isn't anything new. What Chay lacks in physical capability, he more than makes up for by that metaphorical spine of steel.

That’s not to say that I’m minimizing what Porsche and Pete went through; all the Theerapanyakul men are underhanded in some form or another. Porsche and Pete too have the capability in talking back through their own mental fortitude; they would have to, considering the lives they’ve lead thus far. But when push comes to shove, these two also have the added fighting capability—earned through a lifetime of hardship and necessity—to stave off the mafia men’s physical aggression, as we see a couple of times in the show. It’s partly through this fighting capability that they earn Kinn and Vegas’s respect, that they learn the hard way that Porsche and Pete won't be bullied so easily.

I cannot stress enough the fact that there is a difference between loving someone and respecting them.

The honesty between KinnPorsche and VegasPete has always had a brutal edge to it; I think it's why they both get a happily ever after (at least where we leave them off in the show), because they've already seen the worst of each other.

But we know that Chay in contrast isn't a fighter, if his immediate reaction to the kidnappers is anything to go by. One would think that this isn't his first rodeo with an attempted attack in his home (loan sharks and all that), and he’d know some self-defense considering who his brother is. Yet still, his instinct was to call for help, as he probably would do the same had Porsche been there with him.

But as we see in the show, Porsche’s overprotectiveness of Chay is to a point that it becomes detrimental to his safety. After all, why hasn't Porsche taught Chay to defend himself, if they've had experience before of getting harassed in their own home?

It's through mental fortitude alone that Chay can perfectly match Kim, because there is no way for this boy to fight off Kim’s aggression in the way Porsche and Pete can with Kinn and Vegas respectively.

And before I go on, I don't think there's any need to argue that Kim would never show or point towards Chay so much aggression, not when he's already done it:

The only reason Kim let go of his hand in this scene so easily is because he was stunned by Chay's antagonism towards him (besides the fact that he was butthurt af when Chay outright calls him out). This scene, along with the scene before it and the bar fight scene, heavily hints at the sort of aggression that Kim is potentially capable of showing/pointing towards Chay. (I wonder what was the stage direction given to Jeff in this scene that Barcode had to yank his wrist back that hard, yknow?)

I'm pretty sure this was partly the point of this scene below; it begs the question of that unknown dimension between the two of them:

But getting back on point: Chay only has his mental fortitude to match Kim and reinforce his boundaries, but even then, it’s not completely foolproof; given enough time, Kim can find ways to disarm Chay, as we see in their final scene together.

And of course it goes without saying, there are moments in the show where it's very obvious Kim truly returns Chay's affections, even moved and inspired by him. But ultimately, even where the audience is left off in terms of where their relationship is at, Kim doesn't respect him—or rather, he doesn't respect the boundaries Chay has drawn in the sand between them.

If Kim had truly respected those boundaries, he would not have reached out the way he did. He would not have reached out with an unknown number, in order to bait Chay into clicking that video link. He would not have used Chay's own song to re-write it into a love song for him.

Because for all of Chay's mental fortitude, in the end, even if Kim himself did not see Chay's reaction to the video, the end result he likely wanted came about: he found a way for Chay to pay attention to him again and more than that--hold that attention, because Chay doesn't delete the video.

Everything this final scene together entailed is arguably calculated on Kim's part. After all, nothing has changed: it happens against the backdrop of Kim's selfish motive. The motive has changed (from getting information on Porsche to getting Chay back/to forgive him), yes—but the nature of it hasn’t.

I think that's what makes Kimchay's relationship the most insidious of the three in my eyes, because despite everything they've been through so far, Kim still doesn't respect Chay's boundaries, not at this stage of their relationship, if ever. Besides that, Kim can and has found ways to counter Chay's strongest asset, to bring his guard down if you will.

And Chay has nothing else he can use against Kim to reinforce his boundaries, not fighting capability and certainly not distance, alas.

There is definitely a level of selfishness in Kim that surpasses the selfishness also inherent in Kinn and Vegas due to their upbringing, yknow?

It's why they hold my attention so much, I think: the sheer potential they have to become the most unhinged couple in this story, and how much I'm drawn to it like a moth a flame~

#kimchay #kinnporche the series #meta #yet again another one #the hyperfixation has yet to let up alas #kpts meta

240 notes · View notes

yazthebookish · 2 months

Text

This might be a bit long but the Gwynriel Reddit thread inspired me to let my thoughts flow about Gwyn and Azriel.

P.s. this will include some HOFAS spoilers.

I've said this before but SJM choosing to end Azriel's chapter with Gwyn is a choice. It's the beginnings and the endings of a chapter that authors tend to put a lot of thought into—so her ending the chapter which felt like her nudging readers' to Gwyn's direction is intentional.

Gwyn was not just a random addition, given their interactions throughout ACOSF their scene in the bonus chapter didn't feel out of place (even if readers' didn't expect to see her in it).

People try to invalidate the bonus chapter as much as they can but HOFAS had proved once again that they are important and canon (though I do think SJM and her publisher need to include these in the main books because they are crucial).

"You depend so much on a bonus chapter that a lot of readers don't have access to"

True but that doesn't mean the next book can't fill in the blanks because Azriel and Gwyn were already interacting in ACOSF, so having that romantic development in the next book (and the possible reveal that they're mates) + ON PAGE will still make it up for the readers that never read the bonus chapter. Like, CC4 will definitely bring up the fact that Ruhn and Lidia got married (despite it happening in a bonus).

I always considered the bonus chapter as a teaser for what will happen in the next book, Sarah confirmed she sprinkled little crumbs and I quote "I want to hear all your theories after you read the book and his [Azriel's] bonus scene, the crumbs have all been scattered, little bread crumbs everywhere" and it will keep readers guessing until the next book is out. So you won't know for sure how relevant or significant the bonus chapter is and the crumbs she scattered until you read the next book.

With that being said, Gwyn's cameo in the bonus chapter didn't come without some interesting clues: Azriel's shadows didn't warn him she was around, they were curious about her and she smiled at them, they danced and sang around her, Azriel revealed he sings because she asked, she thanked him with a smile and he felt settled even his shadows calmed.

We never saw his shadows react to anyone the way they did with Gwyn. They seem drawn to her, they danced, they sang, and while there are many theories about it but I absolutely do think if the shadows would be drawn to someone it would be Azriel's mate.

"Azriel and Gwyn had no romantic development and he didn't think about kissing her and all that"

But did every SJM couple start that way? No. And someone expressing the desire to kiss and hook up with someone is not always an indication of endgame (I can count multiple couples who kissed but weren't endgame).

The crumbs we had of them in ACOSF sets the groundwork for a romantic relationship to build in the next book—because who doesn't want to read about them both falling in love on page?

And yes, Sarah is capable of writing a love story from scratch in a single book (e.g., Tower of Dawn). Another example is how ACOMAF started with Feyre being in love with Tamlin and halfway through she started to really fall in love with Rhys.

The whole Azriel/Elain/Lucien triangle is messy as it is, so I don't think SJM would turn it into a square by inserting Gwyn. SJM could've chose not to give Gwyn and Azriel any ties in any way whether it was him rescuing her, him training the Valkyries, and again, including her in his own bonus chapter (hell even her boss:guardian Clotho made an appearance).

But she did and based on her pattern with her male love interests in particular, she doesn't really insert a new female or have females fight over the male love interest. I don't ever see Elain and Gwyn fight over Az, each might have an issue with Az on their own but do I see them argue with each other over Azriel? Absolutely not.

And if you look at the sequence of the scenes in his chapter, it gives a better idea of how it was planned:

1. Starts with Azriel reflecting on his loneliness while everyone left.

2. Elain shows up and they interact, Azriel gives her the necklace and they almost kiss.

3. Rhysand interferes and Az stops the kiss and tells Elain it was a mistake.

4. Az and Rhys argue and ends with Rhys ordering him to stay away from Elain and dismissing him.

5. Az leaves to the House of Wind wanting to work off the frustration but finds that Gwyn already occupied the training ring.

6. Gwyn and Az interact and he leaves the scene feeling settled down and his shadows calmed.

7. He wakes up, goes to the River House and finds Elain's necklace, he pockets it with the intention of returning it to the shop after the snowball fight.

8. Instead of the shop, he goes to the library to ask Clotho to give the gift to Gwyn and refuses to leave with it.

9. Going back and forth, Clotho eventually agrees and said she will tell Gwyn a friend gave it to her and she thanks Az for the joy it will bring to Gwyn.

10. Az leaves but the mention of Gwyn's joy sparked something in him that it brought a slight smile to his face, he buried the image in his chest where it glows quietly.

Both interactions with Elain and Rhys ended with him feeling miserable, but both interactions with Gwyn and Clotho ended with him feeling lighter and better—and to me that shows me how intentional SJM was with creating these parallels (including the shadows skittered back vs the shadows danced and sang).

Instead of Gwyn and Clotho we could've had Mor or Nesta or Amren, but SJM chose Gwyn and Clotho. Like, it could've ended after Rhys's argument but again, it's a writer's choice.

That's why no matter how many times I reread ACOSF my mind doesn't change much because SJM is not that subtle.

#gwynriel

248 notes · View notes

ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 9 months

Text

𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

thanks to everyone who liked the first part, i appreciate y'all🥰

Summary: You and Osferth are in love, but neither of you know the feelings are reciprocated.

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), heavy angst, idiots in love (emphasis on idiots), Osferth being a manwhore and insecure (and Finan being his wingman), canon divergence (baby monk will NOT die), whump, PTSD references, hurt/comfort, fluff (promise), fingering, oral (f!receiving), and cockwarming (if you squint)

word count | 6.2k🤙🏻

part 1 | part 2

It had been a long, long time since Osferth rescued you.

Months had passed, a year almost having gone by, your past soon becoming somewhat of a distant memory. With the help and support of your newfound friends, you were able to live life to the fullest. Of course, you still had moments when you were back in that horrid little village, but your mind slowly started to figure out that you weren’t in constant danger anymore.

Due to Uhtred’s decisions that you couldn’t really understand, you all had moved on from Coccham, traveling north to Rumcofa where it was always cold. It wasn’t all that bad, you did prefer the cold to the blazing heat when all you could do was strip down, and even that wouldn’t be enough. So the cold was a nice change.

You finally had your own little house, in a more secluded part of this new town, which you appreciated but was fearful of all the same. A part of you, a big part actually, just wanted to stay with Osferth.

It was soon after your realization that you were in love with Osferth, is when he inexplicably started to pull away.

You didn’t understand it. Based on his interactions with you, you thought he might’ve felt the same. He started to spend less and less time with you, opting that beginning to train with Finan again was better for you, considering your swift progress with the sword. And Finan had forgiven you pretty quickly after your accidental outburst, finding out that he was more understanding than you originally thought. But you wanted Osferth to train you. You wanted his smiles of pride, not Finan’s. You wanted his hands on your body when having to demonstrate the correct combat posture. You just wanted Osferth.

The night you watched Osferth enter his own house with a lady on his arm, your heart broke into pieces.

All this time you had been hopeful he’d see you the way you see him, but seeing this display just confirmed your fears. And the worst of it was, that you were still in love with him. Even when he never made for you, even if he ignored you sometimes, even if he preferred the company of ladies with loose morals, you were still helplessly in love with him.

It was inevitable, but your mind started to go to the darkest places. Did he never see you this way? Did he find you undesirable? Was it because of your past? Did the things that were done to you make him disgusted? Has he ever seen you as whole?

You thought back to the night he gave you his cross, fiddling with the silver absentmindedly. He used to always wear the cross, why would he give something so special to you if you weren’t in fact, special to him. So, what changed? Why was he never around anymore? Did you do something to make him this way? And if so, what could you do to earn his forgiveness?

It’s not like you could’ve known why Osferth retreated from you. He didn’t really understand it himself. The two of you were…perfect. You were so incredibly important to him. He loved you, that much was true. That’s why he couldn’t burden you with the knowledge of how incredibly difficult it was for Osferth to be around you without desiring you. Carnally.

It felt like all his thoughts, night and day, were about you. How you’d look beneath him, what sounds he could elicit from you with his fingers, his tongue, his cock. He hated feeling this way. He hated that he felt no better than your former master, using you for his own pleasure whether you agreed or not. Of course, Osferth wasn’t actually doing these horrible things. But he thought of you, especially in the throws of his ecstasy, whether it was by his own hand or a woman of the night’s cunny. He was ashamed how often he needed to bed a woman, just to be rid of the aching feeling inside him whenever he gazed upon you.

Osferth could tell how confused and hurt you were by his actions, his arms becoming a safe haven of sorts. But he didn’t know if he could control his thoughts or actions in your presence, which is why he removed himself all together.

Osferth often thought what would happen if he came onto you like he’s so craved. He couldn’t possibly imagine you reciprocating his affections, so he thought of the worst case scenarios. You scream and cry, pushing him away and saying you never wanted to see him again. He thought of you being terrified to be anywhere near him. He thought of you seeing him as no better than her former master, and the idea often brought him to tears. So he decided, he’d rather you feel betrayed than scared by him. You could hate him, but he would rather die than have you scared of him.

So he continued to bed other women, pleading out your name when he reached his end, much to the dismay of these women. It wasn’t like he was doing this to hurt you, it was quite the opposite, he didn’t even realize he was hurting you until Finan talked to him one night. “You know she’s in love with you, right?”

Osferth blanched, his eyes widening at the mere idea that you could feel the same way about him. “What are you on about, Finan?” He asked, trying to make sure he heard him correctly.

“You’re mad if you can’t see it, mate. She’s obsessed with you, much like you’re obsessed with her. Can’t believe you’re still dancing around each other.”

Osferth blushed, much to the enjoyment of Finan. “I’m not…obsessed.” He almost laughed at himself with how clearly that was a lie.

“Thou shalt not lie, baby monk.” Finan teased, eliciting an eye roll from the younger man. “I don’t know what you’re so afraid of. Clearly, it can’t be rejection.”

“I don’t want her to be frightened of me.” Osferth admitted, making Finan furrow his brows.

“Why would she be frightened of ya?” He asked, concern etched into his features.

“Because I’m…I'm a sinful man, despite my best efforts. I’m so full of lust, it’s hard to even think.”

“You would force yourself on her?”

“No! Of course not! I’d sooner plunge my own sword into my heart.”

“And we know that. Everyone who knows you, knows that, baby monk. You’re scared of yourself for thoughts you can’t control. But you can control your actions. Just because you have bad thoughts doesn’t make you a bad person, especially if you’re appalled by these thoughts. Your mind just likes to fuck with ya.” Finan watched as Osferth pondered this, a pang of annoyance rippling through his body. “Talk to her tomorrow. If you don’t, I’ll kick your shins in.”

There wasn’t much room to argue after that.

The next morning, Osferth woke up with a sense of hopefulness, a shy smile decorating his face as he saw the run rise. His conversation with Finan really gave him some clarity, and he was terrified still, but he decided he didn’t want to live with regret. But first, he needed to gain your trust back and he just hoped you’d give him another chance.

Osferth fussed with his appearance for a moment before heading to your house, his pulse thrumming beneath his skin, his heart beating in tandem. He didn’t stop his pace, afraid if he slowed down he’d stop altogether. But when he saw you were already outside your house, sitting in a rocking chair reading a book, Osferth froze. He was always so stunned by your beauty, even doing the most mundane things like simply reading. God, he was so in love.

Osferth winced when a twig snapped beneath his feet, alerting you of his presence, watching as your head jerked up and made eye contact with him. “Osferth…” You whispered, barely audible but just enough for him to hear, and he swore his heart skipped a beat. The sound of your voice, it was like a weight lifted off his shoulders.

“My lady…” Osferth replied breathlessly, his voice wavering with emotion. “I was wondering if I could join you?”

“You want to read with me?” You asked in slight amusement, making him blush.

“I just meant, if you’d do me the honor of allowing me to be in your company?”

You frowned. “Why now, when you haven’t wanted my company for some time?”

Osferth took a cautious step towards you, continuing when you didn’t shy away, sitting on your porch at your feet, looking up at you with the most remorseful expression he could manage. “I’ll tell you everything, my lady. But first, I just wish to tell you my absence had nothing to do with you. I’ve been…dealing with my own troubles. But every day I’ve been away from you, my life has been awful. I’ve missed you…so, so much.”

Unwanted tears sprung to your eyes, the pure emotion in his voice making your heart swell. “I’ve missed you, Osferth.” You bit your lip when your voice wavered, but it only caused him to gently take ahold of your hand. He still sat by your feet, looking up at you like you strung up the moon and stars in the sky, practically resting his cheek against your knee, the sight eliciting an inappropriate thought to cross your mind.

“I wish to tell you much more. The most important thing I need to tell you is…” Osferth exhaled a shaky breath, “is that I’m in-”

Screams echoed sharply throughout the village, Finan calling Osferth’s name, interrupting his confession and causing the two of you to stand on high alert. “Osferth?” you asked, frightened.

“Take your sword and stay hidden, alright? Promise me.” Osferth spoke sternly, looking into your eyes with such intensity that you agreed without hesitancy, following his instructions to the best of your ability.

A group of soldiers waltzed into the town, looking like they were on a mission, their swords already drawn. It took naught but a few moments for a fight to break out, blades clashing together and fists being thrown. They were separating Danes from Christians, killing any Danes, men, women, and children. You couldn’t just stand there and watch, you had to do something.

You had been in very few fights, especially fights like these, but your morals gave you little choice. When you saw a soldier strike a child to the ground, about to push his blade into their little neck, you struck first. Blood dripped down your blade, onto your hands, as you pushed your sword into the back of the soldier, the sound of the flesh being pierced making you gag. But you saved the child, bringing them back to their parents before moving on to help the next resident of Rumcofa.

If Osferth had the time, he would have been pissed. He told you not to get involved, yet you were. But he couldn’t blame you for that, in fact, it was nice to have another helping hand. He was good at multitasking, he thought, fighting off two burly men while making sure you weren’t in danger. Osferth was lucky, it followed him around, to being able to join Uhtred and his men to finding you in this lifetime, he figured he was the luckiest man around. But a person’s luck has to run out sometime.

Osferth exhaled a sharp breath as an excruciating pain resonated through his body, his mouth filling with blood as he fell to the cold ground. He heard screams, your screams, and suddenly he wasn’t thinking about the pain.

You shrieked as you watched the brute of a man shove his blade into Osferth’s side, his form crumpling to the ground. Rage overwhelmed you, and you didn’t think as you charged forwards. You couldn’t know what you even planned on doing but it didn’t matter. You felt like you had been stabbed yourself and all that was on your mind was getting revenge. And despite all your training, and the few soldiers you managed to get the best off, your mind was in the worst place, going on pure adrenaline with no thought behind your attacks. It wasn’t that surprising when the man knocked you out, stealing the sword from your hands and hitting your temple with its pommel, plunging your world into darkness.

All Osferth could do was watch in a panic as you fought to defend him, calling out your name as the attacker knocked you down, your eyes rolling back as you stopped moving.

Finan was sprinting to Osferth, but he yelled at him to make sure you were okay first, your well being more important to him than anything. And after a few moments, Finan deemed you alright, getting his wife to look after you for now as he kneeled beside Osferth with tears in his eyes. As Osferth felt his best friend’s arms around him, his fear and panic washed over him, drowning him. “Oh my God, oh my God, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die!” He cried, holding on tightly to Finan.

“No, no, baby monk. You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay. I won’t let you die.” Finan sobbed, screaming for help.

Osferth whispered your name, gaining Finan’s attention back. “She’s okay?”

“Yes, yes, she’s alright.”

“Tell her,” He choked, “tell her how much I loved her. Tell her that she was the most important person in my life and that I’m sorry.”

“Tell her yourself, you daft prat. You’re gonna survive this, I promise.”

When you came to, your first thought and first word uttered was, “Osferth.”

The last thing you remembered was Osferth getting stabbed, and you running to his attacker to make sure he wasn’t stabbed again. Much use you were, you thought bitterly, you couldn’t even hold your own against this man for more than a minute. Pitiful. But that didn’t matter now, all that mattered was making sure he was alive.

You ignored all the pleas and urges from Finan’s wife and other healers taking care of you and rushed out of your room, trying to find your friends. Finally, your gaze met Finan’s, and he looked distraught. No, you thought, you wouldn’t believe it. But before you could even open your mouth to speak, Finance answered your silent question. “He’s alive…somehow.” The Irishman spoke in a broken voice, clearly just as affected as you were.

“Can I see him?”

Finan nodded solemnly. “He’s sleeping, and probably will be for a while, Ingrith tells me.”

As soon as you walked into the room, you had to hold in your gasp as you saw Osferth’s state. He was so pale, from blood loss and the cold, you’d think he was dead if you hadn’t been told otherwise. “When will he wake?”

“We don’t know…” He sighed, making your heart drop.

“But he will wake?”

“That’s our hope.”

But he didn’t wake, not for more than a few seconds at a time, muttering incoherent words before falling back asleep, not even when the surviving residents of Rumcofa had to relocate where it was more safe. You didn’t sleep, you didn’t eat; all your time was devoted to making sure Osferth’s heart was still beating, putting your ear to his chest multiple times every single day, praying to every god you could think of to just let him survive.

It was only a few days after settling in a more secure place that Osferth did finally awake.

You were at his bedside, as you often were, reading to him and holding his hand, thinking that your voice might stir him. You almost fell off your chair in shock when you suddenly felt his hand weakly squeeze yours. Your head snapped up and saw that his eyes were already on you. “Osferth…” You called out softly, letting your book fall by the wayside to move to sit next to him on the edge of the bed. “You’re awake. At last.” Tears filled your eyes, falling down your cheeks and landing on his hand that you were now holding tightly, afraid that he’d fall back into unconsciousness.

Osferth spoke your name so softly, his voice cracking and hoarse from not using it for so long. “I must be dead, for I see only an angel before me…”

You chuckled tearfully, bringing up his hand to kiss his knuckles. “No, you’re alive. You’re alive.” You repeated, mostly trying to convince yourself.

“How long have I been asleep?” He asked, looking around the room he was in and furrowed his brows. “Where are we?”

You froze, unsure of how much you should say. You didn’t want him to faint from shock, but you couldn't lie to him either. You could never lie to him. “We left Rumcofa several days ago, everyone who survived the attack. But Uhtred is off to fight another war for Edward. They all wanted to stay until you woke, but…”

Osferth nodded solemnly. “What use would a man on the brink of death be, yeah?”

“They’ll be mad with joy to hear of your recovery, I’m sure. Especially Finan, he wept for you badly.”

“And did you? Weep for me?”

Your face flushed with heat, avoiding his gaze and instead fixing your eyes on your conjoined hands. “Yes…” You whispered. “I’ve wept every day since you were wounded. But you’re better now, awake and healing up nicely. Ingrith told me you might wake as soon as the fever leaves your body,” You placed the back of your other hand to his forehead, warm but not too warm, “and you feel fine now. Before, your skin was hot to the touch-” Osferth grabbed your wrist as you moved to pull away, eliciting a gasp from you. “O-Osferth?”

Osferth blinked, as if he suddenly realized what he was doing. “Sorry.” He stuttered, releasing your wrist.

“I’ll go get Ingrith.”

“No! No…please, just…I’d like to be alone with you for a moment longer. If that’s alright, my lady?”

You nodded, a bit too eagerly. “Of course. I’d love nothing more.”

And stay with him you did, up until you insisted you tell Ingrith and had her check on him. The wound was healing nicely, a deep red scar forming over the stab. It really was a miracle that he was alive, the blade barely missing the vital organs the body needs to function. You don’t know what you would've done if Osferth had died, the thought making your chest tighten uncomfortably, panic overriding your senses. But all you had to do to rid yourself of those feelings, was to simply look at Osferth, gaining his strength back more and more every day and starting to walk without help.

Almost two weeks went by until he started to train again, though very carefully. Seeing grow stronger didn’t help ease your nerves as much as you thought it would, you figured you’d keep him on bed rest forever if you had any say. It took Ingrith assuring you that he was practically fully healed for you to stop fretting over him like a concerned mother. But Osferth didn’t seem to mind it all that much, a soft amused smile gracing his features every time you asked if he was alright. His answer was always yes, and he even told you not to worry so much, trying to come across as nonchalant so it didn’t seem like he was completely affected by your concern.

Osferth never did get a chance to confess to you that day, the fight in Rumcofa having such unfortunate timing. Though, you never brought it up, the fact almost making his insecurities come back and suffocate him. But he trusted Finan, and even though he was an occasional prankster, he’d never try to give someone false hope.

Osferth tossed and turned one night, thinking about you and his suspended confession. It’s ridiculous, why couldn’t he have gotten the words out quicker, rather than prolong those simple words. He said it to you every day in his mind, the words coming out so easily and repeatedly. Ridiculous. This was ridiculous.

As soon as the thought appeared in his mind, Osferth jumped up from bed. He knew it was entirely inappropriate, thinking about coming to you in the middle of the night, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he told you how he felt. And to his utter surprise, when he opened his front door, there you were.

It was raining, the droplets of water pelting the roof of the timber home, the occasional thunder rumble making the frames vibrate. And there you were, a wet and shivering figure, your clothes melding to you like a second skin; Osferth could see your breath coming out in quick and shallow puffs. Even in the dark with naught but a lantern that he lit to light his way, he could see the tears in your eyes, only a keen eye would’ve been able to differentiate the rain from the tear drops. His face immediately fell in concern, and it only took him calling out your name softly for you to collapse in his arms.

Osferth quickly pulled you past the threshold of the doorframe, bringing you in from the cold and holding you tightly to him, the uncomfortable feeling of his dampening clothes the furthest thing from his mind. “My lady?” He spoke gently, like he was trying not to spook you, “What’s happened?” You mumbled words incoherently, your face pressed against his chest muffling what you were attempting to say. Osferth had to pull you off, not completely, just to look at your face. “What was that?”

“You were dead.” You cried, “You were killed and I couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch!”

“A dream…” He realized, sighing in sympathy and pulling you back onto his chest. “It’s okay, love. It’s okay. Here-” He took a hold of your hand, pressing the tips of your fingers to the pulse point in his neck, the blood flowing through his veins, the throbbing pushing at your fingertips minutely. “Do you feel? And you hear by heartbeat?”

“Mhm.” You sniffled, starting to calm down in the soothing cage of his arms.

“See? I’m okay. I’m not hurt anymore. I’m safe. We both are.”

“I’m sorry…” You hiccupped.

Osferth shook his head, cupping your jaw gently and forcing your eyes to his. “Hey, none of that. It’s not your fault. Understand me?” Reluctantly, you shook your head, wiping away your tears with your already damp hands. And you shivered, your body suddenly registering the cold. “Let’s get you warm, okay?”

And in a matter of minutes, Osferth had lit a fire in his hearth, the flames roaring to life and eliciting a sigh of relief from you as you saw in front of it on a pile of wool blankets he’d spread out for the two of you. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, Osferth, truly. It’s just…when my mind showed me such a vivid thing-”

“I understand completely, my lady. I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same in your place. Besides,” Osferth grunted softly as he plopped himself down beside you, your knees barely touching, “I was about to come see you myself.”

You furrowed your brows. “Why?” And suddenly, Osferth was that same scared boy he was before he met Uhtred. He hadn’t meant to be so brazen, but he wanted to ease your mind so badly, he didn’t think you’d ever ask why.

“Uh, um,” Osferth swallowed thickly, his body becoming much too warm for his liking, “just wanted to check on ya, is all.” Liar.

“Oh…” You seemed to say in an almost disappointed tone.

Osferth sighed. Ridiculous.

“Actually,” He almost winced, his body, one thinking this was a good idea, was suddenly betraying him. No, he thought, he wouldn’t repress his feelings any longer. “Do you remember our conversation before the fight in Rumcofa?”

Your face flushed with heat, an achy feeling spreading in your heart. “You said you missed me.” You smiled softly at the memory, but your brows furrowed. “But you were trying to tell me something else, weren’t you?” Osferth nodded nervously, running his hands up and down his thighs, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. You playfully bumped his shoulder with your own, “Well?”

“I’minlovewithyou-” He gasped.

“What?” You almost squawked, his words jumbled and rushed, making entirely no sense to your ears.

But suddenly, Osferth grinned, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. He said it, finally. That’s all it took really, just to get it out there to make it more easy to say. Sure, it wasn’t the best way to go about it, but he did it. “I’m in love with you.” And this time, he didn’t rush. In fact, it was the most clear and precise you had ever heard him. He took his time saying the words this time, savoring them, just in case it was the last time he could.

“You’re…in love with me?” You were looking up at him with wide eyes, an adorable childlike awe displaying in your expression.

“Yes.” He smiled. “Completely and hopelessly. I…have been, for a while now. I wanted to tell you sooner but, ya know.” He gestured to his stab wound. You felt breathless, your throat constricting as you tried to fight back another bout of tears. But Osferth took it the wrong way. “I’m so sorry, my lady. I knew there was a high chance you’d be completely repulsed. That’s why I tried to stay away for so long because I didn’t want you scared of me like-”

“Osferth.” Responding to his name and your touch to his jaw, turning him to face you, he didn’t see one trace of disgust or fear in your eyes. “I could never be repulsed by you, or scared. Why would you ever think that?”

Osferth blushed a bright red, the flames from the hearth making his skin look an even darker red. “Since I’ve decided to be so honest tonight…you should know I also yearn for you, my lady. Your…touch. But I also want you to know it’s because I love you, not because I’m some…lecherous sinner. Although, I suppose I am that too.”

“Why would you think I’d be repulsed because you desire me so?”

“Well, because…because…uh.”

You closed your eyes in understanding, nodding slightly. “If you think I’d ever be able to compare you, sweet boy, to that monster, you’re sorely mistaken. You are nothing like him. Do you really think I would’ve kept close to you if you had been?”

“I suppose not. I just never wanted you to feel like I’m pressuring you into something you don’t want…”

“And that, my dear Osferth, is why I’m completely and hopelessly in love with you too.”

Osferth’s eyes widened. “R-Really?”

You smirked. “Shall I prove it to you?” You’ve never really kissed or been kissed, willingly at least, so as you leaned forward, you prayed that Osferth wouldn’t laugh as you softly pressed your lips against his.

It was unlike anything you had ever experienced, the aspect of your choice in the matter only amplifying the sensation. And for Osferth? It was hard to keep in the whimper that was so desperate to escape him, but you pulled away, all too soon. You opened your eyes to see Osferth’s was still closed, his lips chasing yours with a blissed out expression on his face. He whispered out your name so softly, you could scarcely hear it. He sounded so needy, it lit a fire in your belly, much like the one still blazing in the fireplace.

“I shan’t ask for more, if you do not wish to give more.”

“I do, though, want more. I fear I want much, much more.” Your expression had noticeably darkened, lust filled, and Osferth had never seen this of you before. It wasn’t a bad change, though he was apprehensive.

“Are…Are you sure, my lady? I don’t want you to regret this. I’d hate for you to regret this.”

“I find that I have no regrets with you, sweet Osferth. Just promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“You’ll stop if I ask?”

“I wouldn’t dare disobey you, my love.”

“Good,” You leaned forward to give him another kiss, a bit more forceful and more sure of yourself, “because if you do, I’ll kill you with the sword you gifted me, baby monk.” You teased, making him giggle, the purest sound you would ever hear in your lifetime, you were sure. And this time, when you each pressed your lips together, it was filled with an altogether different feeling, charged and motivated, the thought of something more promising if you continued fueling your actions. It probably was because of the fire, but your body warmed and warmed to the point you thought your clothes would melt off your body if you kept them on any longer. “Can you help me take these off?” You asked shyly, gesturing to your still damp clothing.

Osferth’s eyes widened comically, that ever present blush on his face warming your heart better than fire in the hearth next to you. “S-Sure.” He stuttered, carefully and delicately removing each article of clothing (after asking if you were sure a few more times) until you were down to your bare skin. “Have I ever told you how absolutely breathtaking you are?”

You giggled, slightly self conscious. “I don’t think so.”

Osferth gently slapped himself. “What an idiot I am, huh?”

“You will be if you don’t take off your clothes too.” And with that, it was almost at the speed of light that all Osferth’s clothes were thrown into a pile of the floor, mingling with yours. You inhaled a breath as your eyes traced his frame, his pale skin making his battle scars more prominent, but you found that they made him more handsome. You didn’t mind that he was doing the same to you. “I don’t know quite what to do now…” You whispered, gently taking his hand and kissing his knuckles. “Will you help me?”

“Of course.” He replied back shakily, moving closer to you until you sat side by side, your exposed skin rubbing up against his, causing you to shiver pleasantly. “We’ll take it slow. I don’t want to rush this, not with you.”

Osferth maneuvered you so that you were laying on your back, him resting beside you, propped up on one elbow, his other hand gently running up and down your torso. Gooseflesh rose along your skin as his calloused fingers marked a path across your body, from your jaw, down between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach to the tufts of wiry hair at the beginning of the apex of your thighs. “I have to ask again, love. Are you sure you want this? Want me?”

You could’ve whined, but you maintain your composure, however much was left. “With every iota of my soul.”

Osferth leaned down to kiss you passionately, that whine you had been holding in finally coming out when you felt his fingers dip in between you already silk folds. “So soft…” He hummed, trailing kisses down your neck to your breasts, covering one of your pebbled nipples with his tongue, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. You hadn’t realized how sensitive you were until now, his mouth sucking you in deeper as he slowly inched a finger inside you.

You moaned as he curled his finger, finding your sweet spot with inhuman ease. “Osferth…” You breathed, and he answered by gently tapping your sensitive nub with his thumb as he added another finger. “Osferth!”

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked immediately, causing you to chuckle wantonly, his eyes darkening as he felt your walls squeeze his fingers.

“No, heavens, no. Please, keep going.” You didn’t have to tell him twice, as he continued his ministrations with an added ferocity that had you aching your back of the blankets, moaning and bucking into his hand. A strange sensation that you couldn’t quite put into words seemed to keep building and building in the pit of your stomach, your eyes rolling back each time a deep pang of pleasure resonated through you. And as Osferth kissed you roughly and added a third finger inside you, the building sensation spilled over; like a fire doused with gasoline, you ignited, flames licking you from the inside out as you rode out the glowing waves of ecstasy with little care how loud you became.

And when it was all over, Osferth was there to soothe your burns.

“Are you alright, my love?” He asked softly, running his hand along the inside of your spread thighs.

“More than alright.” You smiled in a haze.

As you looked down, you couldn’t help but notice Osferth’s hardened length. You were surprised how it grew in size, always a wonder how such could fit inside a woman’s body. You absentmindedly reached out to touch him, a soft huff escaping his lips as you ran your hand along the silky skin. “We don’t have to do anything else, if you aren’t ready. I’m perfectly content having given you the pleasure you so deserve.”

“I told you I wanted you, Osferth. I meant that. I want you. All of you.”

Osferth pulled your hand away, kissing it before moving to settle in between your legs, the tip of his length prodding at your inner thigh before he guided it to your entrance. “Just tell me if you want to stop, for any reason. Promise me.” You sealed your promise with a kiss, nodding to him and he nodded back before very slowly pushing himself inside you, the both of you letting out gasps at the feeling. “Oh Lord above…” He groaned, bottoming out and stilling, burying his face in the crook of your neck, giving you however long you needed to adjust, but you found you didn’t need much time.

You whined, trying to cant your hips to get some very needed friction, but Osferth was too heavy. “Please…”

“I’m afraid…if I move so soon, I will not be able to last for very long, my love.” He spoke, his voice and body shaking. “I want…I need this to last.”

“Hey,” you lifted his head, looking at him lovingly, the flames of the fire shining in his bright blue eyes, “this will not be the first and last time we make love.”

“You don’t know that. I fear danger lurks around every corner now. We aren’t promised tomorrow.”

You kissed him, trying to push all his worries away. “Then make love to me as many times as you can.”

“Please?” He whined.

“Please.”

You cried out loudly as Osferth began to thrust into you wildly, moaning just as loudly with you, his cock hitting you in just the right places, the loud slapping of wet skin making your cheeks flush with heat. Your walls squeezed him perfectly, almost sucking him in deeper. Every ridge and every vein you could feel drove you wild, that same sensation building in you yet again. If you weren’t in such a pleasured haze, you’d be worried who might be able to hear you and Osferth, just from your moans alone.

“Oh, God, love. Feels so good. You feel so good.” Osferth groaned, his cock twitching inside you. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.” And before you could reach another peak, he pulled out quickly, his warm spend shooting out of his tip, white streaks coating your stomach. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry.” He moaned breathlessly, his blissed out expression the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“You’re beautiful, Osferth.” You whispered, the borderline predatory look in his eyes making you shy.

“You almost came again.” He spoke apologetically.

You smiled. “It’s alright. You already took care of me once.”

“‘S not enough.” He growled, lowering his face to your weeping cunny and before you could ask what he was doing, the words were stolen from you as his tongue licked and sucked at your nub, your denied peak building back up rapidly at his talented mouth.

“Oh, Osferth…” You almost sobbed, overly sensitive but not enough that you wanted him to stop, and from the moans he released, it seemed he was taking as much pleasure from this as you were.

“Come for me, my love. Please.” He begged, his words and moans causing vibrations against your mound, the pleasure overwhelming and all encompassing, your peak spilling on his lips and tongue.

Osferth rested against your inner thigh, his hooded eyes watching your cunt quiver and spasm as you came down from your high, the urge to dive back in almost too overpowering. But he withheld, coming back up to lay at your side with a crooked grin. “Are you okay?”

“How many times have you asked me that tonight, do you think?” You teased, catching your breath and moving to lay on his chest, listening to the steadying beat of his heart.

“If you’re annoyed with how many times I asked? Then just enough.”

Needless to say, neither you or Osferth got much sleep that night.

By the time everyone else returned for Osferth, the pair of you were inseparable. Where you go, he goes, and vice versa. It didn’t take a genius to see how disgustingly in love the two of you were. And neither of you expected to get away without a little bit of teasing.

As Finan watched the two of you, his words escaped him before he could even stop himself.

“So, when’s the wedding?”

tags: @tssf-imagines, @little-diable, @fan-goddess, @hiraethrhapsody, @chainsawsangel, @lauraneedstochill, @greenowlfactif, @st-eve-barnes

thanks for the support😊

#the last kingdom #the last kingdom osferth #osferth the last kingdom #osferth #osferth x reader #osferth x fem!reader #osferth x f!reader #osferth smut #osferth imagine #osferth tlk #tlk osferth

716 notes · View notes